#the length of this is embarrassing (it's 4.8k words...)

[theliterarygnat]

Reading Summary: 28. April, 2024 (The Hunger of the Gods, Chapters 12-28)

CHAPTER 12 | GUÐVARR Dreading this chapter hard. Hated the character so much in The Shadow of the Gods that I expect this to be as tiring as Elvar's chapters, if not worse. pg. 102 Okay, so this isn't all that bad, actually. I like how he is self-aware, for the most part. Would have loved for this to continue with Mord's death; he should've reminded himself that he killed Mord dishonorably. Mord was immobilized and vulnerable, trussed up by someone else. That was a coward's kill, an easy kill, and it would be nice to see Guðvarr have the balls to admit that to himself as well.

pg. 103 Was "and crotch" really necessary here? Really? I hope this is supposed to be foreshadowing something fucked up going on between Guðvarr and his aunt, because otherwise this just seems to be another instance of Gwynne's obsession with testicles.

Also, since the audience is used to italics being used to signify a character's unspoken inner thoughts, I don't think adding dialogue tags there is necessary, especially since it had been explained how and why Guðvarr does this. A better use of dialogue tags here would be giving an impression of what Guðvarr himself thinks about the habit and how it manifests. Like "he added bitterly" could help gain an insight into how he's feeling, or "his thought-cage supplied" implies that the insult was thought automatically and without Guðvarr's conscious input. Granted, my examples are shit, but I'm also not a published novelist or a writer. But if we are to use dialogue tags here, they should either add tone or add context; otherwise, 'he thought' is a waste of words. A reviewer on Goodreads did point out that Gwynne tends to overuse dialogue tags and I do agree. It is rather choppy and not really insightful when it comes to the tone or how the characters act, giving the dialogue a flat affect.

Worst thing is, Gwynne does drop the 'thought' dialogue tag further down this page, so I don't understand why he'd keep it here.

pg. 104 Ah, another instance where Gwynne reuses the same/very similar phrase very close together. This time it's "bound wrists and ankles". In the same paragraph no less…. divided by a whole one line…

How did Vol speak with such clarity if there was a gag in her mouth? Sólín gets "aksentéd dialogue" because she lost some front teeth but Vol just speaks perfectly well through either a rag or something else stuffed into her mouth? Nuh-uh.

pg. 105 They have the concept of hell? I mean, we didn't really hear about the afterlife these people believed in besides the Soul Road, but I find it strange that Gwynne didn't say 'Hel' or use a variation of any of the other underworlds that can be found in Norse mythos. It does feel like an oversight frankly. Also, "she-bitch" is redundant, since 'bitch' is already female by default, on account on being a female dog. "She-bitch" makes no sense; a 'she-devil' would have worked fine in this sentence, which makes me wonder if the original sentence was 'A she-devil from hell' that got clocked as too modern or unfitting for the setting, so someone during editing changed 'devil' to 'bitch', without taking the stupidity of 'she-bitch' into account.

Is Guðvarr a good man? No. Is he even all that complex? No. But somehow, he is more enjoyable to read than Elvar. Wow. I dreaded this chapter for nothing.

CHAPTER 13 | VARG So much leaping and howling. Are there really no other words you could have used?? Like 'Varg scrambled to his feet' or 'his blood boiled, a deep, beastly hiss in his ears' (which isn't even all that good) or 'Varg's blood gurgled in his veins, as though shaken by a wolf's growl'. Is that a little cheesy? Sure. But so's all the howling.

I don't know why exactly, but this chapter has been rather meh to me. Not necessarily bad, but lacking the charm that Varg's chapters are usually imbued with. It might be because of the action scene that took up most of it; though I did like the detail with the helmet strap being messed up again. It wasn't all that funny, but it did put a smile on my face.

CHAPTER 14 | BIÓRR pg. 120 Inconsistent hyphenation strikes again…

Also, again, because of who Elvar is as a character, I simply do not see why Biórr would fall in love with her, or care. Like he says, she was happy to live a slaver's life, and while he doesn't know what Elvar is doing now, there wasn't anything really worth liking about her before she became a typical conservative slave-owner. Biórr feeling regret or any emotional attachment to her honestly cheapens his character for me; I was in Elvar's head and there is fuckall going on there. What does he see in her? I feel like Gwynne wrote himself into a corner here a little. It's distracting that Biórr is longing after a cardboard-cutout of a slaver, but Gwynne also cannot really have Biórr thinking about what he likes about Elvar. It would give context to why he likes her, sure, but it also would distract even more from the story, and make Biórr seem weaker-willed than he already appears to me. Writing Biórr this way is a lose-lose situation in my eyes; Gwynne could have written a significantly more compelling character if Biórr truly was removed from the Battle-Grim on an emotional level. Gwynne already is competently writing Guðvarr (somehow???) so I think it would have maybe worked with Biórr.

I have to admit to a fault of mine in understanding the last chapter from Biórr's perspective, I think? I have thought that, at the beginning of Chapter 9, we have already crossed the Isbrún Bridge and left that region of Vigrið, mostly because of how time supposedly had passed. And I thought at the end of Chapter 9 that we were returning in direction of Oskutreð to kill Ulfrir immediately. But apparently not? I'm somewhat tempted to blame the text for being written awkwardly enough to lead me to that conclusion, but I think in this case I'm the idiot who just didn't understand. I'm taking the L on this one.

CHAPTER 15 | ORKA pg. 131 I do rather like the bit with Lif and Vesli. Lif has a solid characterization that goes really well with his background. Solid guy.

Although the prose with "a soft, sucking sound" was a rather awkward. The more I pay attention to Gwynne's writing the more I notice just how weak it sometimes can be. It's not the best to read, and it's not really imaginative. For example, in Varg's chapter, when they go into the meadow and there's sheep running, I would have loved for the environment to be better described. There isn't any atmosphere, any mood, any sense of the world or what it looks like; just character x and y doing things and events happening around them. Combined with the writing style, it doesn't paint the picture of a living world, nor is it particularly immersive. This book is already chunky and honestly maybe even clunky, and I do not believe the story necessitates the length.

CHAPTER 16 | GUÐVARR pg. 138 Ah, would yoou look at that? This ties perfectly into my point on the prose not being the best. We didn't need to be told that Guðvarr thought the italicized phrase and refrained from speaking it; one would imply the other. A better-flowing sentence would be "Guðvarr thought to himself, knowing better than to anger the hard-looking man with cold eyes and scarred hands."

pg. 140 The dialogue tags strike again. Too much 'said', too many tags in general. Also, instead of doing the stupid "'With my life,' Guðvarr said. Never with my life, he thought." why not just have it be "'With my life,' Guðvarr lied easily." If the dialogue tags weren't used so abundantly and awkwardly, then the original version would have worked; but because the dialogue tags already feel cluttered and clunky, this type of 'he said, he thought' combo is a little grating.

pg. 141 I. Don't know how I feel about the people of color in this world apparently being Slavic? Like I thought that they were described as 'darker-skinned' because they were tanned, their climate warmer, since there is much sun in the Balkans and Central Europe. But. 'Crow-black'? Not to mention the way their hairstyles to seem to me to be inspired by Manchurian queue (since the Cossack oseledets isn't braided like described in this book). This hodge-podge does make me rather uncomfortable. Like, if you are including people of color and want to give them "ethnic" names different from the "ethnic" names of Vigrið's people, then use the languages of the people that you based the aesthetics of the culture from, instead of pasting another ethnic group's culture on top?

pg. 143 Hmmm… I think that's a little redundant. There is already a clear implication that Guðvarr does not care what happens to the others as long as he's safe, considering he is "relieved that it wasn't him" who was to follow the Galdurfolk into the tower. I think that thought could have been shortened to "Or perhaps it won't, but truth be told I don't really care" without losing anything. In fact I think it would be clearer/less repetitive.

pg. 144 Damn. Did Guðvarr and Vafri fuck??? Poor girl.

Also, why write that sentence like that? Just ssay "The female Úlfhéðnar stepped closer to Skalk" instead of dividing it so awkwardly. It's such stilted prose.

pg. 145 Honestly, with how much attention Gwynne tends to pay to the every-day disgusts of medieval life, I'd have expected him to actually talk, or at least mention, the air being hard to breathe in Queen Helka's chamber, since the smoke from the torches cannot escape on account of the room being windowless. I'm actually a little hung up on that detail now. How are people there breathing?

CHAPTER 17 | ELVAR Elvar, how are you more frustrating and disgusting than Guðvarr?

I really don't want Elvar to take Agnar's place as the leader of the Battle-Grim. Without Grend her ass would be grass many times over; her achievements hardly feel hers when she'd been dead without an oathsworn protector to save her.

Also, the gods don't really have the presence of gods. It's part of them constantly transforming, for one, plus with how easy they are to resurrect and tame. Why is resurrection so easy, anyway? Why isn't there a bigger struggle, a greater sacrifice necessary? Why is magic just so easy?

pg. 159 Well, Elvar is not really proving Huld wrong with that petty ass attitude. I can see Gwynne trying to add depth to Elvar's character but that is in many ways too little too late. This growth, this depth, should have been present and explored in the first book, especially when the Battle-Grim were in Snakavik, where Elvar and her father could have talked, where Elvar could have proved better than Thorun, where Elvar should have been brimming with emotion and anger and rage and be constantly reminded of her past. But she wasn't. She was swaying and weak and considering returning until somebody else had to tell her that her father, whom she knew was a conniving and manipulative ass, was probably not being genuine in his offer. She also should have seen him handing her a warband just like that as an insult! He had not seen her in action, he knew nothing of her reputation; he just saw her with the Battle-Grim and leveraged her past and current desires against her. She should have been livid. She wasn't. She was tempted. And nothing happened between then and now to make her grow and suddenly gain this depth. This is an inept handling of her character. It reads more like a reaction to the poor reception Elvar's character got.

Frankly, if the first book had been a meal, Elvar would have been a medium-cooked, unseasoned chicken. Her portrayal in THOTG is the equivalent of being given a spoonful of salt and pepper after one already had been forcibly fed said chicken.

CHAPTER 18 | ORKA The banter is fine. Not the best, but fine, not as comedic to me as to the characters, which is alright. But god, the length of that sentence as Orka and Ingmar fought on pg. 168… no thank you. I did toy around with adding periods into it and frankly, it got better. Some 'ands' and -ing verbs can be removed or swapped out, keeping the speed of the action but making the passage less exhausting to read.

CHAPTER 19 | VARG Well, Varg, I hope you get to live up to that promise, and fuck Elvar the hell up if y'all ever meet.

CHAPTER 20 | ORKA Why are the brynjas always splitting and falling apart. No matter how well made they supposedly are, they literally never seem to offer any protection. Also, since most if not all Raven-Feeders proper are Tainted, why the fuck is it so easy for Vesli and Lif to kill one? We keep being told that the Raven-Feeders are a great danger, but on-page they are weak, constantly dying in greater numbers to lesser combatants. They feel like a joke; not like anything actually scary. It's difficult to take them seriously, and as such I don't really care when they appear on page. I feel no fear, no sympathy, don't see the stakes in the fights against them.

Also, the word 'land' exists. The word 'crash' exists. There is enough modern language that there is no need to use 'alighted' every single goddamn time Vesli or Spert land somewhere. It's repetitive and distracting with its frequency. It also lacks any mood or gesture. Do they land softly? Do they crash into bodies in a battle? Do they drop on the ground gracelessly? Everything is written so flatly, including much of the dialogue, which isn't even punctuated correctly. I feel like this book needed one more round of edits at least to make sure the grammar and punctuation were decent, the language more varied and captivating.

CHAPTER 21 | GUÐVARR pg. 186 Yeah, this really needed another editor just to check over the formatting and punctuation. There is a misplaced comma outside of the quotation marks during a dialogue. The flat affect is also at its highest hear. Everyone's bellowing and yelling and shouting, but there are no explanation points, creating a dissonance between the tone and mood of the dialogue and the dialogue tags themselves. It's rather unfortunate that the prose--surrounding the dialogue especially--is so weak here.

pg. 193 "palpable, like a physical thing" ah, yes, what wonderful prose; definitely not at all redundant and repetitive. Why is the writing so unimaginative ToT I'm fucking weeping. What is this??

CHAPTER 22 | ORKA Literally what is the reason for Vesli/Spert's dialogue being italicized only sometimes. Why is that not consistent.

pg. 200 If Myrk is smirking as she speaks, then there is no need to end that paragraph with "Another smile." since she is presumably smiling throughout the dialogue. It's so unnecessary. Likewise, there was no need to specify that Myrk was the one speaking. If Gwynne had used any other dialogue tag besides 'said', then perhaps that choice would have been justifiable. Maybe he wanted to add mood, establish tone… but no. 'said' is used, which is unnecessary and redundant here. As am I, with how often I repeat that something is redundant, but that is a testament to the lack of technical skill displayed in this prose.

CHAPTER 23 | GUÐVARR pg. 206 Too much 'follow'. I get what Gwynne wanted to achieve on some level, but it doesn't sound as good on the page as one might have hoped. It'd have been more fitting with a description of distance, giving us a mood and visual.

"Guðvarr followed, Yrsa close at his heels." this feels oppressive, like Yrsa is hounding Guðvarr, cutting off any escape with her body, not giving him a chance; an intimidation tactic.

"Guðvarr followed, Yrsa marching three steps behind." professional, at a distance, a cold disregard and hatred towards Guðvarr; or hinting at some different duty, perhaps there to stop Guðvarr from running away. I just think these two options would have been much evocative than "Guðvarr followed, and Yrsa followed him." Like, I get it, but getting it isn't good enough to excuse that flatness.

pg. 207 "Skálds" are capitalized, for some reason. That wasn't the case in the previous book at all, nor really in this book before now. The more I read the more does this book feel like an unpolished product. It really needed an outsider's eyes to catch on the formatting issues and the weird inconsistency going on.

pg. 208 "He felt Yrsa's presence behind him." "Guðvarr gulped, tried to take a step back, but Yrsa's solid presence was a wall behind him." "Guðvarr followed, a little reluctantly, but Yrsa's presence behind him felt like an unseen hand, pushing him on." In case you didn't get it, Yrsa's presence was behind him. Behind him was Yrsa's presence. Yrsa's presence behind him was. Yrsa's pres-

I stand corrected. My initial impression that Guðvarr was capable of self-reflection and had any cunning about him was entirely unfounded.

CHAPTER 24 | VARG See, because of how minimally the book is written, I cannot tell if the confusing description at the end is supposed to be this way for storytelling and mood purposes or if that's just how Gwynne would have written it regardless.

CHAPTER 25 | GUÐVARR The first fight scene I enjoyed! The writing really flowed well and didn't feel as repetitive as in other battles. There was this sense of swiftness and brutality, without anything being confusing. There was such clarity to the prose that I really could picture Taras the Bull on fire, the hole in the wall, the warriors piling in, Skalk's apprentices falling, and so on. I enjoyed the eagle's presence and the payoff to the focus on it the previous chapter. It was actually decently well masked what with the other monsters and critters around, but it was given enough special attention that I knew to expect something. Overall, this was truly a great moment and a fun segment to read.

It was fun to see the Iskidan people get proactive. They certainly have a lot of skill. I don't really care for the way Gwynne is portraying and focusing on Guðvarr's bodily fluids and reactions, but eh, mileage may vary. The way we saw Jökul's death from Guðvarr's point of view though… I actually really love this choice. Love to see how easy it was to recognize the characters, more by their weapons than appearance, but at least I knew who was getting their brains burst open with their own weapon. I cannot wait until Guðvarr finally dies…

CHAPTER 26 | VARG pg. 238 Not gonna lie, I did not actually remember or read who's descendant Æsa was, but I did remember that Fjalla the Mountain Goat was a god, so that… was not hard to understand. On one hand, the simile makes sense. Mountain goats are good at scaling mountains and cliffs. On the other… I dunno. I think I'm just not enjoying myself to the point where even fun prose and hints like this don't land well. I'm not saying this is bad, by the way; that's actually a fun way to work Æsa's divine ancestry into the descriptions! It's fitting and all. I just didn't care for it. Which sucks so much when I know it's actually competently done.

pg. 240 Another misnamed character moment. Instead of Svik and Æsa coming to Varg after he called them, it is apparently Varg that comes to himself with Æsa.

pg. 245 Oh, I absolutely love Einar getting bit in the leg! The fact two Úlfhéðnar tried to sink their teeth into him and only Varg succeeded is just chef's kiss. Love the reference/callback. I also think that if Varg's sister was alive (and who knows, mayhaps she is…) this would be a wonderful way of introducing her. The italicization of Úlfhéðnar is grating when the word is used so many times on the page though.

pg. 246 Damn. I really love the way Gwynne writes Varg figuring out and seeing that his ear was bitten off. I can't articulate why exactly, but there is a comedic timing to it; the slow realization of something being off, the snap to the Úlfhéðnar, the one-liner… I love it. It's so fun.

CHAPTER 27 | GUÐVARR Why is Guðvarr so important to Gwynne. A couple of chapters here and there, like with Biórr would have been fine, but the more I see this man, the more page time he consumes, the more I despise reading from his point of view. I enjoyed the first few chapters, was even pleasantly surprised; but Gwynne's presentation of Guðvarr is getting tired. I have the unfortunate feeling that Guðvarr is never really going to get resolved satisfactorily. There's just something about him that makes me think Gwynne will focus on Guðvarr long after the niðing drengr has overstayed his welcome, to such a degree where whatever is coming for him will feel like it's come too late narratively to feel cathartic in any way.

pg. 250 I am begging Gwynne to stop mentioning Guðvarr pissing and/or shitting himself every single godsdamned chapter. It's not even adding to Guðvarr's sorry, pitiful, pathetic characterization at this point. It's just another one of Gwynne's weird fixations, like testicles in the first book. It is not making any meaningful impact when it's used with such frequency; it grows annoying, borderline childish and immature. Much like Guðvarr's POV chapters turning into something grating, some of the "jokes" and "running gags", especially those related to Guðvarr, are being overused.

CHAPTER 28 | ELVAR Damn. Am I counting right it has been 11 chapters since we last saw her?

Also, the opening to this chapter is a little confusing but did not really have to be that way. We could have played catch-up with what had been going on with the Battle-Grim first, describing the camp, and then have Elvar go to Uspa; it would have flowed better and made more sense. Like, it's so weird that Elvar wakes Uspa up just to say "my thanks". Thanks for what? I'd be great to see the thought process there, see why it's being said. This isn't a strong start, to be honest.

pg. 259 Again, where was this characterization last book? Elvar has not done any deep thinking or reflection upon herself, her father, or anything from what the audience has been shown, nor was any of this part of her motivation last book. Where did this sudden spark of complexity come from? Elvar didn't even reject her father's offering because it had been an insult; she had refused it because Hrung told her "a wolf cannot become a lamb" and she realized her father was likely being facetious and trying to manipulate her! It wasn't about her reputation and earning her fame back then!

pg. 260 That prose would have been better if it was like this instead: "Elvar nodded, and as she listened, her hand wrapped around her sword hilt. She drew it a short way, checked that the blade was not sticking, and let it slide back down."

"Elvar nodded, as she listened her hand wrapping around her sword hilt, drawing it a short way, checking the blade was not sticking, then let it slide back down."

pg. 263 That. Actually pissed me off. On pg.259 we have the text saying "her injured shoulder". If that hadn't been there, then this would have made sense, and justified the strange opening of the chapter. I still don't think it had to start the way it did; Elvar could have, in her narration, be vague about the interaction, only putting "my thanks" into proper dialogue. Regardless, the fact that Elvar herself (since, while this is 3rd person POV, it is limited and thus the world is viewed through Elvar) refers to her shoulder as "injured" is deceptive. Did I pick up on the lack of pain? Yes. Did I assume it was done for brevity's and clarity's sake because of the line on pg.259? Also yes.

Worse yet, because of all the mistakes and awkward phrasing in this book I cannot even tell if Gwynne meant for that to be there, or if the "injured shoulder" was included in the text by accident. If it was purposeful, then it was deceptive, and frankly I hate the fact Gwynne resorted to outright lying to the audience here. I also personally do not find this particular scene to be interesting beyond the frustration it caused. I had hoped Huld would win when the holmganga was officially happening, but knew at once there were no stakes in this situation because it was "to the death".

I'd have preferred if Elvar didn't kill Huld; instead maybe forced her out of the holmganga spear-square, make her feel like a true leader. It had been noted that every good warrior counts. It should have been Elvar's priority to ensure that. But noooo. There is nothing cunning about her; not even the shallowest puzzle. At least Guðvarr is trying to manipulate people and get out of the shite he gets himself into, which shows at least some conniving, if not intelligence. Elvar doesn't even have that. It's hard to appreciate her healing her shoulder and creating an advantage out of it when the reader is lied to this way.

Okay, I am being facetious and purposefully exaggerating. Elvar's trick with the shoulder is smart though strangely conveniently timed. However, there is nothing about Elvar to like, nothing to be enjoyed about her. Even with the newer depth of her motivation with her father, she does not have any appeal for me and continues to be a weak character. If Elvar was smart and skilled enough to both win the holmganga and ensure Huld survives it, showing that she is serious about the quest to save Bjarn and cares for the Battle-Grim, I could have at least appreciated her as a leader. But Elvar doesn't show any true regard for the Battle-Grim around her, doesn't think about the future, their future, does not have the makings of a leader, which could have been her thing. It could have been her appeal. She is a shit person, a slaver, but she loves her fellow battle-brothers and battle-sisters, and she will keep them alive with brains and brawn at any cost, even when feuding with them. But this holmganga squanders that possibility, that complexity and appeal; and for what? Elvar could still have pulled the shoulder-trick to force Huld out of bounds and win.

Besides, why the hell did Elvar wait so fucking long before getting it healed? Uspa didn't seem tired or tuckered out by reviving a dead god at all; why wouldn't Elvar get herself up to fighting speed earlier, especially since she knew there would be difficult encounters ahead (such as the tennúr)? It feels like Gwynne just came up with this oh-so-very-cool idea for a scene and stuck with it even when it doesn't make much sense on this level.

I also think it's both funny and depressing that my first thought when reading this chapter was "oh god, another shit order of events" rather than "hmm, mysterious". Gwynne has failed to make logical progressions and sensible prose before (see: Orka's first chapter) so if something is worded vaguely I just assume it's another case of inept writing rather than a meaningful choice.

pg. 264 Misplaced quotation mark in Sighvat's dialogue.

I also don't really like the fact Ulfrir smiles at Elvar here. There is too much congeniality between Elvar and Ulfrir; I would have much rather the god not make any expression. After all, Elvar has enslaved him. This honestly adds to the lack of grandeur the gods possess. Skuld, Ulfrir, and Lik-Rifa both just… don't feel like much. The reader can see right through Lik-Rifa, and her threats are ultimately banal, lacking the 'deep-cunning' necessary to make her feel like a grand villain. The Raven-Feeders come off as pathetic and I cannot see them as ever having posed any legitimate threat. I would have loved if Gwynne actually made Lik-Rifa a loving, genuinely caring individual with extremist views, who would be kind to her followers, show understanding and sympathy, make her promises full of conviction. It would have been such a beautiful thing to witness a loving corpse-eating, starving, malnourished dragon god who, for all her flaws, truly loves her children, who have slaved over her freedom for centuries. It would have been so painful for Biórr and maybe others to realize that Lik-Rifa, as much as she loves them, is flawed and will not make the world better.

I can imagine a heartfelt, emotional, gut-wrenching scene of the Raven-Feeders, or perhaps just Biórr, taking part in the last stand against Lik-Rifa, crying because they truly love her: I want Lik-Rifa to be unwilling to fight and hurt her children, begging them to stop, asking why they've turned on her, and maybe have her kill Ilska and Drekr or someone, any dragonborn, and I want her to stop and take in that she killed her own child, and I want her to howl in despair and stop fighting back, letting herself be killed by her children; because now she is no better than Snaka.

Epicness of violence can only get this story so far when I don't like the characters. When there's no emotion to be felt or had. I'm quite pessimistic about the fact that, with the story as-written, Gwynne will not be able to top my emotional investment in a half-baked scene that doesn't exist in any tangible or meaningful way.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Caught in the moment

PAIRING | Boyfriend!Young!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 4.8K

SUMMARY | What was supposed to start as a relaxing morning for you and Tony has turned into your worst nightmare, making you unable to look your mother-in-law in the eyes for the foreseeable future. When she eventually pulls you aside to talk about what happened, you understand it's nothing to be worried about, and you can even look back at what happened with a smile on your face.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Established relationship, use of nicknames (Sunshine, Love/My Love), occasional use of Y/N.

ANGST | Light angst, lots of embarrassment, awkward moments during breakfast

SMUT | Dirty talk, light teasing, oral (M receiving), fingering, protected vaginal sex, cockwarming, sort of orgasm denial/getting caught during sex

A/N | This story is a rewritten version of the one posted this afternoon. I have decided to rewrite the story and take out the angst/swap it for more lighthearted moments to fit the story better.

A/N 2.0 | From the moment this idea popped into my head, I couldn't let it go, and I had to write it down! I want to thank @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for her help when I got stuck while writing. I also want to give my deepest gratitude and love to @ccbsrmsf1 for all the help, support, proofreading, and the photo because you have truly taken this to the next level! 💙

EVENTS Masterlist | @anyfandomfluffbingo | Getting Kicked Out Masterlist | @anyfandomkinkbingo | "Just a little more." Masterlist | @slumberpartybingo | Dare: Walk down the street naked

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | Photo: @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | AU Masterlist

Mornings with Tony have quickly become your favorite. From lazy cuddles to steamy make-out sessions, and from him feeding you breakfast in bed to you being his breakfast, you can never get enough of them. But this morning, you wish things had gone differently. It would have saved you the embarrassment of looking your mother-in-law in the eye after what had happened.

Today started very peacefully as he pulled you against his chest, the warmth of his skin feeling very comforting against yours. Both dressed in nothing but your underwear, making it so that you can feel him all over your body. From his chest against your back, his leg hooked over yours, his hand on your stomach as it's trailing upwards toward your breasts, and his lips on your neck. He's everywhere at once, and the feeling is intoxicating in the best way possible.

The softest moan escapes your lips as his hand kneads your breast, and your nipple hardens at the touch. Arousal pools in your panties as you let Tony take his time with you, soft groans tumbling from his lips as he sucks small hickies in the base of your neck as a visual representation of your shared love.

"Let's get you out of this, Sunshine," Tony says in his deep morning voice, and you let him take his time undressing you before taking off his boxer briefs, too. As you're splayed out before him, he takes a moment to admire your body and the ink adorning your skin as his fingertips run over them.

"I'm so fortunate to call you mine, Sunshine, and I can't wait to be buried inside you again," he tells you as his fingers glide through your folds, making you moan as you arch your back into his touch. He gathers some of your arousal before licking it off his fingers with a satisfied hum, only arousing you further.

"Taste like heaven, Sunshine; your pussy's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted in my life," he tells you as he crawls over you, his hard cock resting on your pussy as he leans in to capture your lips. With a slight, teasing grind, his tip gets caught on your clit, making you gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth.

It doesn't take long for Tony to have grabbed a condom and rolled it around his length, lining it up with your entrance before carefully sliding it in. He'll always be mindful of you and your comfort, not wanting to accidentally hurt you by going too fast.

"'s so big, Tony; feels so good inside me," you whisper in his ear as he's nuzzled into your neck, taking his sweet time to slide into you. There's no rush for either of you, and he plans on making every last second count, dragging your pleasure out for as long as possible.

"That's it, just a little more," he whispers as he slides in the rest of his cock, his balls making contact with your ass before you wrap your legs around his hips instinctively.

Savoring every soft moan and whimper tumbling from your lips as his veiny, delicious cock stretches your soft walls until his tip hits your sweet spot as he's buried inside you completely.

His lips capture yours just in time to catch the loud moan escaping, as you two need to be quiet so as not to bring any attention to yourselves. You're staying at Howard and Maria's house for a long weekend, and they're both light sleepers, so you don't want to wake them up with your antics in the morning.

"That's it, Sunshine, taking me so well, you feel perfect around my cock," he whispers as he sets a slow pace, the comforter sliding down his body more with each thrust until his entire ass is bared to the room, only your legs covered by the warm fabric.

With every slow drag of his cock in and out of you, your pleasure is building, your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and all you can think about is Tony and how perfect your babies would look, and you're not afraid of telling him just that.

"I want to have your babies, Tony, want you to pump me full of your cum and give me all your beautiful babies," you tell him as your nails drag over his back, leaving dark red scratches as your pleasure intensifies, his rapidly increasing thrusts only spurring you on more.

"Yeah? 's that what you want, Sunshine? Want me to breed you until you're fucking dripping with my cum and round with my babies? God, take my fucking-" is all he can say before the door swings open, and you hear a loud, high-pitched shriek - which turns out to be from Tony.

In a reflex, you look at the door, only to find Maria standing there with a laundry basket of clean clothes. You can't help but look at her with a shocked look in your eyes as you feel the embarrassment flooding your system while Tony pulls the comforter over his lap to cover himself up. He doesn't notice at the moment that you're left to fend for yourself, and you quickly grab his pillow to cover yourself, too, unable to look Maria or Tony in the eye after what just happened.

"Get out, Mom! Get out! Jesus, don't you know how to knock?!" Tony yells at her when she quickly leaves the room, shutting the door behind her after being too stunned to do anything. It's not every day she finds her son balls deep in his girlfriend, after all.

Embarrassment quickly makes its way through your body as tears gather in the corners of your eyes as you shut them tightly, wanting to curl into a ball as the ground opens up and swallows you whole. A deep blush spreads over Tony's face, neck, and chest as it slowly sinks in what has happened, but as soon as he looks at you, he can feel his heart break a little.

"Can I touch you, Sunshine?" he asks softly, and you nod in response, soft sniffles coming from the pillow you're clutching while you sit up, ready to let Tony pull you into his chest. His scent envelops you as his arms wrap around you, calming you down with his touch.

"I'm so sorry about what happened, Sunshine; I am. I really should talk with her about boundaries because this wasn't okay," he tells you calmly as he's trying to be strong for you. He's putting his feelings of embarrassment to the side as he's calming you down.

You shift so that you're wrapping your arms around him, too, the pillow you were clutching onto earlier now lying beside you. Your face is nuzzled into Tony's neck as the realization of what happened sinks in.

"Are you okay, Sunshine?" Tony asks, but you shrug before pulling away and looking at his face. The sad look on your features makes him feel horrible, and he gently kisses each of your cheeks before placing his hands on them, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones in a soothing motion.

"I can't believe Maria saw me naked - I mean... I was about to cum, for crying out loud! I can't believe she saw this; what will we do? What will she think of me, Tony?!" you spew out, the words coming out a mile a minute while you're gathering your thoughts.

"Hey, hey! It's okay, Sunshine. How about we take a shower first? That might calm you down a little further, and we can go from there," he offers, and you nod. A shower with Tony sounds perfect right about now; even though you've been horrendously robbed of your orgasm, you still get to enjoy the aftercare with him.

"Okay, c'mere, Sunshine," he says before standing by the bed and leaning down to grab your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. A flood of warmth spreads through your body, and he's trying his hardest to make you feel comfortable and to see the smile he loves so much adorning your facial features.

The moment Tony lets go of you to get the shower ready, you let out a soft whimper, not wanting to be away from your boyfriend for too long.

When you're standing by the bed, he pulls you against his chest, your back plastered against him as he wraps his arms around you, placing his large hands on your belly as he guides you to the bathroom. You let out a small sigh when you're there, but before you can step out of his hold, he leans down to attach his lips to the exposed flesh, sucking a small bruise where your shoulders meet your neck.

"Hmm," you hum in approval, and Tony can't help but smile.

"I'm so lucky to have you, Sunshine. You make me feel treasured and special, and you make me feel beautiful even on days when I don't feel that way. And most of all, you make me feel loved in a way I've never felt before, and I cannot thank you enough for that," Tony whispers in your ear, and you smile broadly at his words.

You turn in his hold before letting your hands glide into the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a sensual, loving, and deep kiss, in which you're both quickly lost. You two pull away only when you start to shiver from the cold air in the bathroom, and Tony gets ready to warm you up under the shower.

It doesn't take long for the hot steam to fill the shower, and when you're waiting for the water to be warm enough, you can't help but let a giggle escape when you finally notice the fact that Tony never took off the condom after everything that's gone down. With a deep red blush on his cheeks, he quickly removes it before throwing it in the trash, and all you can think about is how adorable he looks with the pink tint covering his creamy skin.

"It's okay, My Love, and you're such an adorable little thing when you're blushing; it makes you look like an angel," you whisper to him as you place a soft kiss on his cheek, the flesh feeling warm against your lips before he buries his face in your neck. You pull him closer, your hand gliding into the hair on the nape of his neck.

"Let's go into the shower, okay?" you ask him, and he reluctantly pulls away, not wanting to be away from your soft body for too long. Once the warm water descends on your body, Tony reaches for the sponge and shower gel, squirting a generous amount on it before kneeling and carefully cleaning your legs one at a time.

He takes his time with your body as if he's worshipping every single inch of you, paying a little extra attention to your butt as he's washing it. He smacks it playfully and kneads your cheeks gently, and you're reveling in every bit of attention he's giving. As he makes his way up your body, he places a generous amount of soft kisses on your spine, his hands squeezing the sponge over the front of your body to lather it up with the soapy goodness.

"I fucking love you, Sunshine, I love every single inch of this amazing body, and your heart, your soul, I love everything about you, and I'm truly a lucky man to be able to call you all mine," he whispers in your ear. Your eyes flutter shut at his touch on your breasts, your nipples perking at the feeling of his long, skilled fingers tugging and rolling gently, but just enough to have you feeling the right amount of pleasure.

Your back arches into his touch as a soft moan slips from your lips, and all you can think about is Tony and how good he's making you feel. He can make you feel like you're flying with the softest of whispers and fall apart with the lightest of touches. As if your body is an instrument he's learning to play daily, and you'll happily let him.

"That's it, Sunshine. You're doing so well for me right now - such a good girl for me," he whispers in your ear as he gently brings you down from the high he brought you to. He might not have given you an orgasm, but there are other ways in which he can leave you fully satisfied, and that's precisely what he did now.

"I love you so much, Tony, and I think it's about time we are going to face your Mom," you tell him after turning around. The two of you share a few more kisses under the warm water before he nods, though you both take your sweet time to change into something nice and casual to lounge around the house in.

You're opting for grey loungewear; whereas Tony chooses to go for a black and white outfit with a hoodie from the college you're both attending. Both of you finish your looks with your glasses, and now, it's time to go and face the reality of what happened earlier.

As you walk down the stairs, Tony interlaces his fingers with yours, squeezing softly to calm your nerves. What happened was embarrassing enough for him, but since you have seen your in-laws only three times before today, it is about ten times worse for you.

Unfortunately, you have to go through the dining room to get to the kitchen, and Howard and Maria are always sitting there in the morning as they're enjoying their breakfast together. Usually, this would be fine, but knowing what Maria saw earlier has made the situation much more difficult, and you're growing more scared to face her.

"T-Tony," you say with a shaky voice, squeezing his hand to get his attention. He stops at the bottom of the stairs while you're still on the first step, making you eye-level with one another. Your concern is visible on your face, and Tony feels terrible that you must go through this now.

"It's okay, Sunshine; I promise you that it's going to be okay," he whispers, though it's difficult for you to believe him. It's not that you don't want to believe him, but something inside you is yelling at you to turn around and make a run for it so that you don't have to face the situation you're about to walk into.

"I-I don't think I can go in there, Tony; she saw us having sex! I mean, how can I face her after that?!" you tell him, tears starting to well up again at the thought, and Tony's heart shatters at the sight of you being sad. You may have only been together for a few short months, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about your feelings.

"Sunshine, can you please listen to me for a moment?" he asks gently, and you wipe your tears away before you nod.

"I know it will be awkward and embarrassing, but we must go through it. I know my Mom, and I promise it won't stay this way for long. I'll be there by your side the entire time, and everything is going to be okay, alright?" his hands are lying on your cheeks as his thumbs catch your tears before wiping them away.

Deep inside, you know he's right, and you'll get through this. You can overcome anything with Tony by your side; this will be no exception. With one last deep sigh and a reassuring kiss, you pick yourself back together and retake Tony's hand, ready to face what's on the other side of the door.

As you step in, there's nothing but an awkward silence, which is the complete opposite of Maria's usual morning chatter. Howard was reading his newspaper, but he quickly put that on the table as he took in what was happening. It's never this quiet in the mornings, and he knows something's up.

"What's going on here? You're all awfully quiet this morning," Howard asks with a quirked brow, but all he sees is that you are all turning a dark shade of red and avoiding each other's gazes.

"N-nothing!" Tony says before pulling you into the kitchen; he attempts to get you out of the awkwardness. When you're in there, you two look at each other and can't help but let out a nervous laugh, the realization of the situation slowly sinking in with the two of you. Tony pulls you into his arms, his lips pressing a soft kiss on your hairline, calming you down immensely.

"I love you, Tony, more than I can ever explain to you," you whisper before tilting your head and gently kissing his lips. When he lets you out of his hold, you're going to make a simple breakfast for the both of you.

Once your breakfast is ready, you allow yourself a few more moments to gather the courage to go in and face the situation head-on. As you walk into the dining room, you take your usual place, but you avoid Maria's gaze at all costs, and all you can do is assume she's doing the same.

"So, how did you two lovebirds sleep last night?" Howard asks, and all he gets in response is a mumbled 'Fine!' from Tony, who's seemingly very interested in his breakfast. His gaze doesn't leave his plate for even a moment, and you're looking everywhere, as long as you don't have to look at anyone directly.

"And do you two have anything planned for today, or will you stay with us for a change?" he tries again, but there's no response this time. The silence in the dining room was deafening, and Maria was the only one who dared to look at both of you, the discomfort visible on your face.

"Y/N? Shall we step outside for a moment? I think it's good if we talk for a moment," Maria offers, and you nod. You look at Tony, who gives you a reassuring smile, and with that, you walk out of the room, the feeling of tension in your body already much lighter than before. As you and Maria go to the living room, Howard decides to talk with his son to understand what happened.

"Tony, can you please tell me what's going on? Because it's obvious something happened, and I'm starting to get a little worried about the three of you. It's way too silent this morning, and I miss my usual morning chatter," Howard says with a small smile, and Tony nods, albeit slightly reluctant.

"This morning, Mom walked in on Sunshine and me having sex, and ever since then, things have been extremely awkward between us and Mom," he tells his Dad, and Howard can't help but chuckle at his words. It's not exactly funny, but he couldn't help but think about the conversations he had about Maria and this happening one day.

"Listen, Tony, I know what happened is embarrassing, but it's also nothing to be worried about. Your Mom and I have talked about this before, and it was only a matter of time before this was going to happen. All we can hope is that the two of you have learned from it and maybe lock the bedroom door from now on," Howard says with his eyebrows raised, and Tony knows his Dad is right.

"You're right, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing that Mom saw us; I mean, who wants to be caught having sex?! But yeah, we're going to be more careful from now on, that's for sure," he says with a smile on his face, and with that, the air is cleared between the two of them.

In the meantime, you are having a heart-to-heart with Maria, which makes you realize you have nothing to worry about.

"C'mere, let's sit on the couch to get a bit more comfortable," she offers, and you nod, taking your place beside her. The nerves are still swirling around your body, but as soon as her first words leave her mouth, they all melt away.

"First off, I want to say I'm sorry for what happened this morning, but I also want to let you know it's okay. I mean, you two love each other, and that's very clear; it's normal for you two to have sex. I know it's embarrassing that I caught you two, but there's no need to be ashamed. I even told Howard the other day you're truly like a daughter to me, and to see Tony so happy fills my heart with excitement. You're important to him, and you're important to us, too," she tells you, and you can feel the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes at her sweet words.

"Thank you for that, Maria; it means a lot to hear you say that. Being away from my Mom is difficult, but you're like my bonus Mom, and I love you so much. I'm very grateful for everything you and Howard do for me, and I wouldn't want it any other way," you tell her, and now it's her turn to get teared up.

"I love you too, Y/N; now come here because I need a hug from my daughter," she tells you, and you smile broadly before leaning in and enveloping her in your arms. Knowing that Howard and Maria are there for you no matter what has your heart feeling full and your face hurts from how much you're smiling.

About fifteen minutes after his talk with Howard, Tony could hear the laughter coming from the living room, making him curious about what was happening. Tony gets up and walks into the living room, and he's greeted by the sight of you and Maria looking at his baby photos, making him blush deeply as he realizes what photos Maria is showing you.

"Look, My Love, it's you walking around naked!" you tell him with a big smile on your face, and he's relieved to see the sparkle in your eyes again, letting him know you're doing a whole lot better and the talk with Maria has helped you immensely. As you're holding up the photo where he's proudly showing off his tiny white butt to the camera with his diaper in his hand, he lets out an embarrassed groan, but he can't help but smile at the photo, too.

"When Tony was little, he had this tendency to pull off his diaper and just swing it around as he waddled everywhere with his cute butt showing. It didn't matter where we were; he constantly took it off!" Maria tells you, and Tony shakes his head with a smile.

"He still enjoys walking around naked nowadays; I guess some things never change!" you tell Maria, and you go into a massive fit of laughter, leaving Tony blushing profoundly and shaking his head in embarrassment. Although, he can see the bright side of the story, too.

"Do you two ladies have room for one more?" Tony asks, and you nod before getting up, allowing him to sit at the spot you just occupied before placing your butt on his lap. It's your favorite place to be seated, after all.

He wraps his arms around your waist; his hands clasped on your stomach as he looks over your shoulder at the photos in the album while Maria talks your ear off about every one of them. From family members you have never heard about to stories that get funnier the older Tony gets, you can not get enough of them.

"I hope our future babies look as cute as you, My Love. That would mean they're perfect," you tell Tony as you let yourself melt into his touch, and he somewhat agrees.

"You think I'm cute?" Tony asks with a quirked brow, and you nod happily, kissing his cheek softly.

"Yeah, you were back then, and you still are now," you tell him proudly, and he can feel the warmth flooding through his veins at your confession. He's filled with love right now and feels like a lucky man with you in his arms.

"Well, I secretly hope they look like you, Sunshine! Because if they do, it would mean we would have the most beautiful babies on the planet," he tells you, and you feel the warmth flowing through your body at the thought. If only you would know what your future has in store for the two of you.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, and when it's finally time for you and Tony to go to bed, you're hoping to have a do-over of the morning - though preferably without the interruption. As you step into the bedroom, you lock the door behind you, a mischievous grin on your face as you look at Tony.

"What do you think? Shall we finish what we started this morning? I believe we still owe each other an orgasm," you tell Tony as you strip off your clothes until you're entirely bare for him. In his enthusiasm and impatience to get to the bed, he almost trips over his pants on the way. Luckily, he catches himself before that happens, making you chuckle at the sight.

Tony gets seated with his back against the headboard, his legs slightly spread as you walk over to the foot of the bed. You take your time to get seated on the bed, placing kisses from his shins to his thighs, your hands massaging him everywhere except for where he needs you most.

"S-Sunshine, please, don't tease me," he growls, and you just wink at him before wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, and taking his tip into your mouth with a suckle. A soft moan escapes your throat at the taste of him, and his head falls against the headboard as the pleasure builds inside him.

"God, you have such a perfect mouth," he says, his hips rutting up as you suck more of him into your mouth, your hand pleasuring the rest of his cock. His hands are tightly holding the sheets as he's trying not to cum yet, which is proving more difficult than he thought.

"Hmmm, S-Sunshine, 'm close!" he tells you, and you let him go with a wet pop before sitting up and capturing his lips with yours. As your tongues mingle together, he can taste himself on your tongue, and it is one of the hottest things he's ever experienced with you.

When you were working your magic with your mouth, you were clenching around nothing but air from anticipation, arousal flooding your pussy constantly at the sweet sounds tumbling from Tony's lips. As a result, it doesn't take long for you to have reached for a condom and rolled it onto his length, ready to split you open just the way you like.

"Are you ready, My Love?" you ask, and he nods, his hands on your hips as you line him up with your entrance before sinking at a slow, almost teasing pace as you let yourself adjust to the stretch of him in your pussy. Your face is buried in his neck as you take inch after inch of him, and when he bottoms out, you let out a shared moan that has you gushing around his cock.

"You're so fucking big, I can never get enough of you or your cock! I love you so much, Tony; I can't wait to have a beautiful baby with you one day," you tell him as you roll your hips, trying to find a comfortable rhythm for the two of you. When you've found it, you're bouncing on his cock with a delicious pace that has him hitting your sweet spot each time, and the whimpers and moans coming from you are quickly becoming uncontrollable.

"Are you close, Sunshine? Is my girl about to cum?" he asks when your pace starts to falter slightly, and you nod before pulling his face to yours, capturing his lips with yours in a bruising kiss as Tony's fingers find your clit.

You moan into his mouth as your tongues dance passionately together, and it doesn't take long for you to fall apart on his cock, and for him to shoot his load into the latex wrapped around him, which he is now wishing wouldn't have been there.

He's been dreaming of having you bare ever since your first time together, but you couldn't be careful enough. When you've both come down from your highs, you keep the comfortable positions you're sitting in now, Tony still nestled deep inside your warmth.

"I love you, Sunshine," he tells you, and with a mumbled ''love you too'' you nuzzle your face into his neck, enjoying each other's closeness without exchanging a single word. Both your hearts are overflowing with love for each other, and you couldn't be happier than you are now, nestled in the arms of the man you'll be spending the rest of your life with.

[yutasbimil]

Outlier

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (5/8) [series fic] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: hurt/comfort, smut cw: nsfw minors dni, p0rn w/ plot, first time, kissing, drunk/intoxicated, angst to soft comfort *cue ugly sobbing*, oral (female receiving), teasing, fingering, overstimulation, dom/sub; top/bottom dynamic, dirty talking (kinda silly tho), kinky; hair pulling/slapping, dumbification, multiple orgasms, passionate af; dammit vyn, rough sex, unprotected sex, aftercare, FLUFF ! ! ! D; + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 4.8k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

do not repost © yutasbimil (2023)

cont.

Vyn carries her back into the hotel room. The tension was as heavy as the wooden door shutting close behind them.

She had her face red, tears leaking due to the hotness she was feeling. It managed to be cooled off a bit by the white soft sheets of the hotel bed. Yule reeks of alcohol, much reddened by embarrassment. Never in her life had she got this drunk.

Though she’s  a bit  tipsy– a little more than calculated– as good as she is at math, her attempts once again misfired; miscalculated.

Yule goes on what we may call  pouncing  at him once they get into their room, getting hold of him being clingy as she is, opposite to the restrained Yule that feels allergic to even leaving a touch on his finger. 

Of course, Vyn respects her by remaining at arm's length by holding her shoulders to balance her weight. Even if it was intentional or if she wanted to get intimate with him, he digressed. She's drunk, that's of the utmost importance to keep in mind.

The tiredness seeping into them really weighed them like the feeling you have after a party. And here lies the unresolved tension within the hotel room.

She feels her head-turning, much like a black hole sucking in every fiber of her system.

"Fuck, never doing this again." It's more on a declaration although more assured of never getting wasted up to this point. At most, she wouldn't want to be near anything alcoholic for a long long while. "I'm so sorry, Vyn." 

"You keep apologizing…" His voice is soft, indistinguishable for Yule especially with his utmost concern seeing her like this.

She has her arm atop her forehead but it's anything but helpful as it's still heavy as fuck. Compared to the weight Vyn has on his chest as she has him close, he's really the type of person with the body temp to be on the colder side. 

The cold silence between them pales in comparison to the actuality of their heated thoughts.

"It's not just… me being… so drunk." Yule felt her hot desire to quench her thirst. Her throat felt so desert dry. "I'm…"

Yule rethinks every decision she made, even the very reason why she even pursued Vyn in the first place. She's too much of a burden to be with the likes of him. She's a wreck.

Vyn felt the heaviness of her core with her deep sigh, and the tinge of regret in the quiver of her gaze, which honestly, pulled a heartstring at the moment she looked at him with such pity in her eyes.

How unfortunate of you to be with me.

"Why does it look like you're going to push me away anytime soon?" Vyn states,  but aren’t they already here? Is there even a chance to walk away now? 

Vyn further inspects her blank stares of hesitance. There's a heaviness at the pit of his stomach.

But I also don’t want to leave her alone.

"Am I not doing it already?" She says in a monotone. The grip of her hands by his arm says otherwise as if begging for her dear life to not let go.

Honesty does spill more through actions…

Vyn chortles at that, nodding slightly and looking away. He just lets her hold on to his hand despite the denial she’s been putting up all this time. The man doesn’t let her fully lie down though.

“Okay, you'll be pushing me away then… At least when I let go, sober up first so it wouldn’t hurt as much in the morning, hmmm?” Vyn supports the back of her head, lifting her body so she can sit right up.

She’s just quiet, praying that he still firmly believes this painted demeanor of her drunken state is certainly caused by the alcohol.  Yeah, it's definitely still the alcohol.

Though, her impetus for her blushing is for a different reason.

Yule felt everything moving slower around them. Listening to his words, dragged her more mesmerized, taken by the flow of the softness of his low voice. It is amplified within the closed space they’re encapsulated in.

Yule is unconsciously driven to his lead, listening to what he’s telling her to do.

"Drink water, it is to lessen the headache upcoming." His intent as he takes hold of her carefully, shows his real desire through his movements.

Absent-mindedly, she blurts out her question as she keeps following her eyes at him.

“Why do you like me?”

Vyn can't answer properly, she's a plethora of admirable things, but despite that, his interest and feelings towards her are abstract; unexplainable by concrete words alone… 

"You're fascinating… as a person, you're many things if I can put it into words." He didn't let the dryness of the pre-consumed alcohol hold back his thoughts. "I’m still going along with it, Yule and I’d be willing to restate it once again you’ve sobered up." 

His voice is soft, full of assurance, yet even at this moment, she remains blinded and deafened by her insecurities. She quickly vents her rebuttal, as if putting up a concrete wall between them.

“I’m horrible and too much, I'm always overwhelming to be around, and just…  too much . Would you stay despite all that?” She's shaking, vulnerable as her tone shows how she’s all over the place.

I'm anything but that—  she felt hostile towards what she heard. He knows she needs to be calmed down.

“Yule, what are you saying?  Hmmm?”  He attempts to touch her cheek, but Vyn gets cut off by the swift hand warding him off.

"Earlier, I…" The conclusion in her tone came forth along her tears, it burned his cheeks seeing her like this. In her mind, it hurt her how earlier it came off as a rejection, with Vyn avoiding any means of contact with her. “I actually thought you don’t want to continue…  this … as I thought you don’t want me…” 

Yule is gesturing to her and him; them.

Vyn holds back his hand that's supposed to reach out to her. “I was only hesitant to do it with you as you’re intoxicated, in thoughts of taking advantage of you. I held back… I didn't mean to have ill intention towards my restraint, dear.”

He thoroughly explains to her, but she remains quiet as her current belief is swiftly toppled over his rationale. She lowers her head, unable to construct any argument back.

“Of course, I want to be with you, Yule. I’m still here, am I not? I won't go anywhere…” Especially when she's like this, she can't be left alone. He's talking some sense and logic in her as she starts clinging tightly to his polo shirt. It is getting more and more tear-stained, but it also pools warmth in both their chests.

This hug is proof that he still likes her despite everything.

-

Vyn helps her sober up and calm down, having a crying fit also made Yule feel guilty as she may put him through all this crap.

She apologizes again as they always seem to end up in mishaps.

"I'd be willing to work through it with you, but of course, I'm also human. I only have to do much and of course, I also have my limits and shortcomings." Vyn acknowledges her worries. She knows full well how hard relationships can be.   They're willing. 

And she's difficult to handle, she’s well aware that she has inadequacies. But she does like him, like a whole lot. And she wants to actively work on herself and work through this relationship with him.

She feels sorry for being so closed off.

But he feels an ache in him, he’s also not being fully honest with himself. And not being open with her with his own baggage as well.

"I want to make up with you as soon as possible." Yule starts, getting back to his effort by closing off a different type of distance between them. She leaves a few centimeters gap, letting their breaths linger close. "Will it be fine this way?"

Finally closing the gap, they also didn't leave any space between their fingers as they gripped into both their holds. 

It felt electric to the lips, Yule's eyes had to quiver at the sensation. Vyn pulls away for a moment, moving by her forehead. Vyn starts chaste by her eyes, kissing her tears away as she’s growing emotional again. They kissed again as it felt eons that they hadn’t touched, till they got lost in calculation.

She grabs hold of his collar for support, letting go again for a moment of breath.

Every touch of the man was unfaltering as he planted more touches into her skin. Vyn reaches out for her face to meet their lips for the fifth? Seventh?— Yule already lost count at this point, but her greed is only starting to grow.

A confession slipped off her lips, both looking more obviously swollen already.

"I was really anticipating this, and I've been thinking of when would be the next time we'll actually do   it  ." The pressed syllable on the end implied as clear as daylight to the man. 

His look reciprocated how it didn't leave his mind as well, though it appeared teasing.

"What a naughty girl you are."

"I am very much so…" Yule giggles, but it's anything but bashful. "How can I not be when I have such a handsome man alone in a hotel room? Better yet make use of the opportunity."

Her forwardness really pushed Vyn to the edge, just in time as he's got his gauge of patience filled, it’s growing dire.

"Let's use and make haste for the night." He chuckles, placing a kiss on her warm cheek. Fervently placing a moist kiss by her collarbone the next. "Very soon," he appealed as he lowered the straps of her dress further down. 

As turbulent and quick-paced the past weeks with her had been, he was hooked  badly . Down bad as he’s inexplicably attracted to her aura.

He’s intrigued at the very next pages they would go through. Like reading a book, the uncanniness of how he would spread her open now are like pages cascading down to his expected outcome. 

Although, the onset of the scenarios up to this point of deep entrancement, it is full of unpredictability. It is also as abundant as the card pool probability. It draws him more to his curiosity. Turns out the next outcome just led Vyn into pulling their fates closer and closer to each other.

Yule’s gaze is fully engaged on his pretty, veiny fingers by his silk necktie, straight down her line of sight on the way his hand removes it. Some part of her aches for it to remain tied around his neck, alas, she could only grab hold of him with her own weakening hands. His golden eyes were sharp and entrancing at his sultry movements, anticipation pooled all over her system.

She gradually became enervated as Vyn kissed her by the ear, breathing down her neck the next. He starts seductively licking her bare shoulder, she shudders at his voice. “I’m going to make you   not   forget about me after tonight, m’lady.”

 "Ahh-hmmm…   I’m afraid that’s an impossible task with you, love.   "  Yule didn’t have a chance to catch her breath as she was cut short, Vyn was quick to grab hold of her chest with his free hand. While the other pulls down her dress to let her breasts free, she sucks in a breath the same way as the man sucks at her erect nipples. 

They got sensitive to the cold however their bodies are anything but frigid. Vyn strips off her clothes, one by one meeting the carpeted floor.

“Ahhh… that’s so good, please.   Ah-  ” Yule mewls, restraining herself from grabbing hold of his scalp. Their senses are also heightened, due to having to just recover from alcohol earlier. But she's more attentive now as she is enticed by his mellow motions. Vyn didn’t leave any room for disappointment as he attended to both breasts, leaving no gaps for Yule in her moans of pleasure.

It left her core pooled in anticipation all the more as she waited for this for who knows how long. Her impatience is growing more explicit with her ardent whimpers. “Vyn,   fuck–   you’re making this harder for me,   I want you.” 

“Patience, my dear. Good things take their sweet time…” Vyn divulged, pausing to even tease a painfully slow lick by both her nipples, then by the bare skin of her breasts. He gives it a suck as he uses the other hand to twist and hover over her erect knobs. He keeps his golden eyes direct with hers this whole time. “And I want to pleasure you to my utmost care, pleasured to the edge… sloppily wet and ready… before the most anticipated segment.”

“Vyn… how cruel. This hurts more…” Yule gulps a breath, moaning as he now touches the very much heated, moist core in between her legs. Every touch of his felt mouth-watering, as if his presence was a bell ringing, alarming her salivary glands. She knows Vyn means well to treat her right, but  goddamn  she didn’t expect this to feel more of a torture to crave for his dick.

“It’s… Vilhelm. Call me Vilhelm." He paused, feeling Yule tense up as he pulled away momentarily. "It ought to be rude not to address your lover properly, hmmm?”

“Is that why you chose Vyn to be short?” She can’t pinpoint where she got turned on, is it the sudden admission of his name, indicating his intimacy or him indicating that they’re true lovers.

He nods as if a weight got off him with those syllables, they ought to venture more about that later to be sat down. But first things first.

She feels him loosen up as they take the next steps. She takes this as a sign to also loosen the wrapped belt around his waist.

Yule also removes his polo shirt to not be the only one exposed to the other.

She almost gasps at the scene seeing his toned chest, but his eyes are more stripped naked in his state, vulnerable with his glassy eyes staring back at her.

“I want to make you feel good too.”

Yule pulls him close, wrapping her hands around his neck to place kisses by his cheeks, a lingering peck to the ear, up the forehead, and letting her lips run wild all over his skin. Anywhere that is possible and bare to her sight.

“Later, Yule. You first,” he insists as if heeding him down to lay on her back. 

In his dominant stare, she had no choice but to be vulnerable. She’s now got her legs spread wide open, ready like eagle wings to soar– and in this case, to be eaten by him as he takes her up the skies. 

“Does this feel good?” Vyn says in between him licking the exterior of her nerves and then inserting a finger into her wet core. He still wants a clear ‘yes’ despite the restrained mewls she elicits. “No need to hold back, love.”

“Yes,  yes… ah—   ” She’s just keeping control to keep sane from the overstimulation. But he never misses a beat in his rhythm. “   Fuck–   this is making me crazy, ah, ooh… please.” 

Followed again by strings of vowels as he moved more pleasantly crudely with his tongue and fingers. As much as he’s whispering sweet nothings to her, he’s fucking foul with what his mouth and body could do to her.

She bucked her hips, almost curving to the sensation as he also touched the other part of her nether regions. “Wait,   uhhh,   shit, love– what are you doing?”

“Is this not to your taste?” he asks, now just hovering a bit by her butthole. Honestly, she’s taken aback and reinstates her thoughts. “I’m quite indifferent here… uhmmm, I never thought of going there, Vyn.”

“I could take it slow and I’ll go along with the feeling if you’re still alright?” 

She nods, and he maneuvers into it slowly, observing her in her response. It takes her a while to get the feel of it, but it’s getting too much at the same time, She almost yelps as he moves back and forth to a sensitive portion.

She never experienced touching both holes.

Her pleasure and voice is pivoting further out the room, she’s too damn close.

It's far beyond compared to when she masturbates, let alone when she touches herself. She can't believe she'd be feeling this good and tended by a man.

As much as he's enough to give her needs, she’s pushed to the edge of insanity due to the pleasure. But it leaves her more unsatiated and hungry for Vyn.

She felt her throat dry, and her thirst and salivating senses left her exhausted. Yule wants his lips on hers, tongue gauging and fighting with hers. She wants to be nasty with him. But he's too busy swimming into her pool of pleasure, fingers simultaneously macerated already.

Vyn's mouth is moist due to her wetness.

Yet, Yule is left in too much overload with pleasure due to his fingers and tongue on work, She ought to be filled quicker to her limit.

The squelching sounds of his thirst felt scorching in comparison to her hot core, she's bulking her hips at every resistance she's fighting to come over her peak.

“Vilhelm, too much… let me,   please , rest…   hmphh ,   ah-   love.” Yule is too loud at this point, she's glad the walls are thick and private in their own cavern. She caves in feeling something white, awaiting to erupt all over her pit of stomach, down her legs shaking at the sensation. Then another sensation bulldozed into her as Vyn kept going in ramming and twisting curling his finger in her G-spot.

She feels something big coming.

 Is that even possible?!   Even surprised ‘O’ shaped her mouth due to moaning out loud. "Vyn…   hnghhh—   fuck!”

It was too late to let Vyn know as she already climaxed. He lets her senses reverberate in his presence, still letting her ride into her orgasm by lapping his tongue into her whilst pumping his fingers in her.

Yule wasn't able to control herself on how good Vyn was doing. She didn't know she had to  beg  him to stop making her feel so good.

Both of them are left in heaving breaths, although Yule's is more labored compared to his.

“Exhausted already? We're just getting started.” Vyn has a mischievous tone in him, making Yule exert extra energy to roll her eyes at him. This seems a different side of him. She had to smirk. “Sorry, I can’t keep up with you, Doctor.”

The shift in the nickname had him chuckle. “So you’re willing to tend to you then, Miss Saints?”

They had to take a quick laugh at the sudden ‘roleplay’ vibe they accidentally established. 

She spreads her arms for a fleeting hug. “Give me some oxytocin then, Dr. Richter.”

Vyn took this as a chance to hover over her, locking her in between his arms to guide her into another position, His eyes are now filled with more energy, she pales in comparison to her ragged breaths.

She gulps for fear or anticipation, she can’t seem to decide.

Guess she’s putting her hips to work again, her wetness also keeps on flowing at cue. Yule had to blush at her shamelessness.

“Looks like you’re already set, Yule?” Vyn takes a swift swap at her swollen wet core. She shivers and elicits a soft mewl at that.

“Same goes to you, Vilhelm,” she breathes out an amused laugh, pointing to his erect bulge, touching through the fabric. She removes his brief so it’s out of the way.

Vyn lays her back down, and they’re back to their position with him hovering over her, in close proximity. Seeing what was about to unfold soon, she had to gulp.

“W-wait,” Yule blocks her wet core, seeing her suddenly erratic, Vyn holds her hand. 

“Are you scared? We can stop her–”

“I mean  yes , but I don’t want to stop…” Her anxiety shows through her cold sweat, but she breathes out. “I’m just afraid as it’s my first time.”

“I’ll make the best out of your experience, but you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

It is valid, and Vyn looks directly at her, full of softness and patience. Yule feels her senses relax again, his body and presence feeling more light and present.

“As scary as it is, this is a risk I’m willing to make. We’re already here, aren’t we?” She doesn’t want to waste anything any further. The same shows how she is at ease with her muscles relaxed.

Vyn nods, placing a quick kiss by the side of her face till he distances himself for a moment. He angles his erection into her, the hotness of his dick was too much just by the surface. The insertion was as impactful as his fixated eyes into hers.

Then the relief as he puts it in is  phenomenal .

“Vyn, please, slowly. But, ahhh… so good already.” She grabs onto his toned arms, he breathes in as he flips his bangs off his face momentarily then smiles over her. “Is this how you imagined it to go?”

“It’s   beyond   what I expected.”

He had to spread a smile on that. “We’re just starting… So let's go over that expectation of yours, alright?”

He starts slow as Yule feels every centimeter of his begins indulging in her. “  Ahhh,   yes, yes. More… please.” 

Vyn easily puts it in but she’s in it for another adjustment, adjusting to his length and width, she’s spread open and vulnerable in many ways.

This is really far different from anything she had experienced in bed, let alone her first time as she’s lacking all possible experience per se.

"Kiss... me, please." moans of plea gush out of her as Vyn leans in to share his warmth and moist lips with hers. It is tender although opposite to the roughness they're about to delve into.

She didn’t even know that she had such erogenous zones that were  that sensitive  by the ear. Yule had to flinch at a mere licking done in her ear, yelping as he bit onto it– she was in it for another overstimulation as he even played with her breasts and nipples. He really keeps himself busy, hands all over her.

She doesn’t want him to pull off.

Vyn maintains the slow and passionate movements, and she could feel every twitch and bulge he does the lovemaking with his hips to his dick in and out of her.

He goes on ahead in holding her by the arms, then shoulders to angle her better. 

“Is this better?” He pounds into her a bit rougher than usual, and she had to bulk her hips at that.

“Rougher, i-is that fine?” 

To be honest, she wanted to be manhandled, but Vyn had something else in mind on their first ever night together.

“I’ll try…” Vyn listens, his lips and touch still full of passion with every kiss.

She doesn’t comprehend how in the world he keeps it gentle yet vehement. Even as he pulls by her arms to ram into her, pounding her further into reverie.

It pushes her more into pleasure as they switch into another position, her down on all fours, all for him to adore. And it gave him more chance to hold both her arms as he pummeled more into her.

To add a cherry on top for her pleasure, she requests him to pull her hair. The sudden demand had him raise a brow, more on in astonishment. “You seem to like that?”

“Very…”

“You’re very kinky, love.” 

“Yes, sorry…”

“I like you in every way, don’t apologize for that,” Vyn assures her, patting her head gently and then shifting to pull her hair by the scalp a bit roughly. Yule felt her walls wrap around his dick tighter at that. It tightens again at every pull of her hair with his manly hands . 

 This is more like it.   Yule had to shamelessly beam at the roughness, in contrast to the roughness, she feels loved at his treatment and him asking consent in every action. This remains in her fantasies for too long, but she didn’t expect to like it in actuality. She’s much more pleased with this outcome.

The sudden slap by her ass took her aback as well, but with the burning sensation left in her skin, it felt more pleasant than it hurts. She had to gulp on that as she felt her walls tighten around him.

It seems more obvious as Vyn lets out a low groan as he does it once again. Yule lets out an aroused squeal as she goes on to look at him, lips bitten to show her amusement. "Vil... Vilhelm,  Vilhelm , that's so good,  uhh- I like that. Yeah,  oohh... " she giggled, licking her lips as she was stuck in a daze of bliss. She was growing more amused as she kept calling out his name, moaning as sounds of sex echoed around the room. It's growing more evident how it has an effect on the man as he leans in to pepper her bare skin with kisses, leaving marks of his touches on her skin.

Vyn leans in to kiss the nape of her neck, grunting once again before speaking by her ear.

“You’re not the type to want to call your lover, ‘daddy’, hmmm?” Vyn adds the hair pulling didn’t help as it immediately puts Yule off her mood momentarily.

Yule rebuts, quickly turning her head at him to glare at him. “Hell no, I don’t want to summon Freud out of his grave.”

Vyn laughs at that. “He’s got enough resurrectors already, let’s not add to that.”

He brings back the mood, her getting immersed in the intensity of his stares as he brings her back in lying down. Everything seems perfect and comfortable all through the night as they share both of their warmth. Body to body, but the intimacy in their stares. All through the night, keeping the rhythm interesting from erratic pounding, to consistent slow. Reaching the peak together seems so undemanding with how they go hand and hand and how well-balanced they are to each other. 

So this is what it feels like to be loved? 

To be handled with such care… It feels so good.

Looking at him across the bed, Vyn seems to notice her need for body heat and he’s quick to pull her close. Even with them reaching almost morning love-making, it doesn’t seem bland to go on. 

Though, they had to rest… And what better way to end the night to be able to be intimate with him?

“You’re lucky… This is unpaid, unsolicited therapy you’re getting out of me.” Vyn jokes, Yule had to pinch him by the arm and then muzzle over her chest.

“This leans more on unethical than it is free,   Will…   you know, doing   this   type of thing with a therapist.” The new nickname for him seems a bit odd, but they’ll get used to it. 

Vyn shushes her, jokingly putting a finger on her lips. “No need to go on the explicit details, it is confidential and I assure you it’s all safe with me.”

“Okay, okay, but do expect me to have ‘another therapy’ with you, Will…” She says riding along the joke. The nickname rolls off her tongue more naturally now. Vyn pulls her deeper into the hug.

“You know I can offer another type of therapy.”

 “Hmmm?” 

“Physical therapy,” Vyn responds.

The gap in the silence and stare made them laugh, Yule had to brush her face against him to hide her blush. Her chest felt elated with his presence.

“You humor me,” she says, not able to contain a giggle.

This is far different from how things will go, and Vyn actually shares the same thoughts. Though he's willing to handle this as unexpected things have turned out.

As shitty as the night had been for a few hours, he made it better.  I might as well open up to him soon about my situation and give him a clear picture. He needs to know as well.

He’s the outlier she’s willing to accept, but unexpected things really can bring the biggest change in your life. And he seems to be a good chance for her to turn out for the better.

Looking up at the ceiling, the night isn’t as uneventful as the plain white canvas on the ceiling. Their conversation is animated by their voices as they spend the night away talking.

No longer putting her heart up her sleeve, his golden eyes are as welcoming as he stares at her. She sees a bright future with him as glowing as his eyes can be. Who knew there was a smile as that radiating directed at her?

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[anamazingangie]

without reservation | rhaenyra x daemon

🕯️ Rated E 🕯️4.8k words 🕯️ Complete 🕯️ by AmazingAngie🕯️

Tags: canon divergence, minor harwin/rhaenyra, loss of virginity, incest, infidelity, size kink, breeding kink, painful sex, darcyphilia, happy ending

Warnings: ambiguous ages, possible period typical underage

Summary:

“I want to hear you.” He said, words firm. She shook her head before admitting, “I might cry.”  He smiled, a twisted crooked thing, “I’m almost certain you will, my princess.”  She shifted a little—“You won’t stop, if I do?” She asked, nervously.  “Oh sweetheart, I promise you, tears have never been the reason my desire wanes.” Rhaenyra wailed when he seated himself fully inside of her. Her tears were in pain—partially, but they were in relief too. Finally she wasn’t a maiden, and she had her uncle to thank for that. 

part four of ? of amorous autumn / kinktober.

7. darcyphilia / crying during sex / painful sex 

🕯️without reservation🕯️

Rhaenyra was a beautiful bride—her eyes bright and smile wide when she leaned in to kiss her new husband. Harwin Strong was not a prince, but in her eyes he was better. He was a knight, a protector, and best of all—he loved her. 

Her father was pleased that she had finally settled on a match, and one so close to his own advisor. The Strong’s were loyal and trustworthy, a good family to bind themselves to through marriage, even if they were not a particularly famed name. 

Rhaenyra did not need to marry for a name—she was a Targaryen, after all. 

No, she needed to marry because she needed to have an heir. 

But Viserys hoped she would find happiness, too.

There was not a doubt in anyone’s minds that she would have both in her marriage, with how she smiled on her wedding day and seemed to bloom in response to her new husband’s touch. 

Her wedding night, however, wasn’t spent smiling.

No. It was spent with her head buried in a pillow—it muffled her sobs, and hid her tears. Though it could not hide her shame, the pain, the embarrassment. 

.

Harwin was a good man. 

He was a good enough man that when his new wife complained of pain, he stopped. 

No matter how much she pleaded, he wasn’t going to hurt her. He couldn’t, truly. His length flagged just from seeing her wince beneath him. 

He knew violence and suffering from his work and it had no place in his bedroom. He wouldn’t inflict such things on his wife. The mere thought made him feel sick. 

 She was young, and stressed from the day. They would try again, he promised. 

.

Harwin was a good man. 

He was, perhaps, not good with his fingers. 

Not that either he nor Rhaenyra were aware of this. 

But it meant they made little progress, and all attempts had ended much like the first. 

Despite being married for twenty days, Rhaenyra was still a maiden.  

Harwin insisted it was enough to kiss her, and to lay with her. 

It wasn’t enough for her, though. 

.

It was strange how all the things she loved about him were the same things causing her resentment. 

She could hardly complain—what would she say? Her husband was too kind. Her husband didn’t wish to hurt her. Her husband was too honorable to even stay aroused when she was in any sort of distress.

Gods, women would swoon at the thought of a man so honorable. And Rhaenyra would have, too, a month ago. 

But now…

Rhaenyra knew she was more than a vessel for an heir. But that was all she was to her father, and his council, and his kingdom. The expectation of conceiving someday was there, it was why she had wed. And the lack of success and consummating the match was a failing that seemed to guarantee her future failure, too. . 

But what could she do? It was too late to tell someone. It would invalidate the marriage and make them vulnerable. More than that, it was embarrassing. Harwin has been promoted to Commander of City Watch, and though he had thrived in the role, men were fickle creatures. They were eager to compare their virility in a bedroom to all they did beyond it—this fact would make Harwin seem weak, even if the  kindness should have been seen as a strength. 

It was embarrassing for her, too. She had failed to take him—her duty as his wife, perhaps her singular duty as his wife. 

She tried. She was willing! She begged him. She knew any pain would fade, but Harwin denied her. And every time she was left naked, alone, and humiliated. 

If she believed in a god, she would pray to them. 

Pray for someone who loved her without reservation. 

Pray for someone who would hurt her in this way. 

.

Daemon returned a moon later and was apologetic for missing her wedding—”I would have liked to see it—or at least the bedding ceremony.” He said with a teasing leer. 

At the mention of that, Rhaenyra burst into tears. 

The truth came out with them, as she cried into the leather vest covering her uncle’s chest. 

.

He kissed the top of her head, shushing away her worries and fears as his thumbs brushed tears off her reddened cheeks.

“I’m here now, I’ll help you. I promise.” 

He had never broken a promise to her before. She knew he wouldn’t break this one, either, and the relief it brought her was palpable. 

.

Harwin complained at supper that patrols had been changed—as commander he could adjust the schedules, giving him a reprieve opposed to taking night shifts three days in a row, but that would be unfair. 

“I shall miss you.” He said with a smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She nodded, poking at her food, realizing this meant he would not come to her rooms that week. “I shall miss you, too.” she said. 

It was partially true.

She liked being held at night. The warmth and comforting embrace that reminded her of sneaking into her mother or uncle’s rooms when she was a girl. But with Harwin it made her heartache, too, for his presence in her bed reminded her of what they had failed to do there. 

.

She did not consider that her uncle had orchestrated her husband’s absence. Not until she entered her rooms, ready to retire for the evening, only to find him seated at the table she often ate breakfast at. 

“I was not expecting you.” She said, though she wasn’t upset, not really. 

He leaned back in his chair—the action rude for he should stand in greeting her, the princess, but they had never cared about such formalities. 

“I do not make promises lightly, princess.” He said, his voice smooth. 

“Perhaps, but even so I was not expecting you so soon.” She said, correcting herself. 

He tilted his head, “I wished to unburden my niece of her troubles, I would not wish suffering upon her for a moment longer. I saw little reason to wait.” 

Her lip trembled, he sounded so very sincere. He beckoned for her then, pulling her into his arms and lap. Cradling her like she was a little girl while she clung to him. 

“My poor niece has been neglected, does your husband not even do this? Does he not even hold you?” She shook her head, he didn’t, not really. He was afraid to even touch her, most nights, for fear she might find pain in it.

That memory emboldened her—Daemon was here to help her. She wanted to know what that would entail. And so she asked him what was to come. 

Daemon’s hand, the one running up and down her back, stilled. “I shall tell you, but you must undress first.” 

Rhaenyra felt her cheeks flush. It had to be done, she supposed, in order for him to aid her. 

She hadn’t expected him to help, though. It felt oddly intimate, having a man undo the laces and hooks of her dress. Harwin had always come to her later—after she had changed into a chemise, either on her own or with the help of a servant. The sensation of his deft fingers and short nails pulling through the lacing was…nice. She could feel the heat of him behind her, too, and his breath on her neck. 

When the dress was in a puddle of fabric on the floor, he peeled the chemise over her head—done so quickly she was too surprised to stop him. She hadn’t realized by undressed he meant fully nude. But she didn’t want to doubt his methods when he was helping her. She was still as a statue—and naked as one too, save for the silk stockings that clung to her legs. 

Daemon made no move to touch her, and she found herself almost…disappointed by that, even more so when he backed away. 

“Come here—yes, on the table.” He said, tapping the surface of the wood as she turned and looked at him with confusion. She did what he said, feeling awkward as she sat on it, still naked and now with her feet dangling slightly off the floor. 

“Now lay back.” Daemon said. She swallowed, still unsure, but she followed the instruction. She felt a warm hand wrap around her ankle—and she damned the stocking that prevented her from feeling it fully. He gently brought the ankle to the table's height, and then—oh.

He repeated the action with her other ankle—the positioning of them had her feet flat on the table, and her knees bent, forcing her thighs to part and fully display her folds. Gods, this was humiliating. She bit her lip, willing him to say something, but the only sound in the room was of fabric shifting—him sitting, and then the scratch of the chair scooting closer. She tilted her head up, slightly, to see him staring intently at her most private parts. 

She wanted to cry. This was stupid, she was about to close her legs when his hand stroked her ankle—the pressure of a thumb on the sloping bone helping to calm her, despite the humiliation of the pose. 

“This is how a Maester would examine you—but I will attempt to make it less dreadful, and I beg you to feel no shame.” His words were almost reverent when he next spoke, “You’re beautiful, Rhaenyra. You always have been, trust me—have confidence in your beauty here too.” He whispered, and she thought he might be leaning in closer. 

Her own breath hitched at the compliment, suddenly feeling a bit warm. 

“I’ve seen more cunts than I can count—whores, lady’s,  queen’s, and everything in between, but none as perfect as yours.” He said, sounding sincere. 

“I have to touch you, to help.” He said—opposed to asking her if he could touch her. But he did say, “I shall stop, if you ask me too. I promise.” 

She nodded, and he squeezed her ankle before it began. 

He pressed on her stomach and stroked around the flesh between her legs—gently parting her folds but making no effort to penetrate. His fingers moved above her slit, his thumb gently pressing a bud of flesh that rested there. 

“Has he touched you here?” Daemon asked, and she shrugged. He had tried, she thought. But he had large hands, his fingers were not very precise. 

Her uncle made a humming noise, and she heard the sound of a bottle uncorking. His finger returned to that spot, this time slick with something, and then he began rubbing. 

Gods, that was lovely. She wanted more of that. It was like the coil of arousal she had felt was finally expanding—lengthening into a spring as it was all drawn to the place where his finger was—and then he stopped. 

She whimpered, and Daemon calmed her before once again parting her folds. “Good, that’s good.” He murmured, “You’re wet now—you just needed to feel good, before your cunt would consider allowing something inside it. Some women can’t get wet, but not you—not your perfect cunt, it’ll weep and gush as it should, it  just requires your partner to earn it first.” 

Rhaenyra blushed, not sure what to think about that. 

“Now that you’re wet this shouldn’t hurt.” Daemon said, and she felt a digit slip into her. She whimpered a little at the stretch—though he was right, it didn’t hurt, exactly. He curled it inside of her before thrusting it gently. When he paired the movement with his thumb pressing down on that spot above she—ohhhh.

She was moaning, she thought, and her head ached from where it had slammed against the table. She didn’t even notice when he added another finger, too concerned with the pleasure. Her hips arched against his hand as she rode out her release—her first release, before collapsing back to the lacquered wood 

Daemon was stroking her still, his fingers wet and slipping easily across her skin. “That was good, Rhaenyra. Now—you’re relaxed and wet, this is when a man should try and enter you,” Her breath hitched, and Daemon smiled—”Or,” he continued, “When they should try to stretch you for such an entry.” 

Two fingers pressed back in, curling and making her plead for something. Something more. 

A third finger squeezed in between the other two, sinking in without incident but making her hiss when it settled fully inside her. It wasn’t the stretch so much as the sharp sensation of cool metal on the hot overstretched skin of her cunt—a signet ring. A Targaryen signet ring. She thought with a whimper. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but the ring reminded her of who was doing this to her—her uncle, her Daemon, and she wanted to watch. 

He had been watching her, she realized with a little gasp—her eyes opening only to see his own gazing at her in return. And then she saw his mouth move before she heard the words, it was as if everything was off slightly. 

“Do you want more?” He asked, and she nodded without hesitation. “What do you want?” He followed, and her brow creased—wasn’t it obvious? He smiled, a soft thing, at her confusion. 

“I could fill you with a taper—just enough to rid you of the film that ails you.” She shook her head, she didn’t want him to remove his fingers only to replace it with some object as impersonal as a taper. 

“The alternative is my cock, Rhaenyra.” He said. She knew he was going to say it, watching his lips form the harsh sounds with an eagerness that was shown when she nodded in response. 

He smiled, fingers lazily pumping into her while his other hand freed his tunic from his trousers. He’d already removed his leather vest, and the belts that held his blades. Whether it was for comfort, or because he intended on their meeting ending this way, she wasn’t sure. 

She wasn’t sure she cared. 

Why did his intentions matter, when it was she who wanted this?

She didn’t even see the appendage—it was slipped out from his pants and covered by the tails of his smock. But she felt it being lined up with her folds, the tip dragging through the mess of fluids Daemon had drawn from her. 

Before it pressed inside, he rearranged her slightly—bringing her legs around his waist and forcing her hips to arch up slightly to meet his own. It was more comfortable, less awkward than before, when she was spread wide for him—though truly even that had not been as embarrassing as she feared. 

She had never felt more comfortable with someone than she did with her uncle. She trusted him, in this and in everything—and so there was not a trace of nervousness as he began to press his length into her. It was warm, and big, but everything was so incredibly slick that it felt right. 

His hand guided the appendage, feeding it slowly into her folds—there was no awkward ramming or thrusts that resulted in him between her thighs instead. He was practiced in this, that much was obvious. But it didn’t bother her—the practice had contributed to this being good and she was grateful for that. 

She whimpered as her folds swallowed the head of him—and then bit her lip, tensing—worried he might stop at the sound. It wasn’t painful, it was just a lot and her body conjured a noise that wasn’t entirely of pleasure. But even that had been enough to make Harwin still, and she didn’t want that to happen now. 

But Daemon didn’t stop, his hand stroked her thigh until she relaxed, and then he carried on—pressing deeper. God the stretch of it, his fingers had not prepared her for that, and it ached, the muscles unused to being strained from the inside in such a way. She whined, biting her lip so he wouldn’t hear—but Daemon’s thumb pulled her lip from her teeth’s prison. 

“I want to hear you.” He said, words firm.

She shook her head before admitting, “I might cry.” 

He smiled, a twisted crooked thing, “I’m almost certain you will, my delicate little princess.” 

She shifted a little—still speared on the first inch of his length. “Y-you won’t stop, if I do?” She asked nervously. 

“Oh sweetheart, I promise you, tears have never been the reason my desire wanes. Especially not from you—you look so pretty when you cry, princess, makes me so hard. Don’t hide it from me. I swear I will stop at the word ‘no’ and nothing less.” 

God, the relief that offered her—she felt her entire body relax. She didn’t even flinch when he warned the next bit might sting. She just nodded, her eyes closed and fingers gripping the edge of the table. 

She wailed when he seated himself fully inside her, the task done with a single thrust that bludgeoned through whatever barrier of innocence remained—then went so far beyond it she swore he was in her guts. 

It hurt. It was like the pain of every previous attempt combined and multiplied by a thousand, the tearing sensation in her core so sharp she was sobbing. His length was unyielding inside her, solid as an iron stake, and feeling like one for how it burned. But there was a relief in this fact, that he was still hard—that he had done it, she had done it. He hadn’t pulled out, even as she writhed and whimpered and cried. 

Her tears were in pain—partially, but they were in relief too. Finally she wasn’t a maiden, and she had her uncle to thank for that. 

One of his hands was stroking her thigh, while the other cupped her neck—his thumb brushing tears away from her cheek while he remained inside her, unmoving, and likely waiting for the pain to fade. She wasn’t sure it would. Her whimper of, “It hurts, kepa.” Was evidence of that. 

His expression was one of sympathy—but his words were not an apology. “That’s because you’re so perfect, a cunt so tight your husband can’t even handle it, can he? It’s so little and so pretty.” He paused for a moment, his eyes squeezing shut as if trying to control himself. “But the prettier the cunt, the more it hurts at first. It has to be broken in, sweetheart, before it feels good.” 

She nodded, though to be honest she wasn’t entirely listening, too distracted by the pain. It was still there—though not as sharp, it was as if the points had dulled slightly and it was more of a throbbing than a stabbing. It was still enough to make tears leak from her eyes, though. She couldn’t help it. She wasn’t used to pain, not like this. 

But Daemon was there. Which made it better, somehow. He didn’t coddle her. He didn’t stop. He was honest with her, that this might hurt—but that it would pass, and he would be there.

Gods, she loved him. 

She loved his fingers, too, especially now as they slid between their bodies—finding that little bud above her folds. It was stretched too, as if he had pulled it closer to her opening with his cock. He freed it, though, and rubbed the sensitive nerve with slick fingers. It felt good, both the sensation and the reminder of how this had led to pleasure earlier in the evening. 

A shadow of that pleasure seemed to loom, lingering below the clouds of pain. And for the first time since he entered her she could imagine it feeling good, even if that feeling was far away. He seemed to sense this too, for he started moving. 

She had thought it might make things worse—like a leather shoe rubbing against a blister turned wound on your heel, adding to the rawness. But it wasn’t, it was a relief, the movement creating a distraction from the pain that turned into…something else. She closed her eyes and let her body move with Daemon’s, the thrust creating a rhythm of the flesh that was so unfamiliar, so unlike her other attempts with Harwin. 

Daemon was nothing like him. 

He was better. Part of her whispered. 

Harwin didn’t love you enough to do this. 

Harwin was too weak to do this. 

She moaned, surprising herself—and then it happened again—her eyes fluttering open to see Daemon smirking, almost victorious at the noise of pleasure he had wrenched from her. 

“Does it feel good now, princess? Getting used to the feeling of a cock in that pretty cunt. Just a matter of time until you crave this, too.” He said, hiking her leg higher and leaning forward to brace his other arm on the tangle. The angle changed and she moaned loudly, her hands rising from the table to reach for Daemon. The length inside her wasn’t enough, she wanted to feel his flesh beneath her palms. Beneath her lips. She wanted him everywhere. 

She wanted him. 

His thrusts were emphasized with a grinding motion now and it was pressing him even deeper in a way that felt unnatural and impossible but not unwelcome. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but suddenly her body had decided to accept him, and decided to allow the pain to fade away. It wasn’t a conscious choice on her part, she could only thank the gods for it—because gods, she was grateful for this feeling.

Her hips were rising from the table to meet his own, and his chest was heaving—a droplet of sweat falling from the tip of his nose and landing on her neck, the exertion he was putting forth obvious. They were both moaning, the sounds of their breaths and hips meeting contributing to the sinful noises that echoed through the room. 

They would echo in her head after, too, she thought. She’d never forget this—the way he felt inside of her, and the way he sounded. This is how it should have been—this is how it should always be. 

Her nails dug into Daemon’s shoulders—more like claws than fingers with the brutality of their grip. Daemon just moaned, his own fingers digging into her thighs, so hard that even his dull nails felt like daggers against her skin. She wasn’t sure why that of all things did it, but the sharp sensation was one too many—she burst. 

She clenched down so tightly Daemon hissed, as if the pressure wounded him. Her core was trying to force him out, but he was stronger, continuing to thrust through the pulse of her muscles in a way that made her release just keep going. 

It took all her energy with it, and when the tingles of pleasure began to fade, fatigue set in. She slumped against the table, her desire—her ability to participate had been drained from her. Daemon didn’t seem to mind, though, his pace didn’t change—though he gripped her more tightly and his gaze strayed to where he was entering her. 

She wondered if it looked obscene, it must, surely? She’d felt herself down there—the slit that seemed much too small for anything more than a finger. But he’d fit three in there, and then somehow his cock had followed. And it was perfect, but she doubted it looked that way—Daemon’s expression could have fooled her, though, he looked awed by what he saw. 

[He was]

[She did not know that he had dreamed of this.]

[That he had been enraged by his actions that forfeited his right to this, to her.]

[That he thought he had lost his chance at this, at having her like this.]

[But no, his little niece—married for a month and still a virgin, as if she was waiting for him.]

[He’d taken it from her, happily, biting back the desire to come when she whimpered and struggled because her tiny little cunt was too tight for his cock. But she took it. He made her take it. And she had loved it,  she’d come from it, and now—gods, he didn’t know if she was still conscious but he was going to finish. 

It was going to happen soon. The sight was too good—her stretched around his length, body clinging to him and pulling him back in while also fighting him, trying to rid itself of the appendage. It was perfect. She was perfect, now more than ever, with her folds stretched out around him and messy from come, blood, and sweat that had spread from his cock to her pelvis with the enthusiasm of his thrusting. 

He wanted to make her even more messy. Wanted to fill her so full of his seed she was choking on it. With so much she got pregnant.

Fuck—that was it, he spilled inside her, deep thrusts that he ground even deeper. He wanted it to get to her womb, he wanted his seed to plant a baby in her before her husband could. If he would even live long enough to. He was slamming into her now and she was whimpering, and he wasn’t sure if it was in pleasure or pain, he didn’t care. His purpose was getting all his seed into her, where it wouldn’t spill. Even if it hurt—she’d understand when it was their child she held to her breast.]

[Eventually, he was empty.]

She was empty—he had come, gods he had come, so much. She was sure when he finally finished and slipped out of her that it would come pouring out—enough to fill a washbasin, if not two. But she couldn’t focus on what was spilling out, no, all she felt was empty. 

He had split her open and hollowed her out, rearranged her body to make a place for his cock and then just taken it from her, and he was gone, and she was crying before she even knew what she was sad about. Daemon hugged her to his chest as she, not for the first time that day, sobbed into his fabric covered shoulder.

It was a long time before she was calm enough to speak—but Daemon seemed to know, asking her, “What’s wrong? What can I do?” 

She pulled back from him, so she could see his face—his eyes lined with concern and face set in a frown. 

“Don’t leave me again. Not ever. If you go, you have to take me with you. The Keep is empty—I’m empty without you, especially now.” She said, wiping snot from her nose and using her thumbs to rub away tears. He had always filled her emotionally—the cups of joy and happiness never as full as they were in his presence. But now that she knew what it was like to be full of him physically, too, she couldn’t imagine being parted. 

“Okay. But—I must warn you, I take my job of filling you very seriously.” He teased in an attempt to lighten her mood and it worked—she laughed. 

Eventually, a peacefulness settled between them, a contentness with his palm stroking her hair and her nose against the bone of his collar. He was standing, while she remained seated on the table they had just coupled on, making their difference in height less dramatic than it usually was. And so, when her chin tilted up slightly, she found her mouth so very close to his—close enough to kiss.

They hadn’t done that yet, and she remembered—faintly, him saying to her as a girl, ‘kisses are for those you plan to marry’. 

Well. That settled it. 

She cupped his cheek, drawing him to her and letting their mouths meet. 

.

Poor Harwin never made it back to his wife’s bed—the streets were a dangerous place. Sometimes the gold cloak served as a beacon instead of protection. 

..

When Rhaenyra started showing, people pitied the young widow all the more. 

(After all, they had no idea she spent nearly every night in her uncle’s bed.)

Her father was almost thankful, when Daemon offered to wed her—to treat any child like his own. 

(After all, they would be, but they had no idea of that, either.) 

.

Rhaenyra was a beautiful bride—her eyes bright and smile wide when she leaned in to kiss her new husband. Daemon was a prince, but in her eyes he was better. He was a knight, a protector, and her uncle. He loved her as only another Targaryen could.  

.

She cried on her second wedding night, too. 

Daemon wasn’t a good man, after all. 

And he was far too good with his fingers. 

He drew nearly a half dozen orgasms from her, leaving her writhing and pleading and sobbing until finally he entered her with his cock. 

That was finally enough to satisfy her.

.

stories with similar themes,

Daemyra prevailing over Rhaewin: Being Strong | 6k words / complete / Modern!AU Global Warming | 4k/complete/Modern!AU

crying during sex: deliciae | 8k/complete/westeros!au give me what i want | 15k words / complete / historical westeros!AU ←also one of my favorite things i’ve written.

thanks for reading <3

[slaasherslut]

Fire and Brimstone

Priest!Clayton Spencer AU (@rottent33th 's OC)

Summary: Father Clayton has only been with your church for a few months now, and yet he has already made you a filthy sinner and sent your soul straight to hell.

Warnings: fem reader, religious imagery, fem masturbation, fingering, sexual intercourse

4.8k words

You were sitting in the pews closest to the back of the church. You had planned to come in a few moments later than your family so you could get away with sitting elsewhere. After the embarrassment of last Sunday's sermon where you became a fidgety and distracted mess much to your family's annoyance, you wanted to sit alone. It wasn't your fault though. No, it was the new priest who had rolled his way through town and quickly landed a spot in your church; Father Clayton Spencer.

You were quite shocked to see someone so young and so handsome take up the recently vacant position in your church. When you picture a man of god standing before you at the altar, he was the last thing you expected. He was quite well built for being a preacher. Bulky, with wide shoulders and a muscular frame. If you saw him on the streets you would have guessed his profession would have been anything else. A weight trainer or a fighter, but not a holy man like you saw him every day. Freckles littered his pale face, surrounding his captivating hazel eyes and exhibiting his charming smile. His hair was a long, fiery red, which when down almost reached his waist. It was pin straight and seemed to always shine in the bright sunlight that would shine through the large church windows. It was a color and length that was both uncommon in town and in the church. The long locks were always neatly tied back or tucked tightly behind his ears.

You had often heard some of the older women gushing about him in hushed whispers around town. Before service began last week you heard your neighbor, a married woman in her 40’s, talking to one of the other women. She mentioned how she had been walking by his home one morning and saw him at work in his garage. She went on about how his large hands moved gracefully as he demonstrated his woodworking talent and that the piece he was making was almost as beautiful as he was…and that his shirt seemed a little bit too tight. For the rest of that day you couldn't help but imagine the way his hands might have looked as they worked. The muscles in his back through his tight shirt or the way his fingers curved. The fantastical image alone was enough to make your mind wander for days to come.

You caught your mind drifting as you observed him at the altar and quickly brought yourself back. You couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together whenever he spoke. His voice was deep and erotic with a hint of a southern drawl that would make any woman quiver in their skirts. The passion for religion and leading was evident in his voice, which did no favors for the aching in your loins.

As the sermon went on you listened intently. You were hung on every word falling from Father Claytons lips. Not because you believed it, but because it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. The only heavenly thing you cared about was his voice, and you wondered what it sounded like when he said other things too. Other not very holy things. As your mind drifted once again as it often did, your eyes were still hung on him. He cracked a wide smile. You felt your heart skip at the pretty sight. The smile was followed by a laugh. A deep euphonious sound that echoed across the holy ground of the church. Your body writhed in the wooden pews, the sexual frustration was becoming too much. It was hard to sit still.

The feeling of your now soaked panties rubbing against you in the most pleasurable ways caused you to jolt. You couldn't help but grow hot at the feeling inside you. The last place you should be feeling sexual pleasure is in church, let alone in church during a sermon! You squeezed your thighs together and shuffled as you tried to bring forth the same pleasure from seconds ago, and hopefully more. But it wasn't working. You just couldn't seem to rub that same spot again. You wished so strongly to be back in your bed, sprawled out and rubbing yourself to completion at the thought of the oh so handsome, young priest.

A nervous shake took over your hands as you looked around at everyone else in the room. They were all in front of you since you were sitting the farthest back and seemingly at angles where they wouldn't be able to see past the pews in front of you. You slowly pulled the hem of your skirt up to your hips, exposing the wet penties underneath. The inside of the church was warm but the chill that ran through you was ice cold as well as an extreme rush of adrenaline.

Your fingers slowly moved up to rub the spot over your panties, testing the waters for your indecent act. If you weren't going to hell before, you definitely were now. Fingers ran up and down the crevice in the fabric, causing the arousal underneath to seep through the cotton. Your bottom lip trembled in a mixture of nervousness and pleasure. You slowly and carefully ducked your fingers underneath the wet material. The pads of your fingers coming in contact with your irreverent slick. You glanced down at your thighs as your fingers softly rubbed at your clit. You bit your lip in an effort to contain the rising moan from deep in your throat. Your eyes flicked back up only to be met with the hazel eyes of your preacher man.

Father Clayton's eyes almost blew wide, but he stopped himself before people would have taken notice of his reaction. His handsome face turned a pretty shade of red in embarrassment. His adam's apple bulged as he tried to compose himself, almost tripping over his words. He was shocked when you looked up at him with a glazed over look in your eyes. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth and a timid blush creeping across your cheeks. What Clayton saw was a look of pleasure and it was written all over your face.

Your face ran hot as you made eye contact with Father Clayton. The look in his eyes let you know that you had been caught. Your hands immediately retracted from your aching pussy to grip onto the pew below you. Your wet fingertips left the wood damp as you white knuckled the seat in embarrassment, afraid that too loose of a grip would cause you to slip away. Although that probably would have been for the best at that moment. Even though he was no longer looking at you, the feeling of still being watched was prevalent in your gut. A look around showed that no one was looking at you, but the feeling still lingered. It felt as though God himself was staring down at you with disgust and disappointment. You could never be granted absolution in His eyes for as long as you lived. Your soul now tainted like the now damp wood beneath you where you sat.

Father Claytons bellowing voice caused your stomach to drop for a moment before you realized he was concluding the weekly sermon. You were relieved that service was wrapping up and you could run away and hide without causing a scene. You quickly started adjusting your panties and your skirt as the sound of echoed footsteps and voices bounced around the church walls as people started to make their leave. You quickly started to make your way toward the large oak doors, hoping to make your way outside. Being inside the church was starting to feel small and claustrophobic. A firm hand grabbed your shoulder, causing you to spin around. Your eyes were met with those of Father Clayton as he towered over you, a confused yet far off look in his eye. Your already quick heartbeat seemed to get even faster. Being so close to him and having him look into your eyes made you feel like you were seconds away from hitting the floor.

Your name being called diverted your attention. A quick look in the direction of the voice and you locked eyes with your mother, smiling as she made her way through the crowd of people leaving the church. “Please take me away.” Your thoughts pleaded. “My heart can't take anymore embarrassment today.”

She greeted you before turning to Father Clayton, grabbing his hands and squeezing them before letting go. A wave of unexpected irritability moved through you at the sight.

“Oh Father! What a lovely service as always!” She gushed. “We're all so glad to see you settling into our church so well.”

He bowed his head slightly with a sweet yet flustered grin. “Thank you ma’am, that's very kind of you.”

Your mother smiled down at you as she gave your arm a small nudge.

“You didn't sit with us, we weren’t sure if you showed up!” You nervously chuckled, eyes darting between Father Clayton and your mother.

“Sorry, I was running late so I just sat in the back so I wouldn't interrupt.” You lied. A quick glance at Clayton and the look he was sporting showed that he knew that as well.

“Are you still planning on getting breakfast with us at the diner?” She asked.

Before you could speak, another voice cut off your words.

"Actually, they have graciously offered to assist me after the service." Father Clayton smiled innocently at your mother, before turning to you with a smile that held something different than the last. You tried your best to hide your confusion. You never agreed to that, and he never asked. It took you a moment to realize that your preacher just lied to your mother to keep you longer. She raised her eyebrow in curiosity.

"Is that so? Well that's awfully kind of you!" Her voice was shrill as she reveled in your “kind gesture”.

"Well don't forget you're coming over for Sunday dinner, we'll see you tonight." Your mother adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and kissed your head before saying her goodbyes to Father Clayton. Making her way out the church doors to meet up with the rest of your family while you stood next to him, awkwardly shifting around on your heels.

You watched him intently as he said his goodbyes to the others who attended his service. Your mind couldn't help but race as you waited. Did he really know what you were doing during his service? And if he did, what would he say? What will he do?

Once everyone had cleared out and the church doors finally closed, Father Clayton let out a jagged breath. He looked down at you with a straight face before he motioned for you to follow him. The walk through the church and to his office felt both too long and not long enough. The door to his office let out a loud creak as the hinges bent with the motion.

“Have a seat.” He said as he pointed towards a wooden chair sitting opposite of an old desk, which you assumed was his. You nervously sat down in the chair while Clayton sat in the big office chair behind the desk.

The air was heavy with tension and embarrassment as the two of you sat in silence. Father Claytons eyes bore holes in you, yours in your church shoes. You wiggled your toes in an attempt to distract yourself from your harshly beating heart.

"Well?" He broke the silence. "Care to explain yourself?" His words hung heavy in your ears.

The sound of his voice did nothing but make you blush harder and make your heart beat more vigorously to the point where your chest began to ache. You stayed silent, finger fiddling with the material of your skirt. "There's nothing I could say to him to make this any better." You thought to yourself. Your eyes flickered up to him for a short moment before casting themselves back down to the floor. He sighed before standing and making his way around the desk.

Father Clayton crouched next to your knees, in an attempt to make eye contact with you.

“We aint leavin’ here until you tell me.” His voice whispered, it felt heavy in the surrounding air.

You shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair. His eyes on you made you flush, but the closeness of him on his knees in front of your naked legs was an even more intense feeling. Your hips swiveled as you tried to situate yourself more comfortably, legs shifting. The holy man before you unknowingly let his eyes drift, making their way to the area between your legs and getting a view of the damp panties under your skirt. His face ran hot when he soaked in the sight of you. He immediately rose to his feet and shuffled back to his desk. He stood with his broad back facing you as he laid his palms flat against the wood and hung his head. Wisps of soft orange hair fell over his eyes. A chorus of curses floated through his mind as he tried to silence them. The loudest being the image of your dripping cunt mere inches from his face. His mind was racing, the internal struggle inside of him was incredible. On one side was his faith, what he fought to be since he was a young boy back in Killmor. All his days as a young man studying his religion. Since he was old enough to read the bible on his own, Clayton lived and breathed Catholicism, priesthood called his name like a beckoning choir. He felt like it was what he was made for. But something else beckoned him as well. The pretty church girl who attended every service and hung on every word he spoke.

Clayton turned around to face you, leaning back against his desk. His toned arms crossed in thought as he studied you. Regardless of how conflicted he felt, he knew he felt a certain way about you. Certain that he wanted you, even if it was something he shouldn't dare admit. From the stolen glances every week and the blatant sin you committed in church today, it was obvious how you felt about him. He wanted to test the waters and see where he could take you, and where he could take himself.

"Rise." He uncrossed his arms for a moment, his long fingers making an upward motion. Your body seemed to blindly follow his orders. Not even fully realizing what he had said before you were already on your feet.

“Do you take me for a fool, little one? Cause rest assured, I am most definitely not." His words spewed confidence, but deep down, his nerves were snapping against his freckled skin like rubber bands.

He leaned up off his desk and took a nervous step toward you. He couldnt help but think you looked so small and meek as he gazed down at you. His figure shadowed you. His large hands reached out to rest on your upper arms, softly rubbing up and down them. You froze at the contact, the feeling of tightness that had been building up inside you all day just felt tighter. His own body ran hot at the feeling of your warm, soft flesh under his palms.

"If- If I read the signs wrong.." Clay stuttered out. "Jus' tell me to stop and I will. Okay, sweetheart?" For the first time since he spoke to you, your eyes flickered up to meet his. Clay felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he made eye contact with you. You were so much more pretty close up. The colors in your eyes were hypnotizing to the young priest. Your hands rose to grasp at his forearms. You could feel the muscles under your hands.

"I dont want you to stop." You spoke, your voice low and sweet. Clay nodded slightly, trying to hold back a smile. He hesitantly leaned down towards your lips, his body stuttering as every holy cell in his body screamed at him to stop. But in that moment, he felt like no more than a man. A mere man who deeply wanted the person that was in his arms.

His lips finally made contact with yours and he felt the intense breath that you both fought to suck into your lungs. His lips slowly pressed against yours and pulled away, the loss of contact felt deeply upsetting to him. Without even thinking his lips moved back against yours with an almost inaudible moan. Your sinful hands dropped to grope at his torso through his holy robes as his moved upward to cup your face. His large hands held you in place as his lips moved faster and carnally against yours. He spun you around and Clayton backed you up, the backs of your thighs hitting the solid oak of his desk. The fire of arousal in the pit of your stomach only grew in intensity once you felt the growing heat of his kiss.

"Father Clayton.." you exhaled heavily with a low moan. His hips bucked against you of their own volition, a low grunt clawing its way through gritted teeth. He didn't know why the sound of his religious title slipping past your sweet lips lit a fire inside him. Possibly because of the many unholy thoughts that swam through his mind as you said it. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, that he could be exiled from the church and shunned if anyone else were to find out. But he couldn't hold back any longer. He couldn't force himself to sit through another sunday service with your eyes watching his every move and not knowing what the flesh of your hips felt like under his hands.

What your soft lips moving against his felt like.

What the heavenly softness between your legs felt like wrapped tightly around him.

He effortlessly snaked his arms around you and lifted you off the ground. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his wide waist, your skirt falling up your thighs. His large hands squeezed you as he set you down on top of his desk. His palms were rough as they trailed over you, kneading and squeezing every inch of skin he could get his hands on.

Clayton reached around you to shove the many papers, folders, and pens that littered his desk to the floor below. His beloved bible found its new home on the hardwood floor where it fell open, bending and creasing its thin and previously pristine pages. Your fingers moved quickly as each button of your shirt popped open, hands shaking with need. Clay helped you slip the shirt off your arms before tossing it over the back of the chair you previously sat in. You broke the kiss to adjust your position before easing yourself backwards. The chill of wood against your back contrasted heavily with the pools of heat that littered your body. Your eyes softly shut as his large hands traveled up the outer expanse of your thighs as they wrapped around him. Once his hands reached your hips he gave them a soft squeeze, gently rubbing circles into the flesh underneath him. You let out a sweet hum as a delicate smile took over your lips. He preached about God's heavenly angels weekly during his sermons, but he never imagined he would have one as soft as you under his fingertips.

His hands slowly trailed downwards, all the way to the outside of your thighs. He began kneading the soft flesh, moving his hands inward as he went. His fingers softly trailed up to the spot between your open thighs. His thumb rubbed deep circles over the wet spot on your panties. His eyes trailed up your body as your back arched in pleasure from the small contact. He continued to rub you while you writhed on his desk, soft moans slipping out from between your lips.

He hooked his long fingers through your panties as he tugged on them. Pulling the damp fabric off of you and moving them around your ankles. You wiggled your feet as they dropped to the floor. Your thighs slowly parted and a shiver ran up your spine as your wet cunt was now fully exposed to Father Clayton. His breath caught in his throat as drank in the sight of you.

"Fuck," He cursed. His curious fingers swiped up and down through your wet folds. "So fuckin' pretty."

Without warning he plunged two long fingers almost fully inside of you. You squeaked at the sudden intrusion, rolling your hips as a signal for him to move his hand. He slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving only his fingertips in before sliding them back inside, fully this time. He pumped his fingers slowly, picking up speed the closer you seemed to get. Your high was approaching, and it was approaching fast. The sexual frustration that had built up during today's service heightened the pleasure you were experiencing tenfold. The fact that you were finally getting the relief you needed mixed with it was at the hands of the preacher man you had fantasized about lit the hottest fire in your core.

Clay pressed his large palm against your lower stomach, fingers splayed out, as the fingers on his other hand were still working inside you. His fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of your stomach. They pumped and curled as the pressure from his other hand made the bubbling inside you begin to reach its peak. Your hands reached out for his as you whined. Fingers wrapped around his wrist as your orgasm finally took over, causing you to writhe and shake under his touch. His hand on top of you that was intensifying the pleasure was now pressing harder to hold you down as you wiggled on his desk. The added pressure doing nothing but making you feel even tighter inside and a shrill moan being pushed out of you.

Clay withdrew his fingers as you started coming down. His hands, now damp with your slick, tugged at his robes. Your cum seeping deep into the holy fabric. He quickly started undressing himself, tossing the holy garments in a crumpled pile on the floor. Much like his sacred vows, they were thrown aside.

Now left in only his boxers, you could see what the other women were talking about. His broad shoulders and toned body were on full display for you. He looked so much bigger than he did under his robes. The loose fabric hid his muscles well. Your ego soared at the thought of you of all people being about to take Father Clayton to bed, metaphorically speaking. You hoped that maybe there would be other times where you would indeed have him in his bed, or him in yours.

His cock strained itself in his boxers. The obviously large appendage created a tent in the fabric, a damp spot soaking itself through.

His strong arms hooked themselves around your thighs tightly and pulled you closer to the edge of his desk. Your legs hooked around his waist as he pulled down his boxers enough for his now fully hard cock to stand tall on display for you. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan at the sight as he slowly gave his dick a few lazy pumps as he looked down at you. He gripped his cock just above the base and ran his head through your wet folds. You couldnt help but let out small whimpers whenever he ran over your clit. The veins that ran through his hands and up his arms pulsed as he let out heavy breaths.

His movements stopped, holding the head of his dick right at your entrance. You were so wet that he could easily slide himself inside you with one ill move. His hazel eyes looked into yours as if silently asking for permission. This was your last moment to turn back now and tell him no, he prayed you still wanted him. You subtly adjusted your position with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth and a small nod. Clay slowly slid the fat head of his cock between your folds and inside of you. He held his breath as he slowly inched himself inside you. The weight of his dick inside you, stretching you wide was like no other youve ever experienced. It was a shame that a man as well endowed as Father Clayton would be sworn to a life of celibacy. But it seemed like it didnt matter to him now, as his vow to never experience earthly sexual pleasure was snuffed out like a candle.

Once he was fully inside of you, a moan escaped you as his thumb slowly rubbed at your clit.

"Darlin', open up f'me." His hips moved slightly, giving you a miniscule thrust. "Thats it, c'mon." His thumb continued to move as his thrusts slowly became bigger. He gazed down at your moaning, writhing form with a sexual intensity. His eyes hung heavy as his thrusts became faster, leaving only the head inside you each time he pulled back.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His drawl was thick with pleasure. "Is this what you were thinkin' about as you played with yerself before a man of God?" His thrusts continued. His words were enough to make you moan. His voice sends sweet arousal through your body. You nodded in response.

Clayton leaned forward, driving himself deeper inside of you. You let out a shrill moan as he hit that pretty spot inside you. One hand pressed firmly into the desk by your shoulder as the other held onto your waist. A smirk crossed his lips as his thrusts increased in their speed. The desk below you creaked harshly under the weight of your sweaty bodies and the velocity of his thrusts. You could feel yourself dripping onto the beautiful oak beneath you like viscous holy water. Your legs squeezed tighter around him as his cock continued to hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

"Father Clayton!" You were surprised the words actually came out coherently. "Im so close! Please!"

"Sweetheart, Im gonna bring you closer t'God." He said through heavy breaths. "Im gonna make you feel so good."

Your pussy squeezed around him in reaction to his words.

"Fuck!" He cursed, his thrusts getting faster. "So fuckin' good!" His head hung low as he started getting lost in you. Long strands of ginger hair hung over your chest. He was getting close, that much was obvious, as were you. His moans getting swallowed by his heavy breathing. His hand on your waist moved back down to your clit and started rubbing messy circles into the sweet bud. Your back arched with the contact and your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips ghosted yours as your moans mingled together. Clay grit his white teeth as he tried to hold back his orgasm, needing you to let go first. He was having a hard time as you began spasming around him. Moaning beautifully as you soaked his thick cock.

Right as your orgasm concluded, Clay pulled himself out, not being able to wait any longer. He rubbed his shaft through your wet lips as he loudly grunted. He stared down at his cock as thick ropes of cum coated your stomach. His hips jerked along you as he emptied himself all over your soft skin.

Your arms dropped to your sides from around his neck as your felt yourself sinking into the desk. Clays hand ran up your side, his thumb dragging itself through his cum and trailing up your torso.

"Darlin', this needs to be our little secret, okay?" His eyes pleaded with yours. "No one can know the sins we've just committed." His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick at his bottom lip. You tiredly nodded to him. He shook his head. "No.. say it." His voice was soft yet demanding in tone. You studied the flecks of brown and green in his eyes as your hands moved upwards to cup his cheeks, tenderly rubbing the stubbled flesh with your thumbs.

"I promise, Father."

☾ notes: after a long time coming, i present to you *drumroll* Father Clay smut!

☾ tag list: @rottent33th, @damien-mlm, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @the-pinstriped-hood, @allthingsblood, @25bohemianmoons, @devil-doll13

[luveline]

the babydoll | tasm!peter parker x reader

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur. You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it his hickey was startling, teeth grazing, kiss bruising.

“Peter-“ you started in protest.

He sealed his hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

you’re usually much too shy for lingerie, but you’ll do anything for peter parker. he appreciates the effort. [4.8k]

warnings: smut, 18+ readers only please, lingerie, praise, shy reader, idiots in love, fem reader, she her pronouns used for reader

You pouted nervously at your reflection, though you struggled to dislike it. You twisted this way and that, pushing your hands down your hips in an assessment. Despite the nerves you felt eating away at your fingertips, pins and needles climbing up your arms, you thought you looked nice. You were scantily clad in a simple dark thong covered up by a sheer babydoll dress - though the babydoll was pretty and delicate, it left little to the imagination. Dainty lavender piping edged the V-neck top and the defined under-wired bust was split by a single lilac bow. In similar fashion, a further six bows, three at each split, decorated the hemline, kissing the tops of your thighs like three brown flower petals. The babydoll’s fabric was flowered, a relaxed fit. It made you feel unjustifiably pretty.

Perhaps not as pretty as the model, you thought, worrying the skin of your bottom lip. You'd first seen the lingerie in a department store window, walking happily with your boyfriend’s hand swinging clasped by your own. He’d stuttered to a stop out of the blue and you'd paused too, falling back to follow his gaze, which was moving over the model distractedly. You’d been suddenly too shy to tease, to ask him if he liked it, or even to get mad. He wasn’t ogling the model, simply looking. Then he turned to you and smiled easily, and said, “Pretty dress.”

You’d agreed, though you’d hardly call it a dress. Technically it was, but you technically couldn’t wear it out of the house without getting arrested, so. You’d watched him stare at that dress and felt at once that you might like to give him something, just once, repay his constant praises and devotion with something similar. You’d gone back the next day and fought against every inhibition. You hadn’t even tried it on in the store, too desperate to leave and never have to go back, face hot and hands sweating.

You picked at the lettuce edge hem on one section and twisted on the spot, almost entranced as the fabric lifted from your skin. All you wanted was for Peter to like it. If you’d gotten it wrong - if he’d liked the model more than the dress (though you barely entertained this idea) - you’d be embarrassed beyond words.

You’d left it at the bottom of your closet for days, afraid of it like it were a rabid dog waiting to bite you. Even as you’d lifted it from the bag you’d been cautious, running your hands over the silken material gently, feeling the small lace flowers under your fingertips.

The front door groaned open. You froze, tilting your head to listen for Peter’s footsteps as they traversed toward you. In a rush you checked over your appearance one last time, flattening your flyaways and dusting down your goosebumped skin, finding yourself short of breath. You barely heard the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open over the roaring in your ears, twining your hands together tightly behind your back as you turned to face your boyfriend.

He was windblown and bedraggled, backpack hastily zipped half-shut in his hands. You could see the blue and red fabric of his suit through the gap, which explained his appearance. Despite evidence of a long day, he had still entered the room with an eager smile on his face, hand halfway to his hair. When he spotted you standing motionless with the full-length mirror at your back, silent, he gave pause.

And then he really looked at you.

Neither of you spoke. It was nerve-wracking. You hadn’t wanted to assume he’d be pleased, hadn’t raised your own hopes with ideas of adoration, but you’d expected more than this subdued version of Peter. Stock-still, he traced the shape of you with his dark brown eyes, hand still hovering at his hair. He let it fall back to his side and dropped his backpack by the door. The noise snapped you out of your own immobility and forced you to blink. You crossed your arms over your chest in insecurity and took a step backwards, tripping into the mirror. The clattering had you wincing worse than ever and you looked down at your feet.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, turning to the en-suite door. You’d pulled it open about halfway when a loud ‘thwip’ arched through the room. The door slammed shut, glued at the edge by sticky webbing.

You, having flinched hard, looked over your shoulder incredulously.

Peter licked his lips. “I- I’m sorry. I was surprised.”

“Sort of the point,” you mumbled, eyes still wide, heart-racing. You knew he could probably hear your nervousness, the uneven pittering of your pulse. He let his arm, which had been raised and aimed at the door, fall away, pulling the web-shooters from his wrists. He walked into the room and dropped the homebrewed tech into the bowl on your vanity, eyes on you. He drifted to your side and you relaxed under his touch, his warm, big hand falling to the skin of your tricep. He pushed up until his fingers were at your shoulder and then slid under one of the straps on your babydoll, running it back and forth, letting it snap with little force against your skin.

“Nice dress,” he said easily.

You nodded, feeling brainless. Then, “Do you like it?”

“What?” he asked, voice high, eyebrows pinched. You had the sense that he was fighting back a laugh at your words, small and terrified as they were. He cleared his throat.

You would have laughed if you had it in you, looking down at your hands now, the feeling of embarrassment rising.

Peter’s hands enveloped your own. His thumb found a home atop your stressed knuckles, rubbing gently at the skin there. He brought your joined hands to his mouth and you followed them, forced to meet his eyes as he kissed your fingers. Panicking, you smiled weakly. He didn’t smile back so much as his eyes did, and you knew then that you hadn’t made a fool of yourself after all.

He pressed your hands to his chest and left them there, attempting to assuage you now, hands at your neck. “Do I like it?” he asked, words a murmur.

He moved his attention to your face, the side of his hand moving up your cheek and behind your ear to tilt your face to the side, baring the juncture of your neck to his wanting mouth. He pressed his lips to your skin, light as the brush of a butterfly's wings. Once, twice, chaste pecks peppered over your neck. A wave of heat crested your skin and warmed your cheeks. You held your breath as his mouth opened, felt his hot breath ruffle the fine baby hairs behind your ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his free hand roaming the flat of your sternum, “do I like it?” He nipped the skin underneath your ear. You inhaled through your nose in surprise and was overwhelmed by his smell. “I don’t know, let me think.”

You felt his lips part over your skin. Though you’d been expecting it, his hickey was startling, teeth grazing your skin, kiss bruising, he sucked until he’d turned the skin bright red.

“Peter-“ you started in protest. He gripped your shoulder in his other hand, holding you in place as he cut your words off with another punishing love bite that had you gasping your indignation, hand screwing up the soft neckline of his shirt. If he hadn’t been holding your neck up you knew your head would’ve been pressed tight to your shoulder, his ministrations enough to turn you limp in his hold.

He sealed his second hickey with a quick kiss and pulled back, thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin adjacent to your heavy-lidded eye. “How about I show you how much I like it? Would that work?”

“Yes,” you said hoarsely.

“Yeah?” he asked, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. He rested his forehead against yours, the cold tip of his nose against your warm as you closed your eyes to take in the sound of one another’s breathing. You crept closer to his chest to wrap your arms around his neck, wondering how much skin kept apart your too-fast hearts like this. He nudged your nose upward with his, encouraging you to part your lips, before pressing his mouth to yours, hand firm on your face.

You smiled against his mouth until you couldn’t, until all you could taste was Peter. His hand was holding you by the small of your back, pressing the flowery fabric snug to your skin. What started as a slow, sweet kiss fueled by your shyness and his want to reassure you turned ardent, you found yourself almost on your tip toes trying to get at him whilst he was grasping at your skin like you might somehow fall out of his hands. You broke the kiss to take in a gasping breath and he would barely allow it, pausing only to say, "You really-" another kiss, "want to know," his mouth on yours, "what I think?" He didn't give you time to respond, noses bumping as he turned his head for a wider angle.

You moved your hands to his face and held him away from you. "Yeah, Pete. I wanna know."

He nodded, eyes flitting down to your body pressed against him and back up to your eyes. He spoke quietly, as though this were a secret nobody else could ever become privy to.

"When I saw this," he pinched your strap in between his index and thumb, "on that model, I couldn't stop thinking about what it would look like on you. I half considered buying it for you myself."

"Why didn't you?"

He gently blew a hair from your face. "I want you to wear whatever you feel good in. Do you feel good in this?" he asked, eyes darting to the ribbon at your chest.

"It's pretty. I- I think I like it."

His eyes creased. "But?"

"But," you conceded, "my body-" you cut yourself off and shook your head, "I'm not sure I feel good in it."

"I'm gonna make you feel very good in it, sweetheart. That's a promise."

You felt something warm in the pit of your stomach, smiling at his bold declaration as if to say, is that so?

"Do I like it?" he repeated your words, intonation sarcastic, laced with disbelief.

He began walking you backward toward the bed, lips hot and desperate on your skin, flitting across your face in a way that made your chest tighten. He paused at your temple, your calves pressed against the bed frame, and said into your skin with his voice smooth as honey, "Feel how hard you make me and ask me again, pretty." He searched for your hand and brought it to his straining pants, stopping just above his dick. You hesitated coyly at his waistband before letting your hand close gently around him, squeezing with minimal pressure. He hissed, head dipping down to yours again, forehead on your forehead as he watched your hand pump with an awed look on his face.

"Slow down," he murmured, grabbing onto your hand. "I'd much rather watch you use these pretty hands for something else."

You looked up at him in question and he was already pushing you gently onto the bed. You shuffled against the pillows, bringing yourself up and into a W-shape, legs at either side of you. He kneeled in front of you, palming his dick already. You couldn't help but smile. This was what you'd wanted, and his reaction was flattering, Peter hard and flustered and maybe a little pushy, looking at you half adoring and other half like he was planning your ruination.

"What're you smiling about?" he asked, smiling too.

"Got you," you murmured.

"You did, huh? Alright," he reached out to spread your legs wider, "but it seems like I got you too."

You looked down and noticed what he was talking about; the dampening patch of darkened fabric at your slit. You reached down to cover it.

"Alright, baby, you wanna give me a show?"

"What?" you questioned nervously.

"Wearing your pretty dress, all worked up without me, I don't think you need me one bit," he said lightly.

You eyed him apprehensively, weary of his new game.

"Go on," he prompted, hand on his dick making long, slow strokes.

The sight of him alone was enough to make you want to touch yourself (though you would've preferred his hands to your own, his long fingers) and so you found it easy to push up the hem of your babydoll.

"Ah- through the dress."

You were skeptical but listened, pressing the fabric between your cunt and your hand.

"How much did it cost?"

"Huh?" you asked, still hesitating to touch yourself properly.

"How much did it cost? I need to know what I'll owe you when I wreck it."

You shook your head and bit back a laugh at his antics, pointedly ignoring the shot of heat it sent to your cunt. You pressed the tip of your fingers into the soft bead of your clit and felt the heartbeat there, swirling small circles, the tip of your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. You remembered yourself, looking up at Peter to find him staring intently at your hand.

"You're so pretty, you look so fucking perfect right now, touching yourself for me," he encouraged you, nodding, "you're doing such a good job."

"Peter," you scolded, shy. Your hand stilled and he started tutting, crawling on his knees. He pushed you forward and slotted himself between your back and the headboard, pulling you to his chest. You could feel his dick against your back. "What are you doing?" you asked suspiciously.

"You need help. I'm helping."

"I don't-"

He laced his hand over yours and pushed down, guiding your hand in circles. This was when the real cruelty began. His mouth skipped over your neck, kisses separated only by ridiculous pet names that had you pushing into his chest, desperate to be as close to him as you could get. "Always so good for me, my baby."

He was doing all the hard work - he'd always been a brilliant multitasker thanks to his exceptional dexterity and still you marvelled at his ability to unravel you with his fingers, grinding fabric relentlessly into your throbbing clit until you were dissolving in his arms.

The other hand was running over your body, smoothing the soft skin of your upper thigh. He increased the speed of his circles until you could feel the dull ache begin in your stomach.

"Pete - I'm close," you admitted weakly, trying to catch his expression. His dick jumped at your back with your confession.

He pulled your hand up away from your cunt, chuckling at your desperate protests, to put your own hand against your heaving chest.

“Peter,” you began.

“If anyone’s gonna make you cum in your dress, bub, it’s me. Let me play with you.”

He told rather than asked, hands coming up to cup your breasts, nipples peeking through the fabric. The underwire did a brilliant job you thought - even to yourself they looked better than usual, and you realised Peter thought the same. His hands roved over them gently, slowly, pushing them together at the centre and laughing boyishly in your ear.

“Shut up,” you protested, hating to be laughed at.

He pulled you closer still by the chest and readjusted you, hips rocking so you could feel the line of his dick up your back. He thrusted a few times, letting go of your tits only so he could pull down the straps of the babydoll and free them, fingers once again coming up to cup your now naked flesh. The feeling of his cock against your back made you feel dizzy, suddenly very ready to be fucked by him. You searched for the words to tell him as much as he pinched at your nipples with both hands.

“Pete,” you murmured.

He answered by kissing the back of your neck and leaving his parted mouth there, too intent on bullying your aching breasts to bother forming words.

“Peter, will you fuck me now?”

Another gentle thrust up your back accompanied by a hiss. “I’ll do worse," he said at your throat, "if you wanna turn around for me?”

You did, climbing up onto your knees to turn and kneel in between his open legs, reaching up to push the hair from his face. “Very aggro.”

“I’m about to show you aggro,” he joked, hands coming up to your waist. He took the waistband of your panties into his hand and pulled them down just enough to fit his hand in the gap. He ran his fingers in between your crease and found the wetness there, rubbing a slow back and forth. He’d dipped the tip of his finger inside your entrance. You wiggled where you were and he pulled away.

“You’re being especially teasing today,” you said quietly.

“Could you expect anything less?”

“Always quick to quip at me, too.”

You leaned on his shoulders and Peter pulled your underwear off you completely. You settled back down and felt your wet cunt touch the sheets, a small wet patch taking shape underneath you. You toyed with the edges of Peter’s shirt and he pulled that off too.

You adored his naked chest. He was muscled, with bulky arms that made your heart race and tits to rival your own. Without thinking you grasped at his bicep, felt the toned muscle under his skin shift as his forearm came up to grab you too. “You’re so pretty,” you told him seriously.

“I’ll pretend you were looking at my face when you said that,” he said, though he didn’t sound as displeased as he’d wanted to, you guessed. You brushed your thumb over a fading bruise and leaned down to kiss it. “Pretty boy,” you praised him, moving to kiss the hill of his shoulder, “my baby,” kissing his collarbone, “I’m lucky.”

“You think you’re the lucky one?” he asked, hand cupping the side of your face. “You know how you look? I should’ve said it the second I opened the door. You look perfect.”

He was smiling as he said it. You kissed the corners of his smile and the tip of his nose in a move unlike yourself, feeling all filled up with love that wanted to get out. His big arms came around your back and pulled you so that your knees were either side of him, seated firmly against his clothed erection. He kissed you sweetly, guiding your hips up and down to grind against his cock, spurred on by the hiccups in your breathing when he did it just so.

"Got you," he said under his breath.

You moaned. His grip on your back tightened in response, dragging you down. You moaned again, eyes shutting as you moved your head over his shoulder, chin digging into his trap muscle. He didn't complain, moving his hips up to meet you.

He was panting with the effort of it, working himself into a tizzy under you. The layers of his clothes between you wasn't working for you anymore and you pushed your hands at his shoulders to force him to let you go and sit on his spread thighs. This was an illusion - Peter was much too strong for you to really break his grip. He indulged you and was quick to recognise your intentions, unzipping his pants.

You swallowed, reaching down into his boxers. You used the bottom of your hand to push them down as you wrapped your fingers around him, contact a whisper, conscious of his head weeping precum already.

Using the flat of your hand to palm your boyfriend's aching cock, you traced a light line down the underside, your wrist ghosting against his balls.

He twitched. You giggled and started shuffling backwards. Peter wouldn't allow this. "Where you going?"

"I was going to-"

"I know what you were going to do. You really think I'd last in that pretty mouth?"

You shook your head at him and felt your cheeks warm, hesitating where you were. Peter pulled you close, up over the curve of his dick so the head was tucked against your slick cunt. You climbed up on your knees, trying to position yourself. His dick leapt against your cunt and you both moaned. Like you'd both had the same thought - the teasing had gone on long enough - you were both rushing then to fuck, Peter pushed his hand down to find your entrance with his dick, teasing the wet hole with his head.

You let yourself fall down slowly, felt him open you up. This position always fucked you up with Peter. He was so big, and the stretch felt never-ending. Your eyebrows knit together in concentration, lips bit to stop from crying out.

He pulled you up by your hips. "Take it slow, dove."

You hated being told what to do, you decided, sinking down onto as much of him as you could take.

You and Peter both paused. He mumbled something that sounded like fuck into the skin of your shoulder, hands tight around your waist. You keened, loudly, the concerning kind that had him kissing every inch of skin he could reach. "Y'always take me so well," he praised, hugging you to his chest.

You smiled shakily. This was the best part.

He stayed very still as you moved at first in case he hurt you, especially because he hadn't stretched you out beforehand. His arms fell away as you rode him. You realised they were buried in the sheets, knuckles so tense they'd gone white as snow.

You lifted yourself up as high as you could. Peter pushed your ankles over the backs of his thighs and you found you could go a little faster. He was looking up at your face, watching your concentrated pout with big bright eyes, eyelashes touching as they drifted shut.

Peter's hands abandoned your ankles to sneak under the babydoll, pushing past the underwire to knead the flesh of your tits as you bounced, the bed moving just a little every time you took him fully. You were a mess, wet collecting in your eyelashes, dress askew, bruises courtesy of Peter's mouth smattering your neck.

Peter thought so too. "My messy girl, I wish you could see yourself. Ruining your underwear, my jeans are fucked. Got you all over me, look-"

You both looked down at your mess. You rolled your hips, seated fully on his crotch and enjoying it beyond words, aiming for your own sweet spot with every movement. Peter's hand came up over your shoulder and he pulled your stomach to his chest. "Slow down."

You nodded and held in every taunt that waded to the surface, too distracted chasing your own pleasure. You were slow again for a while, whimpering as the fingers still splayed over your tit twisted your nipple. You pushed down on him again.

He hissed and pulled you up quickly. You could feel his dick moving by itself, searching for your cunt.

"Wha-" you began to question his action when he'd lifted you up with no effort, biceps tightening, he laid you out on your back, the headboard behind him.

"Alright, it's alright baby. You look so lovely," he said this all with his hands at your legs, pulling you down close to his cock, the other pushing your knee against your abdomen. You felt the action force slick down your cunt to drip onto the rumpled bedsheets. "All dressed up for me, let me take care of you know, yeah?"

His reverent words were followed by his fingers at your entrance. He pushed two fingers inside straight off the bat, groaning as you constricted around him, looking for me. He eased three fingers in on the next thrust and his eyes were blown wide. "Fuck, pretty pussy all stretched out, huh? My pretty girl all gaping." He pulled his fingers out fast.

He pulled you open with his thumb, hitting his cock against the swollen bead of your clit, smile growing as you mewled. You wiggled your hips down searchingly.

"Okay…" he soothed, big hand on your thigh, "let me put my girl out of her misery."

"You're a horrible tease," you said, words all breathless as he pushed in.

His hips brushed yours. "Here I thought I was being nice."

He pulled out. "You don't fool me, Parker."

He thrusted in roughly, pelvis smacking your own. You saw stars, letting your head fall back onto the duvet. Your own fault, you'd egged him on. His thrusts were slow, you knew he was close to cumming, knew that was why he'd changed your position, taken back the power.

You were soon on the edge of tears, begging him to go faster. "Please, Pete."

You both knew if he wasn't careful he'd be filling you up. He obviously wanted to last a little longer, and he'd do this under the guise of bullying you. He stopped with his dick deep in your tummy and leaned down to kiss your navel. He was taking slow strokes seated inside you, the opposite of what you wanted, his thumb coming down to your clit. You unthinkingly grabbed at his hand and he tsked, took both your hands in his large one to hold them high overhead. He weaved up and down your soaked pussy with a featherlight touch.

You whimpered. He pushed two fingers into your sensitive bud and started drawing shapes.

"Peter," you said, eyes wet now.

He shushed you.

"Peter, please. Please, move," you implored him.

He rolled his hips. "In a second."

"Now!" you begged.

He paused his ministrations and met your glassy eyes. Something in his face changed.

"Alright, dove. Just remember you asked for it."

Sparks shot straight down your core. He crawled as close as he could with his knees either side of your thighs as he pushed both your legs up to your chest. He rocked in mercilessly. You gasped. He did it again, until he was pounding into you, until the sound of his skin smacking against yours was deafening in your ears.

You couldn't catch your breath. You recovered from one thrust and was then overwhelmed by the next. Peter pushed your hands over your head and drove into you, his chin at your eye level, head bobbing with the force of him. You screwed your eyes shut and let your boyfriend spear you open, any words merging into one frantic moan.

Your legs were trembling. Peter's moans were getting louder as he approached his climax, thrusts sloppy with the fugue of pleasure. You squeezed your walls around him and savoured the sound he made at the drag. He shuddered at the feeling, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to whatever skin was closest.

"Fucking me so good," you said shyly, gasping for air.

He shook his head with an elated grin. He made a broad stroke with his hips. "So fucking pretty," he said, and then with a quick last thrust he'd come inside you, painting your insides white fingers squeezing your wrists as he rode it out.

"Fuck, Y/N," he said, pushing up to kiss your forehead. He was still rutting inside you, fucking his cum back in. You railed against his hold on your wrists and he let go reluctantly.

He was still rock hard as he pulled out to chase his cum, using the head of his cock to push it back inside you. You used your now free hands to grab at his face. He kissed you brilliantly, breathing hard with his hand at your clit. He pitched forward into your sweet spot and rubbed against it cruelly, laughing at your whines as you came. He didn't let up his circles in your clit until you'd finished contracting around him.

"You sound just as pretty as you look," he praised, neatening up your babydoll, pushing the straps back up to cover your chest again, but not before he'd nipped each breast.

You panted, fingers wrapped around Peter's forearms. He hadn't broken a sweat, you realised, glaring at him. He was smirking slyly, his own fingers tracing circles around your sopping entrance, pushing in and out slowly.

"Take a breather, dolly. I haven't wrecked your dress yet."

<3

thanks so much for reading!

my masterlist

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter one (ot8)

chapter one: the second to last night

summary: you didn’t expect to run into choi san outside of the venue, especially when your phone was dead and you were stranded in a random city. a kind offer for a phone charger turns into so much more, and you end up falling into a relationship with all eight members of ateez.

note: this story is going to be a length multi-chap fic that is ot8 x reader. there will be angst, fluff, smut, and plenty of plot. the story will also lean a little heavily on the san x reader and yunho x reader relationships, but as mentioned will be ot8 at heart and feature all members. it will eventually become an 18+ fic, so minors dni.

warnings: none for this chapter. please let me know if I missed any.

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, eventual smut

word count: 4.8K

(next chapter) | AO3 |

You stand outside the back of the concert venue, your back pressed solidly against the cold cement of the exterior wall. Your phone, sitting on 2%, buzzes in your pocket with a notification from Instagram which is not what you need to see. After losing your best friend in the exiting crowd, you started waiting, and waiting, and milling around, and waiting some more, but you never caught sight of her again. No texts, no calls, no nothing. To be fair, your bars were low, but you would have expected at least something to make it through so you could reconnect and call her, especially since she was your ride home.

You laugh to yourself, exhaling in the cold night air, your breath visible around you as you push your beanie down further over your ears. What was it people on the forums suggested? Bring a battery pack for your phone, extra batteries for your light stick, and organize a meeting place near an exit for if and when you got separated from your group? Of course, you ignored all these tips, and now you’re standing in the cold two hours away from home.

hey – I’m outside the venue and still trying to find you, where did you go???

The text stays suspended, perpetually sending, before finally the little red icon appears to read “Not Delivered”. Tears start to well in your eyes, and you drop your head back against the hard wall. The venue was essentially empty at this point, and without a phone and this far from home in a city you barely knew, you feel well and truly fucked.

Your ears are ringing from the concert, the feeling of the bass still buzzing under your skin, when the sound of an industrial metal door to your right jolts you back to reality. You expect to see a concert venue worker, and potentially an opportunity to charge your phone, but as you spring back from the wall and lock eyes with the man who emerges from the doorway, you couldn’t be more surprised.

Standing at the backside of the venue, on a virtually empty city street is Choi San, his foot jutting out to stop the door from closing all the way and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Oh,” you manage, “hi,”

One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile, he’s obviously surprised to see you here too. “Hello,”

Even though the idea of meeting San, or any member of Ateez for that matter, is something you’ve always hoped for, in this moment you are just thoroughly embarrassed to be caught in tears by anyone. You sniff and swipe under your eyes to scrub away the tears before looking down at the pavement and kicking off the wall to leave, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be out here, I’ll leave you alone,”

You look up to your left, back towards the cross street where the streetlights are changing, but no cars pass through. Chewing your lip, you try to decide, would left even get you where you need to go? As you start to take a step in that direction, resolved, San’s voice from behind you breaks through, “Wait, you don’t have to leave just because I came out here for a second,”

“Are you sure?” finally you glance up at his face to see that his eyes are incredibly sympathetic, still smudged with glitter and kohl.

“Sure,” he nods, pulling a lighter out of the front pocket of his very tight dark wash jeans, “just don’t tell anyone you saw me smoking.”

“No problem,”

You take your spot on the wall back and sigh. A million thoughts race through your head of things you would or should say to him, especially since you had been to almost every show on this leg of their current tour, but it’s been a bad last hour, and nothing seems to land on your tongue and make it out of your mouth.

“Were you at the show?” he asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Yeah,” you look back up at him, and he seems eager for you to say anything else, “I really loved it,”

He nods appreciatively, “good, good,” a beat passes before he says, “so why are you out here crying then?”

Of course he noticed. You hoped your makeup wasn’t running down your cheeks. “I lost my friend coming out of the show and haven’t been able to find her, she’s supposed to be my ride home. I’m not from around here,” you explain.

“Ahh,” he nods, “it’s pretty late?”

“Mm,” you nod, “but I’m sure she’ll call.” You hold up your phone, and in true cosmic comedic timing, the screen powers down, battery dead.

San takes a long drag of his cigarette and hums, “Come on then,” he drops what’s left of the smoke and crushes it under his heel, waving you inside with a gesture.

“Oh, I don’t want to cause any trouble, I’m sure-“

San’s head pops out from behind the door, locking on you standing in the middle of the block, “Are you planning on hitchhiking home?”

“Well…. No,”

“Come on,” His head disappears but the door stays propped open, and when you snap out of it and rush around the corner you see his arm outstretched, fingers splayed against the center of the door holding it open.

“Thank you so much,” you say, jumping over the threshold and immediately relishing in the warmth of the inside.

He starts to move forward down the hallway, checking back over his shoulder for you to make sure that you’re keeping up. As you walk behind him, you notice he’s no longer wearing the last outfit from the show, but instead he’s changed into an oversized gray sweater that hangs off his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Your palms are instantly clammy when you realize that he’s probably taking you back to the green room, and there’s probably more members of the group there.

You swear that on one of the glances back he gives you a sly smile but shaking your head to clear the cobwebs and the couple of beers you had during the show, you know it’s probably just your imagination. As you get closer to the doorway at the end of the long hallway, you can hear laughter, a little shouting, and some soft music with a definite bassline and your stomach clenches.

“I’m sure someone has a charger,” San smiles, opening the door in front of him, and then gesturing for you to step forwards.

You give him a small smile, but your stomach is in knots. As the door opens, all the things your brain whispered to you moments ago that you might see, you do see. Laid out across couches, sitting on tables, and walking around the back of the room, are various members of Ateez. As you take your first step over the threshold, all eyes flick up at you and you catch a few furrowed brows amongst the group. Your mouth is dry. Your palms are sweaty. You are suddenly very aware that you dressed up for this show, wearing a HALA HALA inspired fit of all black with layered chains, a body harness, and combat boots. Two hours ago you thought you looked cool, but standing here in front of everyone you feel small.

“Ah…. Sannie,” Wooyoung is the first to speak, pushing himself up from a deep lounge in the couch corner to sitting up, elbows on his knees, “Who’s this?”

A warm hand finds the small of your back then, and your breath catches. San steps into the room to your side, his hand never leaving the spot on your back as he announces to the room, “This little lost Atiny needs a phone charger, does anyone have one?”

You give a little wave, your dead phone in hand, “Hi everyone,” you smile warmly, glancing up to San for some amount of strength or reassurance since he’s the only one you’ve had even a partial conversation with up to this point. As you look up at him, and he looks down and returns your smile, and you hear Seonghwa’s voice from a few feet away say, “I’ve got one.”

Your eye contact with San breaks, and you look in Seonghwa’s direction. Feeling slightly emboldened, you take a few steps forward, noting the lack of warmth as San’s hand leaves you, “Thank you so much,”

“Sure,” he smiles, “here,” he reaches out and plucks the phone from your fingers and plugs it right in to the wall charger. Making sure that the screen registers charging, he nods and leaves your phone on the edge of the windowsill above the charger.

“So,” Seonghwa smiles, “you were at the show?”

“I was! You were all so amazing,”

Everyone nods or murmurs their thanks, and you shuffle back, foot to foot as you try to figure out what you might be able to say next. Thankfully someone behind you breaks the silence.

Hongjoong enters the room from a side door, five or six water bottles tucked in his arm. He sees you and his face lights up with recognition, “Oh! I recognize you; you’ve been to all the shows recently. Right up in the front row, or close,”

You can’t help but smile, spinning to look at Hongjoong, “Yes, I can’t believe you remembered me!”

Hongjoong nods, “you have a pretty face,”

A chorus of agreement and ‘oohs’ of realization come from the rest of the boys. San notes, “I thought I recognized your face, you were wearing that purple sweater last show, weren’t you?”

It’s startling to you that he would remember, but he’s right. Last show you had worn a little white leather mini skirt and cropped fuzzy light purple sweater, with daisy details and a pearl studded neckline. You nod enthusiastically, “Yes, I can’t believe you remember that? You have so many fans at every show!”

San shrugs, “I remember your face, you’ve been to a lot of the shows recently,”

You nod, and from your side, a new voice pipes up. “What’s your name?” Jongho asks from his spot sitting on a cafeteria style table.

“Oh, it’s y/n.” You smile.

He nods, “Pretty,”

You can feel yourself blush.

Hongjoong finishes handing out the water bottles in his arms to the boys before jogging back to the cooler in the corner and fishing out another one. He walks back up to you, hand outstretched with a bottle. You nod in thanks, and he smiles at you, “So San found you? Your phone died?”

“Ah,” you nod, “Yes, I got separated from my friend as we were trying to leave the show and couldn’t find her. I was outside looking when my phone died, and then San appeared out of nowhere,”

Hongjoong hums, “Mm, well we’re happy to help, our bus didn’t start up right away, so we’re stuck here for a bit while they figure it out.”

“Lucky for me then,” you say.

There’s an odd tension in the room you can’t place your finger on, but something about seven pairs of eyes studying you begins to make you a little nervous and self-conscious. Before your mind can get away from you, Mingi hops off the couch from the back and steps up, “I love these,” he gestures to your pants which are classic high waisted style tech pants with chain adornments and a harness detail around one thigh.

“Thanks,” you grin, “I made them, or I guess made the alterations,” you lift some of the chains, “added the chains and the extra details.”

“Cool!” Mingi nods appreciatively, patting you on the shoulder with a light squeeze before stepping past you to grab some snacks off the green room table.

“Would you like to sit down while you wait?” Yeosang finally speaks, and he shifts over on the couch to make some ample room for you to sit down comfortably.

“Ah yes thank you,” you shrug off your jacket and bag and leave them near the foot of the couch, sitting down next to Yeosang, plenty of space though on either side of you.

As you sit down, you look back up at the rest of the boys, sitting or standing in various spots around the room. San and Seonghwa are standing somewhat close together now, both still looking you over with a glint of something in their eyes. Jongho hopped up a few minutes ago to join Mingi at the snacks table, and they are now engrossed in their own conversation, tossing celery sticks and baby carrots at one another laughing. Yeosang is to your side, his eyes softly studying you, and Wooyoung to his left, playing on his phone but continuously glancing up at you, San, and Hongjoong. Hongjoong had since found a spot lounging on the coffee table in front of you, eyes on you.

“So, y/n, do you live close by?” he asked.

“No actually,” you shake your head, “I’m from about two hours away. I’m hoping my friend hasn’t left yet so I can get a ride back with her,”

Hongjoong nods, “Thank you for coming such a long way to support us!”

You smile, “I love your music so much, and all of you are so talented, this was actually the closest show to my hometown, and I’m so glad I was able to come to this one and to the others this tour!”

“We didn’t see you on VIP though,” Wooyoung notes, “but I remember you too,”

“Ah yeah,” you nod, “I really couldn’t afford to do VIP on top of seeing so many shows, but I guess in a weird way it’s working out,” you laugh, and the boys are all smiles.

“Your phone,” Seonghwa notes, his eyes glance down to your phone on the windowsill by his side, “looks like you have a bit of charge if you want to give your friend a call,”

“Oh perfect,” you move to stand, but Seonghwa waves you off, quickly unclipping your phone from the charger and reaching out to hand it to you.

As you open your phone you see a slew of unanswered texts from your best friend. “I’m just going to give her a call,” you stand and move towards the door, San pulling it open for you as he is the closest.

In the hall you listen as the phone rings a few times before connecting.

“y/n where are you??” Your friend shrieks.

“I’m sorry – I couldn’t find you after the show, and then my phone died, and then it took me a while to get a charger and to get service. Where are you?”

“I’m driving,” she says, “I’m already almost back,”

“What??” You can hardly believe it and as you glance to your left through the open door you can see San and Hongjoong’s eyes trained on you, listening intently.

“Well, I couldn’t find you and I waited, I swear I did!” your friend says, “but after a while I figured you must have seen someone you knew or gotten home another way,”

“Are you kidding?” you say, deadpan, “I would never have left you alone, we don’t even know this city!”

“I’m sorry! Seriously! I thought when you didn’t respond you just figured it out or your phone died,”

“Got it,” your teeth clench, “OK well, get home safe.”

“Wait- how are you getting home?” your friend says, and you can clearly hear the highway in the background.

“Like you said, I’ll just figure it out.” With a huff you drop the phone, slamming the lock and ending the call. Perfect. Now this night just became much more difficult.

Chewing the inside of your lip you think for a minute, but figure if you can just get your phone enough charge you can uber to somewhere where public transit will open back up in a few hours, and maybe it will be safe enough, and maybe you’ll have enough money for train fare back home. You don’t want to look up, you can feel their eyes on you and in this moment all you can feel is embarrassed.

“y/n,” San’s voice is closer to you than you expected, and your eyes snap up. He’s in the hall with you, “come back inside,”

“I-“

“We heard,” he smiles, his hand finding your back again and ushering you inside, “we’re stuck here for a while too with the bus. Why don’t you hang out with us for a while?”

“I really don’t want to bother you all,” you shake your head, “I know you just did a long show and met with a ton of the VIP fans, you must be exhausted,”

“Mm,” San shakes his head, “it’s OK, just come relax and let your phone charge. Have some snacks, we have too many anyways,”

You smile before plugging your phone back on the charger and meeting eyes with Yeosang who gestures for you to come sit back down in the seat you occupied before. Since stepping out and back into the room Wooyoung has fired up the TV and started playing Nintendo with Mingi and Jongho. You’re grateful for a little less direct attention as you settle down onto the couch and smooth your hands over the knees of your pants.

Yeosang turns to you, angling towards you with his arm thrown over the back of the couch, “I’m sorry your friend didn’t wait for you,”

You sigh, “me too, but honestly, if she had I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you all, and I’m very grateful for that.”

Yeosang smiles, his intense cat-like eyes even more stunning up close, “We are too,”

You hear a hum of agreement from behind you, from who you can only assume is San or Seonghwa, but you can’t break eye contact with Yeosang’s intense stare.

“So how old are you y/n?”

“Ah, I’m 21.”

Seonghwa crosses in front of you, “Would you like a drink then? Beer maybe or soju?”

“Oh no, I really shouldn’t,” you shake your head, “I had a few drinks at the show, and I shouldn’t overdo it.”

He nods and lets it drop which you appreciate. Before you can open your mouth to say anything else, San drops onto the couch on your other side, his leg tightly pressed against yours since he is fitting himself into a much smaller space than normal. His head swivels towards you, eyes catching yours, and reaches out with his hand, smoothing it down your thigh. “Since we have some time, you should tell us about yourself,”

The intensity of his eyes has you speechless, and you swallow firmly trying to remember anything about yourself to share.

“San,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, stern now, “you’re making her uncomfortable. Stop.”

Your eyes break away from San and snap to Hongjoong, “Oh no – no I’m fine, I just…. To be honest tonight has been a lot, I expected I would be home by now, not here with all of you.”

Hongjoong relaxes at that, but you notice the way he was tense and stern a moment before, ready to tell San off for crowding you. It is an interesting dynamic, but you supposed it makes sense with him as the captain of the group.

San scoots away slightly, giving you some space and swings his arm across the back of the couch instead of touching you directly. You can still feel his heat though, radiating from his adjacent thigh, and the crook of his arm. It’s dizzying, but you focus on thinking of something interesting about yourself.

“So, you’re 21, you’re from the area, are you still in school?” Hongjoong asks, taking some of the pressure off.

“Oh no, I finished school a little early last year, I was in school for music production and sound engineering.”

Hongjoong’s eyes light up, “Oh producing!”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I would love to get into the industry, but it’s competitive, which you obviously know.”

He agrees, and you catch both Yeosang and San nodding along to your words out of your peripheral vision. Hongjoong shifts forwards on the coffee table, “so do you play music?”

You can feel yourself lighting up, nodding enthusiastically, this is your passion, and you rarely get to talk about it let alone gush about it to your idols. “Yes, I sing, I play piano, and just generally enjoy mixing. I’ve been getting into performance too, I’ve been really inspired by how tight your dancing is,”

San hums in interest, “You know some good routines?”

“Ah, not as much, but I’m learning. I’m mostly focused on the music production side, and I’ve been experimenting with some sound mixing.” This is the first time all night you felt like yourself, opening and talking about something like this, something that you knew they would understand.

“Do you have any of your work?” Hongjoong asks, intensely curious.

“Oh,” You falter for a moment, you didn’t expect this.

“I work on all of our music with Eden and the other producers,” Hongjoong grins, “I love it and I always like to hear what other people are doing or trying out,”

“Um,” you pause, trying to decide if you want to be courageous. At this point? Fuck it. “I might have some samples on my phone, let me see,”

You reach across San slightly and grab the phone sitting on the ledge. When you lean over, you feel your leg press tightly against his, and feel his hand gently ease against your upper back in an oddly supportive gesture for such a small moment. You swallow hard, glancing up and smiling at him while you flick open your phone and sift through some of the video and audio content.

“Oh, here’s something!” You focus in on something recent that you were planning on uploading online anyways, “it’s…. it’s very rough, and it’s not- I know it’s not great, but I’m still working through some-“

Yeosang’s fingers touch your knee gently, “It’s OK, we’re just interested – we don’t usually get to meet with a fan this long and it’s not often they work in the industry.”

Work in the industry feels like a generous phrase, but you smile anyways and queue up the track, passing the phone to Hongjoong, gesturing for him to press play when he’s ready. Your most recent project starts to play through the speakers. Suddenly you can’t stop fixating on all the things you think are wrong with it, timing that feels suddenly off now even when a week ago you finished it up and felt proud. You clasp your hands together, fingers tight and eyes downcast as the music plays.

“Ah wow!” Seonghwa calls from behind you all, perched on the arm of the couch. “I love the sound,”

Hongjoong nods enthusiastically, “Good beat,”

San’s hand, still resting between your shoulder blades, moves slightly, his thumb smoothing back and forth in a comforting pattern. It stills you, and you gently shift as you look up, letting your leg fall an inch or two further to the side against his.

As you look up you can see Mingi’s head bopping to the beat, despite his eyes still fixed on the game at hand, and San rolls his head in time with the music next to you, his hand on you never stilling.

“This is good,” Hongjoong says appreciatively, “You should definitely work in the industry.”

Your smile breaks wide, “Really?”

“Absolutely,”

You open your mouth to say something more, but the sound of a door in the back corner of the room popping open breaks everyone’s concentration on your music. Everyone looks back, you included, to see Yunho hurrying back in from what clearly feels like the outside judging by the blast of cool air that fills the room.

“We’re back up!” he announces, leaning over one of the tables, both palms flat and his eyes bright.

“Nice!” Wooyoung jumps up, game discarded and a few more members stand with them.

You’re frozen, suddenly it’s over, but the problem of needing to get home is still there and you still don’t have a clean solution. As you are lost in your own thoughts, you can hear Yunho giving some announcements, Hongjoong responding, San’s hand stills, San’s hand disappears as he rises to turn and talk to his friend.

Suddenly a question not directed at you, but about you, cuts through the fog – “Her friend just left her here?” You look back to see Yunho’s brows knit together. As he stands to his full height, you swallow, surprised by how tall and broad he is in person, despite having one of the softer and more kind faces of the group.

You shake your head and ask, “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

Yunho’s expression softens as his eyes meet yours, “You don’t have a way home, right?”

“Ah, not…. at the moment, but I just need to figure it out,” It feels like the right time, so you stand, gathering your items and shrugging your jacket back on. “Thank you so much for letting me charge my phone a bit,” you direct to Seonghwa, “and thank you all for being so kind,” you say to the group, your eyes lingering on San for a moment. “It sounds like your bus is back up and running, so I’ll just get out of your way. I appreciate everything though, and it was so wonderful meeting you,”

Hongjoong shakes his head, “Wait,”

You shake your head, slipping your phone in your pocket, “I’ll just grab an uber, or a train or something.” The eyes are on you, and the heat is back in your cheeks. You reach for the door, fully intending on heading out, saying another thank you to everyone, and slipping away into the night, before a warm hand lands on the back of your neck, resting just at the base between your shoulders.

The hand is broader, warmer, and rougher than San’s. You look back and Yunho is leaning over you, his warm hand on you, “Ah no, no, you misunderstand,” he turns you around gently with the push of his palm against your back, “you don’t have a good way home and the trains aren’t running at this hour. Seonghwa looked it up,”

“Oh,”

“We aren’t just going to leave you here,” Yunho murmurs, “that wouldn’t be right, or safe for you,”

“I don’t want to-“

“Be a bother,” San finishes for you, coming to occupy the side of you that Yunho isn’t on. “Stop worrying, we’ll help,”

You smile up at him, feeling small but warm between the two of them. “Okay,”

Hongjoong hops up, dusting his hands off on his jeans, “y/n, don’t you have tickets to the next show? It’s the last on the tour.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “yes, I do.”

“How were you going to get there?” he asks.

“I have a flight scheduled tomorrow morning, and then a flight home the morning after the concert,”

“Then it’s settled,” Hongjoong says, “If you feel comfortable travelling with us, then you can come with us to the next show and then you can get home as planned. Would you feel safe travelling with us?”

You can’t help but laugh, “Safe? Of course,”

“OK,” You watched grins grow across their faces, and something unspoken pass between them. They were so close they had their own little ways of communicating, and you smile in response.

Yunho smooths his hand down a bit, and places a quick, chaste kiss on top of your head, “All right, let’s get going then! Figure out who’s bunk she’s taking and who has to double up!”

Before you can process, he’s out the back door, and the rest of the crew are packing, throwing their things in bags, and cleaning up half drunk beverages. You already have your bag and your jacket, but you watch and look for where you might be able to help without getting in the way.

San, still at your side, leans in and places one of his hands against your wrist, “You can take my bunk, and I promise we’ll be perfect gentlemen,”

Heat spreads in your stomach but you nod and smile, “I trust you,”

“All right then Atiny,” he throws an arm around your shoulders, “let’s get going.” Louder over his shoulder he shouts, “Last day of tour!!”

A few hoots spark up behind you, but San is smiling and pulling you along, out the back door and into the cold night air towards the tour bus. “Good thing I came out for that smoke,” he jokes, bumping you with his hip.

“Good thing I don’t have very reliable friends,” you bump him back.

The night air is cold, but with his arm around you, and the feeling of the group surrounding you both, the excitement and possibility of the next 24 hours has you on a high. You just hope you can keep it together.

a/n: i have a few more chapters written, so expect more soon!

[indiee19]

In My Room (Part 3)

Alex Turner x reader

Summary: After Alex’s gig, he takes you back to the hotel room and drives you crazy before he has to leave.

warnings: smut, fingering, oral sex (m! receiving)

word count: 4823

A/N: Soo, this one is kinda long because i refuse to make this four parts, so enjoy this over 4.8k words that hasn’t been proof read.

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You and Alex spent the rest of the day exploring Berlin. You showed him the Berlin Wall Memorial, the museum, and a lot more. While you were at the museum, quite a few people were able to get pictures of you two holding hands, kissing, and being very close together.

Neither you or Alex minded though, you were both too caught up in looking around the city and spending time with each other.

Then, it was time to go to the show that Alex had. You remembered that it would be the last show that they would do in Germany, and as much as you tried, you just couldn't get the thought out of your head that tomorrow, he would be gone and you'd just be considered a one night stand, even though you were his girlfriend.

You were sat on a bench thinking about it while Alex was getting ready in his dressing room and he took notice of you down you looked.

"Love, are you alright?" Alex asked, zipping up his pants, sitting down on the bench beside you.

"Yeah, just ... just excited for the show," you said, quickly changing your mood so that Alex wouldn't think that anything was wrong with you. "Okay, love," Alex said, standing up and putting on his shirt, buttoning it up.

He turned to the mirror and fixed his hair that he was currently growing out. He turned around and faced you. "Well, 'ow do I look?" Alex asked.

"You look absolutely amazing, Alex," you said, standing up and kissed him. There was a knock at the dressing room door and you and Alex pulled apart, and Alex walked over to the door and opened it to see Miles at the door, waiting for Alex.

"Hey, Mi," Alex said, hugging Miles. "Come on in," Alex added, motioning with his hand for Miles to come into the dressing room.

"Oh, it's alright, Al, we have to be on stage in five minutes anyways," Miles said, waving it off then noticing you were sat down on the bench in the back of the room. "Hey, love, he said, waving to you.

You waved back at him. "Hey, Mi," you said, standing up and walking over to him to give him a hug before they had to go on stage, and like he had done before, Miles kissed your cheek lightly, always being so polite and kind.

"So, are you excited for the show?" you asked Miles after you both pulled away from the hug.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm excited alright. Are you, Al?" Miles answered, looking from you to Alex.

"I-I ... mean, yeah, I guess," Alex answered Miles's question, stuttering and stumbling over his words. Alex was about to say something until a sound man yelled for them and came to Alex's dressing room to find him and Miles. The sound man told them that it was time for them to go on stage.

The sound man led towards the stage and you followed them, planning on staying behind stage, watching them from there. They got to the stairs to go on stage. Miles started walking up the stairs, but Alex glad quickly turned around and gave you a chaste kiss, a little peck on the lips even.

"Don't go anywhere, love," he said, walking up the stairs now.

You quickly yelled back at him before he got up the stairs. "Wouldn't plan on it."

As soon as Alex walked on stage and waved at the crowd, you could hear so many girls screaming and even heard one yell, "I love you, Alex," and heard, "Please marry me!" You laughed and just sat down and watched the performance.

Their performance was better than you could have ever imagined. Alex and Miles were staying close to each other, being adorable and showing their affection for each other, looking like they were about to snog one another.

Their vocals were amazing, they played each and every song with lots of passion and it was very clear to anyone that they were very passionate about their work and that they put lots of thought into it.

Every song that they played mesmerized you again and again, always getting lost in the amount of love and adoration they both had for their job and songs. So it was natural that when the show ended you were sad and as soon as they came off stage, you missed the songs playing already.

As soon as Alex saw you and he was completely off stage, he immediately walked over to you and quickly ur down his guitar and then kissed you. He pulled away, and sat down beside you.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Alex asked, rubbing up and down your arm.

"I loved it actually," you said, making Alex smile with glee. Miles came over to you both and sat down beside Alex. "So, do you two want to go out to the bar to celebrate the last show?" Miles asked, placing his head on Alex's shoulder.

"No, thanks, though. I think that we're just going to go back to the hotel and relax, right, love?" Alex answered.

"Yeah, we are," you nodded. Miles looked sad but he understood why you two didn't want to go to the bar, he knew that you would probably want to spend time alone with Alex before they had to leave tomorrow.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you two tomorrow," Miles said, getting up and walking to his dressing room. Alex and you then got up after he left and went to Alex's dressing room. As soon as you got in the room Alex immediately kissed you deeply, pushing you up against the wall.

You started undoing his shirt , getting nearly half way done before Alex grabbed your hands and pinned them up above your head. You had no idea where all this came from and assumed that it was just his gig high.

"Let me touch you," you said, tugging on your hands that Alex was holding.

"You want me, then prove it," Alex drawled, letting go of your hands. You quickly sunk down onto your knees, undoing Alex's pants and pulling them down along with his underwear just enough so that you could pull out his cock.

You began to slowly stroke him, looking up at him as he put his hand against the wall to brace himself. You placed a few light kisses to his tip before letting all of him sink past your lips. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching his eyes shut and his mouth fall open.

You flattened your tongue so that he could fit better in your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and Alex's other hand came down to the back of your head, holding you there by your hair. He loosened his grip on your hair and you started to bob your head up and down on his length.

Alex suddenly pushed your head all the way down on his cock, causing you to gag around him. He felt heavy against your tongue and you kept hollowing your cheeks as he kept pushing you up and down on him.

After going on like this for quite a few minutes, you began to drool a little, considering that you had ever done this before. You quickly wiped it away and began sucking faster and bobbed your head faster, still looking up at him through your lashes.

Alex's hips began to rock back and forth, his cock hitting the back of your throat more often than before and you moaned around him, sending vibrations up his bod, his grip on your hair getting tighter and tighter.

"God, love, I-I'm so close," he moaned, opening and locking his eyes with yours. A moment later he stilled his hip movements and with a groan, he held you by your hair on his cock as his release hit the back of your throat.

His grip loosened on your hair and he helped you up off of the ground, tugging up his underwear and pants. Alex noticed that you had drooled a little more and he wiped it away for you and your face flushed with embarrassment and you looked down at the ground.

"Guess I should get me other clothes on now," Alex laughed. He was coming down from his gig high, which made him become the shy, quiet boy that he was all day long. He stepped away from you so that he could change and he handed you water to drink.

You gladly took the water and took a large gulp from it and put it down and sat back on the bench, watching Alex change. He quickly got done changing and grabbed the clothes that he performed in, putting them in a bag and carrying it. You stood up and walked the to door with Alex.

"You ready to go back to the hotel, me love?" Alex asked, grabbing your hand and interlocking his fingers with yours. "Yes," you answered. He smiled and he turned off the light, and you two exited the building.

There was lots of fans outside, of course, and Alex tried his best to hide your face, all the while making sure he got a picture with everyone who asked for one and making sure that he gave people autographs.

"Who's that girl you're with, Alex?" a woman yelled. "Is that your new girlfriend?" another said. Alex refused to answer any questions and you both rushed to get back to the hotel since it was within a two minute walking distance.

As soon as you got to the hotel and got in the elevator, Alex hugged you tightly. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that," he said, laying his head on your shoulder.

"It's okay, Alex. I know that you can't control it," you said, rubbing his back. You couldn't understand why he felt sorry, because it wasn't his fault and it was just his fans being curious about his personal life.

The doors opened on Alex's floor and you got out and walked to his room. Alex got the keycard out of his wallet and unlocked the door. He threw his bag of clothes down and you both took off your shoes and he layed down on the bed, as did you.

Alex nuzzled into your neck and placed light kisses on it, moving his hand down to palm your breasts over the material of your shirt and bra.

"Horny again already," you laughed, pulling him away from your neck, looking deep into his big, chocolate brown eyes.

"How can I not be. I mean, look at you, you're gorgeous," he replied, kissing you deeply, grabbing the back of your neck to keep you in place. Alex shifted to be above you and you felt him grow harder against your leg and you moved your hand to palm him through his jeans.

He groaned against your lips and pulled away, kissing down your neck. When he reached the collarbone of your shirt he looked up at you. "Can I take this off of you, love?" Alex asked. You didn't answer, but instead you sat up slightly and took off your shirt on your own, throwing it to the floor, unclasping and taking you bra off in the process.

He gazed at you for one moment before dipping his head down to your breasts to place kisses all over them. He kissed down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your jeans and you helped him undo them, shuffling out of them along with your panties.

Alex hooked one of your thighs over his shoulder and quickly dipped his head down to place wet, sloppy kisses to your clit, your hands coming down into his hair. His kisses were slow and tortuous, his need to tease you growing with every kiss, and your need for him to be inside you growing immensely.

Alex's fingers found your entrance and circled it, spreading your wetness around. He pushed two fingers inside of you, slowly moving them in and out of you, setting the pace to be just like his kisses on your clit.

You couldn't take the slow pace anymore and pulled on Alex's hair. "Alex, please," you whimpered.

He sat up slightly, his fingers still moving in and out of you. "What, love. Tell me what you want," he said.

"Fuck me," you managed to breathe out.

"Gonna make you come 'round me fingers first, alright," he drawled, pumping his fingers in and out of you faster. His thumb found your clit, rubbing circles on it, and you threw your head back onto the pillow, eyes shutting.

You grasped the sheets in your fists, desperate to have something to hold on to since Alex wouldn't dip his head back down to your core so that you could grab his hair. Alex curled his fingers deep inside you, hitting that spongey spot that made you see stars.

"Alex, d-do that again," you said, your voice trailing off into a moan as he repeated the motion by your request. He smirked and kept doing the motion over and over again, driving you closer to your realease that you needed desperately now.

Alex curled his fingers deep inside you as well as flicking your clit and that was enough to send you over the edge. You rolled your hips to get more friction as Alex had slowed the movements of his fingers, though they were still pumping out of you, just at a much, much slower pace.

You came down from your high and whimpered when Alex pulled his fingers out of you. Alex stood up and shuffled out of his clothes, leaving him in his boxers. He walked over to his suitcase and got a condom out of one of the zippers. He walked back to the bed and took off his boxers, ripping the silver packet and rolling the condom down on his length, crawling back over you.

Alex lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed inside you. It took two pushes until he was fully inside your and his head fell down on your shoulder, peppering your neck with kisses, reveling in the feeling of your cunt stretching to accommodate to his size.

You asked him to move and he did, slowly pulling almost all the way out of you, slamming back in quickly after. His pace started off slow, but immediately got faster. His arms held him up above you and you gripped his biceps, that weren't very muscular at the moment, so that you could have something to hold on to.

You closed your eyes, taking in the pleasure of his thick cock stretching your walls. Alex quickly noticed you closing your eyes, and stopped suddenly. "Look at me, love," he drawled, his accent thick and heavy with lust.

You nodded and opened your eyes, Alex smiled as soon as he was met with your eyes, starting to thrust into you again. One of his hands came down in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your clit. Your moans filled the room as well as Alex's grunts, and you were sure that whoever was in the room right beside Alex's was very aware of what was going on in his room, and would more than likely complain about the noise.

You felt your orgasm coming closer and closer with each thrust. With one flick of your clit from Alex, you were sent spiraling. Your orgasm washed over you and because Alex kept on with his thrusts, you rode out your high, while Alex hadn't even stopped, acting like it never happened and kept going, determined to get you and himself there.

"Come with me again, love," he grunted, somehow going faster than before.

"Oh, god, Alex, fuck," you moaned loudly, already feeling another orgasm build up, even though you had just come down from you last high. Soon enough, your third orgasm washed over you, coming faster than you had expected. Your walls clenching and contracting around Alex's cock was enough for his orgasm to wash over him, his hips stilling as his release spilled inside the condom.

After you both came down from your highs, alex used the last amount of his strength to pull out of you and walked to the bathroom to dispose of the condom an walked back to the bed and cuddled up to you.

You were going to ask Alex about tomorrow and what time that they were going to leave, but as soon as he hit the bed, he practically fell asleep, stopping you from asking him. You didn't mind though, he did look adorable whenever he was asleep and you too soon fell asleep.

-

When Alex woke up the next morning, he was laid on his stomach, his head resting against his arms. He moved one of his arms from underneath his head to search for you, like you had done the previous day, but you weren't there.

He sighed and opened his eyes, forcing himself out of bed, putting on some boxers. He assumed that you had left and gone home, but his assumptions immediately went away when he saw you sitting at the small table in the lounge room in his shirt and nothing else, eating breakfast.

"Hey, Al," you said, eating your breakfast and motioning for him to sit down, pointing at his own breakfast.

"What's this?" Alex asked, sitting down beside you, starting to eat his breakfast.

"Well, since it's your last day here, I thought that I would by you breakfast," you said calmly, kissing his cheek lightly.

He chuckled and starting eating his breakfast, somehow finishing it all before you did and once he was done he got up to go brush his teeth. He seemed rushed, making you think that he had to leave very soon.

"Alex," you called, standing up and walking to the bathroom. He turned to you. "What time does your plane have to leave, Alex?" you asked as soon as he finished brushing his teeth. "In ... about an hour, love," he said, checking the clock in between words.

You frowned and so did Alex, you didn't want him to leave so soon and neither did he. Alex started to collect his things that were scattered around the room and began to out them in his bag. You took off his shirt and put your own clothes back on, handing him his shirt and he put it in his bag.

You sat on the bed as he finished re-packing all of his things back into his bag. Alex put on some pants and another button up, fixing his hair with his fingers. He sat down on the bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you.

"You know, we can always call each other and in between tours I can come visit you or you can visit me," Alex said, trying to make both you and him feel better about this and he kissed your temple.

"Yeah, okay," you said quietly, kissing him. There was a knock on the door, and it freaked you both out since you hadn't been expecting one.

"Al, are you ready," Miles called from outside the room. Alex pulled away slightly. "Fuck off, Mi," Alex said, going back to kissing you.

"Al, I'm serious, we have to leave or else we'll be late for the plane," Miles said. You pulled away and stood up, Alex standing up as well. He grabbed his suitcase and put on his boots and you grabbed your handbag and put on your shoes as well and you both exited the room.

"About bloody time," Miles said as soon as you two exited the room, leaning against the wall. You all walked to the elevator and got in. Miles was the first one to get out of the elevator when it reached the ground floor, and him and Alex checked out quickly.

Immediately after checking out, they rushed outside, some other people waiting outside for them and you followed.

The people waiting for Alex and Miles grabbed their bags and put them in the trunk and hurried them into a car, not letting you in after them.

"It's alright, she can come," Alex said, making room for you. They hesitantly let you in and you sat beside Alex, his arm wrapping around you.

The drive was short and you didn't like that, you wanted to spend more time with Alex and he wanted to spend more time with you. You looked over at Alex every now and then and saw that he had a gloomy face on, even though Miles was trying to make him laugh.

As soon as the car was parked, you knew that your time Alex had ended and you got out, letting Alex and Miles get out after you. They got their luggage out of the trunk and started towards the airport, Alex however stayed behind with you.

He hurriedly got out his phone and asked for yours, putting your number in his phone and putting your in his, with your help of course and you gave him your address just in case he was ever in town and lost your number.

"I-I guess that I'll call you later," he said, looking into your eyes.

"Yeah," you said. Miles called for Alex to come on and yelled bye to you. "Tell Miles that I said bye."

"Okay, I will. Bye, love," he said and kissed you before he walked away. You watched him enter the airport before you finally left the parking lot. You called a taxi and they drove you to your house and you began wondering when Alex would call you.

-

ONE YEAR LATER

It had officially been one year since you last saw Alex and he never called you, nor did he visit. You had given up the hope that he would call you months ago, and you figured that he had just thought of you as another one night stand.

You had just gotten off work and headed to the pub that you met Alex at. You didn't expect him to be there, it was just your favourite bar. You sat down at the bar and ordered your normal drink, starting your tab.

The seats on either side of you were empty so you weren't surprised whenever someone sat down beside you. They tapped on your shoulder and you turned to face them, you thought that it would be some man expecting a blowjob or a quick fuck, but instead, it was Alex, except his hair was grown out and his style had changed, sporting a leather jacket and distressed denim jeans.

To be honest, you didn't recognize him at first, and you thought that he was just some stranger. "H-hey, love," he said. Though his look had changed, he was still that shy, quiet, socially awkward boy that you met one year ago.

"Hey, Alex," you said. You still couldn't believe it. Alex ordered himself a whiskey and the bartender quickly gave it to him.

"How 'ave you been," he asked, sipping on his whiskey.

"I've been good. You?" you answered, drinking your drink.

"Good. We released a new album. It's called 'umbug," he replied. You'd heard of the album and even listened to a few of the songs on the radio, you think that you heard The Jewlers Hands and Cornerstone, but that was the only ones that you remembered.

There was obvious tension between you two from being awa from each other for so long, that and the fact that you two hadn't talked since he left. You both sat in silence while you finished your drinks.

Once you both were done with your drinks you asked Alex, "Do you want to go back to my house?"

"Yeah, sure. I'd love to," he said. You both got up from your seats and this time, you payed for the drinks to Alex's dismay of course.

You exited the pub and walked to your house, or your apartment actually, since it was only three minutes away from the pub. You and Alex reached your apartment and Alex sat down on the sofa, you sitting down beside him.

There was more silence for a few minutes until you spoke. "Alex, why didn't you call?" you asked.

"I guess that ... I guess that my insecurities got to me. I guess I thought that you didn't want to see me," he explained, fiddling with his fingers.

"Why would you ever think that? Of course I wanted to see you," you said, grabbing his hand. "To be honest, the only way that I could get over you was to pretend that you were just some lover," you said.

He looked up at you and kissed you, biting down on your bottom lip, asking you to let him in to which you did. He tasted just like you remembered, cigarettes and you smelled the same spicy cologne that he wore one year ago. His slightly chapped lips moved in sync with your own, your hands coming into his gorgeous hair.

He pulled away for breath and rested his forehead against yours, his eyes barring into yours just like they always had. You got up and walked towards the bedroom, Alex following. You turned Ono the lamp beside your bed and sat down. Alex saw you and crawled over you, pushing you to be laid down on your bed, kissing you immediately.

You pushed off Alex's jacket and he kicked off his boots and you somehow kicked your shoes off as well. He tugged on your shirt and helped you take it off, as well as your bra. He stood up and took off your pants and underwear. He took off his clothes as well, nearly forgetting one thing.

"Wait, do you have a-" you cut him off, reaching into your bedside drawer, ripping open the packet for Alex and handing him the packet. He took the condom out and rolled it down onto his cock, giving himself a few tugs before sitting over you and lining himself up with your entrance and pushed inside.

His need to tease you had clearly left in the year you'd been away from one another and he was hilt deep inside you only with a few thrusts. He gave you very little time to fully adjust to his size before he started to move. 

His pace started off slow, just like they had before, but it didn't take long before he was speeding  up his thrusts, your hands gripped onto his biceps that now had quite a bit of muscle compared to when his arms had last been on either side of your head, and you certainly didn't mind the muscle.

"God, you feel so good, love," he drawled, placing kisses to your neck. You felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach and you were sure that you wouldn't last much longer. One of Alex's hands found your clit, rubbing harsh circles on it.

He delivered a hard thrust and pressed down hardly on your clit, sending you over the edge. Alex wasn't far behind you, the feeling of you walls contracting around him enough for him to still his movements and his releases coating the inside of the condom, collapsing on top of you.

He pulled out of you and walked to the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom to dispose of the condom. You stayed laying down on your bed, trying to grasp the fact that you and Alex had just done that again.

He came back into our room and layed down beside you and pulled the covers over the two of you. "So, do you have to leave in two days?" you joked, cuddling up to Alex.

"No, we're staying for two weeks," he said, holding you close to him, kissing your temple.

"Okay," you said. You both fell asleep soon after and spent the rest of his time in Berlin with each other and you even got to meet the rest of the band. Everything was perfect and you couldn't have wished for anything better.

When it was time for Alex to leave he made sure to call you right before they got on the plane and he called you everyday after that. He told you about all the shows they played, told you about his day and life and the band, and asked you about your day and life.

He visited you every time he could, and you visited him whenever you could. Though you missed him a times, you both were making long distance work and eventually, in late 2011, you moved with him to Los Angeles. You missed friends and family, but you and Alex visited them quite a lot. 

And your life was seemingly great

[redhoodedwolf]

A Week-ish of Sterek Fics

Hello all! So I recently accidentally fell back into my AO3 bookmarks and have fallen down a rabbit (fox? eh?) hole that leaves me entirely unproductive and sleep deprived but full of feels, so I thought I’d share all of the fics that I’ve rerereread thus far in the last week (it’s over 75 guys) (since friday 😬). Each has the fic name and description, length, and year pub/finished because it makes me feel old. Also all of these are complete because I am weak and cannot handle WIPs. 

Note: I’m not adding any tags to the descriptions, so make sure to read the tags and ratings on each fic first before reading!!!

Teaching Derek How to Text (and Other Shenanigans) by neilwrites | 9K  | 2018

yo derek Who’s dying

---

I see your 'Derek doesn't have a phone' line and raise you 'Derek has a phone, he and Stiles text all the fucking time.'

The Hoodie by ladiekatie | 1.7K | 2017

“You shouldn’t be able to see me. What are you?” The guy in the hoodie says, the ball of energy grows hotter under Derek’s chin.

or the one where Derek is just trying to talk to the guy at the back of the subway.

Nothing You Could Say by SylvieW | 13K | 2016

Stiles’ second year of college is not working out as he planned. He rarely sees Scott, his job is exhausting, and to get home after his shift, he has to walk at three in the morning. Nearly getting mugged is the icing on the cake, but luckily a gruff stranger is there to rescue him. But now Stiles can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s not alone in the dark.

Old Traditions, Werewolf Edition by Footloose | 3.6K | 2014

Stiles does not work his Omega ass off to attract frat boy Alphas. Absolutely not. He's at college to get his degree. If he's crushing on an Alpha who never crosses the lines of propriety, well, no one needs to know, right?

Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MereLoup | 14K | 2016

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles...what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

third time's the charm by stilinski | 4.9K | 2016

 Sure, Stiles has a mark on his chest that belies the depth of his feelings, but it's not something anyone can see unless he decides to show it, or unless werewolves suddenly have x-ray vision.

 Which—worrying. And probably-definitely-likely a possibility – if it was to manifest anywhere, Beacon Hills would be top of the list.

 Stiles almost turns around there and then to ask Scott how his visual acuity is but is stopped by the teenager at the register finally looking up long enough to spot Derek. Stiles watches her mouth fall open and her expression—studiously blank but with a faint flush rising in her cheeks—is one Stiles knows far too well, particularly when faced with Derek in all his snug-fitting-jeans, v-neck-wearing, canvas-jacketed glory.

 Stiles is pretty sure he invented that expression.

Ukochany by VincentMeoblinn| 34K | 2016

Derek comes home to find a mail order husband and two amused betas waiting for him. When he realizes their prank was far from harmless he ends up saddled with a husband who barely speaks English but insists Derek is the love of his life. He's also determined to win him over.

only if for a night by stilinskisparkles | 3.2K | 2016

“I’m Stiles,” he says breathlessly.

“Derek.”

“Derek, hi, do you—”

Derek doesn’t let him finish, kisses the words right out of his mouth.

Hypothetically by alisvolatpropiis | 6.6K | 2015

Stiles holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sinking sun, its orange-yellow light reflected infinitely across the vast, calm ocean. As utterly stunning as the sunset over the Pacific is, especially while floating leisurely on a surfboard a few hundred feet from shore, it’s a mere backdrop that pales in comparison to who he’s looking at.

Derek Hale, whose eyes are their own oceans that Stiles feels like he’s been floating on since the first time they met. The older man’s eyes are as ever-changing and colorful as the sea they’ve spent the day on, a palette of greens and blues filigreed with gold around the pupils. And if that weren’t enough, the rest of Derek is also transcendentally exquisite: high, arching cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, although that particular perfection is a bit obscured these days by his ever-thickening beard, night-black like his hair, nearly shoulder-length but almost always knotted in a messy bun at the crown of his head.

sincerely, derek by stilinskisparkles | 8.1K | 2016

September, 2009

Hi Stiles, it’s Derek. Derek Hale, from space camp. I’m writing this in English because my teacher Ms Grady said I had to write about my summer, but I spent my summer with you, so I decided to write to you, instead.

Please write back. Love from Derek.

Pancakes and Murder by Amethyst Shard (AmethystShard) | 14K | 2012

Stiles' life has been a roller-coaster filled with awesome highs and terrifying drops ever since his best friend Scott got bit by a werewolf. The ride hits a bump when a dead body turns up at the Hale house (again) and Derek's only alibi is Stiles. Which would be fine, except that Stiles' dad is the sheriff and has no idea his son has been hanging out with the former fugitive. Awkward.

The Witching Hour by MellytheHun | 8.2K | 2016

The radio host AU no one ever asked for but I have written anyway because sometimes when DJ’s play several sad songs in a row, I worry about their mental health and then this AU was born

Derek Hale, The Hero Beacon Hills Needs (Series) by MellytheHun | 11K | 4 Works | 2016

This series started with this Tumblr prompt, "it’s the middle of the night and i’m walking home alone in the dark and there’s this guy following me and he’s starting to gain on me and i found this phone booth with a lock on the door and i tried to call my best friend but my hands were shaking so badly i accidentally dialed the wrong number and i don’t even know you but help me” au

Stiles is walking home when he's stalked by a dangerous stranger and an even more dangerous stranger comes to his rescue.

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill | 32K | 2013

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

You are the Moon by skoosiepants | 10K | 2012

Stuff Stiles doesn’t like to deal with first thing: hot, moist dog breath in his face, a cuddly werewolf creepifying his perfectly normal morning wood with shades of bestiality, and his dad holding his service revolver up against the skull of his bedmate, never mind the fact that his bedmate could possibly be a vicious unhinged rogue omega.

Baby, you should stick around by ElisAttack | 9.5K | 2016

Derek's driving along a stretch of highway when an unusual sight makes him slow down, the engine of his old pickup rattling in protest.

There's a kid standing by the side of the road.

It's the middle of nowhere, the goddamn apocalypse, and this kid is standing by the side of the road with his thumb pointed skyward. Like he's playing at being a hitchhiker.

Or the one where Stiles thinks he's all alone in a post-apocalyptic world, until he meets Derek.

Don’t Be Anything But Okay by skoosiepants | 4.8K | 2016

“Oh my god.”

Ben pops open the car door and says, “Please don’t embarrass me, Dad.”

Stiles flaps a hand, still staring at the magnificent sight before him. There are glistening arm muscles and a sweaty tank top and then the vision bends over and holy god. He has to look away; it’s too much to take in all at once, he might swoon.

OR-

Stiles has a teenager and Derek has a plant nursery.

covalent bonds (Series) by HalfFizzbin | 9.2K | 3 Works | 2015

Derek's a hot nerd. Stiles is a nerdy jock. A LOVE STORY FOR THE AGES.

Disappear Here by AgnesBlue | 28K | 2016

Stiles was quiet. “What?” Derek said again. “My first heat is coming up soon,” Stiles said at last. Derek closed his eyes, disinterested. He knew where Stiles was going with this. “I was thinking…hoping, really,” Stiles said. “Maybe you could stay with me during that time.”

AU in which wounded in a fire that killed off his entire family, Derek wants nothing more than to be left alone as he finishes off his senior year in high school. That all changes when omega Stiles Stilinski asks him to help him through his first heat.

Money Isn't Everything by TroubleIWant | 6.3K | 2015

Stiles slurps at the dregs of his iced hazelnut latté, pretending he doesn’t need a refill just yet. Supporting your local business is great and all, but Isaac charging $5 for a coffee with syrup is highway robbery. He’s already cut his expenses down to the bare minimum, and splurging for foofy drinks is not in the budget. Except that he can’t really help himself: black coffee is plain gross. Maybe I should plan on marrying rich, he thinks darkly.

Or,

Stiles has a huge crush on the super-hot guy he always sees at Isaac's coffee shop, but when he finds out that they guy's an unemployed orphan he has to decide if the difference in their financial situations is a deal-breaker, or just a bump on the path to true love.

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock | 21K | 2014

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

you and me (and my best friend) by trilliastra | 1.5K | 2016

“Come on, I shouldn’t be the only one having orgasms. Let me help you out.”

“Uh –” someone clears their throat and Derek jumps, startled, hits his elbow on the wall and curses, “am I interrupting something?” Stiles asks, cheeks red.

Derek looks up, sighing. Of all the people working in this damn school, Stiles had to be the one to catch him and Erica talking about sex. It’s just Derek’s luck. He spills juice on his pants? Stiles walks into the classroom; Laura starts yelling at him about something that happened when they were kids? Stiles is right behind them, waiting for his coffee; Boyd accidentally throws a ball at his face? Stiles is at the E.R. when Derek gets there with a swollen face and a broken nose.

The universe hates him.

Easy Alpha by interropunct | 4.6K | 2012

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

Body Language by LadyMerlin | 2.3K | 2016

In an alternate universe, soulmates exist, and they can communicate with each other by writing on their own skin.

The catch? No one knows their soulmates' name. It could literally be anyone under the sun, and Stiles just doesn't have that kind of patience.

chantes une nouvelle chanson pour moi by pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons) | 13K | 2013

Stiles Stilinski has been at Hogwarts since his first year, okay. That's six years of experience. He knows how Hogwarts works, how it operates. He's not quite an expert or anything, but he's pretty damn sure he knows this school.

So why the hell have they waited like a million years to start taking transfer students?

And why is he the only one who can't get a French date?

C’était Salement Romantique by Swing Set in December (swing_set13) | 2.2K | 2015

The Triwizard tournament is really about fostering wizarding relations. Ask anyone. Just not Stiles, he’s busy French kissing Derek.

Hogwarts really should teach some linguistic classes.

The Long Way Home by MyChemicalRachel | 19K | 2016

Stiles didn’t plan to sleep with his best friend’s dad. It just kind of happened. And then it happened again. And again. And again…

All that once was, remains. by countrygirlsfun | 8.8K | 2016

Life is only a long list of constants.

Being a part of a royal family, being a prince, has been a constant in Derek Hale’s life since he was born and swaddled in silk cloths.

Wherein Derek finds himself in love with a stable boy who is more than he seems.

Driver's Education by arrowofcarnations | 9.2K | 2014

This is the moment he realizes he can never have Derek Hale – that he was stupid to ever think he could. Maybe their moms made them hang out when they were little and maybe they’ve managed to get along these past few weeks, but they’re too different. Derek’s cool, he plays a million sports, he drives a Camaro, he’s friends with Jackson. Stiles doesn’t fit into the equation and he never will.

Letters by ericaismeg | 8.9K | 2014

“Stiles, this is getting ridiculous. Can you please do something about it?” Lydia demands. “Do anything. I don’t care. Go up and kiss him, ask him to prom this year, write him secret admirer love letters, whatever. Just do something.”

***

OR: The one where Lydia sets up an email account for Stiles to "confess his love" for Derek. And as fate would have it, they also end up becoming friends in person at the same time.

We're One of a Kind (Like Dip Da Dip Da Dip Do Whap De Dobby Do) by orphan_account | 3.5K | 2012

Derek is your classic greaser—with a leather jacket, a hot rod, a hot bike, and a duck butt. Genim “Stiles” Stilinski a total fream—he’s too cool to be a poindexter but he’s so far from a cat that Derek almost feels bad for him. All that’s missing in this love story is some oddly perfectly timed musical numbers.

do it for our country  by HalfFizzbin | 936 | 2012

In which Derek tries to play it cool but Stiles is totally hep to his jive.

Fast Times At Clairemont High by MonsieurBlueSky (MyChemicalRachel) | 6.9K | 2016

Stiles is stoked when he's chosen for an undercover operation to take down a drug ring. He's less stoked when he discovers that he'll be posing as a seventeen year old student at the High School where Derek teaches.

It's Too Early For This by thepsychicclam | 4.9K | 2016

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

A Tentative Truce by Inell | 8.5K | 2016

Stiles and Derek have a long standing rivalry that has extended beyond the Beacon Hills High School theater department to every other area of their high school lives. With the announcement of the winter production, their competitiveness has to be set to the side so the musical can be successful. With a tentative truce in place, Stiles unable to ignore his growing infatuation for his co-star.

we keep living anyway by bistiles (alis) | 10K | 2015

“Oh, damn, my manners. What an example I’m setting, am I right? I’m Stiles Stilinski, but call me Stiles, please,” Stilinski extended his hand for Derek to shake, and Derek took it, feeling the solid grip and the long fingers around his own hand. For some reason, he blushed on the spot.

“Derek. Derek Hale. Call me just Derek,” He answered, still holding Stiles’ hand in his.

By the look on Stiles’ face, he felt much the same as what Derek was feeling, whatever that unnamed reaction was.

“And this little barnacle attached to me,” Stiles continued, letting go of Derek and flushing pink, “is Leigh.”

--

Stiles is struggling to raise his only child all alone, while dealing with financial problems, a new job, and Adrian Harris, the worst boss in the world.

But then he meets Derek Hale, a dreamy co-workers, and what is a terrible situation becomes considerably less grim, when he has Derek by his side.

Don't Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite (augopher) | 4.5K | 2015

Stiles doesn't care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School's resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one's judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say...never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

sometimes fate is like a small snowstorm by thepsychicclam | 8.1K | 2014

In a coffee shop two days before Christmas, Derek meets Stiles. Despite neither of them being interested in relationships, they spend an unforgettable evening together, but then part ways. During the following years, Stiles competes in the Olympics, Derek tours the world - and neither of them forget. Then twelve years later, two days before Christmas, Derek finds Stiles in that same coffee shop.

aka a kinda sorta serendipity au

should the pillars of memory topple out of my reach by bleep0bleep | 4.3K | 2015

If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say that look in Derek's eyes is adoring, but he does know better, and also amnesiac Derek thinks they’re married. Which is the only fact he hasn’t questioned so far, which is the weirdest thing.

Just High School by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 4.5K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been dating for some time.

The only thing is, nobody else really knows.

Tis The Season Baristas Fear The Most by stilinskisparkles | 5.4K | 2012

Scott is hands down the worst barista Derek has ever hired. But it's Christmas and apparently that means something to some people.

Mind Reading Can Be Such a Pain in the A** (Series) by Fanhag102 | 21K | 2 Works | 2015

Derek Hale can read minds. If he could have chosen a mutant power for himself instead of being given one by random, genetic happenstance it's safe to say mind-reading would not have been his 1st, 2nd, or even 96th choice.

Maybe if he'd gotten the power of invisibility he wouldn't be sitting in a senior Economics class next to a hyperactive kid with a buzz cut who won’t stop thinking about dicks.

A Criminal and His Lucky Charm by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 5.9K | 2015

Please forgive yourself.

For what?

For allowing yourself to let someone in. For letting me love you. I didn’t deserve it, but that wasn’t your fault. Derek, please, just do it. Please— please don’t drag this out.

Derek Hale valued Stiles above everyone—everything. And Stiles betrayed that. In the end, he figured if he had to die, dying in Derek’s arms wasn’t so bad. He could at least have that.

the things you said when we were the happiest we’ve ever been by foxerica (ericaismeg) | 4.8K | 2015

Derek and Stiles meet again at their high school reunion.

From Dirty Paws by Surreal | 9.9K | 2014

Stiles finds a wolf in the woods. Well, it's more like the wolf finds him. Either way, he's happy to have a new friend in his otherwise boring social circle.

flawless by bibliosexual | 4.9K | 2015

“I know you and I are, like, werewolf-married, but dude, if I ever met Lydia Martin in person . . . All bets are off, is all I'm saying."

It's not like Stiles really means it (does he?), but it still makes Derek’s hands clench into claws on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, if," he says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

Those Hidden Places by Mimiminaj | 18K | 2015

He doesn’t belong here.

It’s the first thought that crosses Derek’s mind as he watches the new inmates spill into the cafeteria. The kid stays close to the wall, eyes scanning all the exits and skimming over the tables. If he’s trying to get a barring for his surroundings he’s doing a shit job of it, something made completely evident as Lewis shoulders him from behind and the kid almost jumps to flatten himself against the wall.

Or

Stiles is the new inmate at Derek's prison. He really didn't expect to fall in love with the mouthy little brat.

Baseball Pants by thatfamoushappyending (betsytheoven) | 2.8K | 2015

Scott shows Stiles a picture of the new pitcher for the Dodgers, and Stiles is suddenly an avid Dodgers fan.

While You Were(n't Quite) Sleeping by mikkimouse | 13K | 2015

Scott’s mom, Melissa, had given Stiles the basics on Derek’s condition when he’d first come over here a month ago. Derek had been here six years, the only survivor of a horrific house fire that had killed the rest of his family. It had left him burned, half his face puckered with scars, and he’d been in a catatonic state the entire time. Stiles couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful that would be, being trapped in your own body for years on end, all alone.

Stiles had an inkling of how much being alone sucked, anyway.

(An AU in which Derek is the one who was trapped in the fire, and then in the hospital, based on a set of pictures from littlecofiegirl.)

dhale25 by ericaismeg | 8.1K | 2014

Derek Hale is an actor in Los Angeles, Stiles is a fanboy in Toronto. When Derek posts his Snap Chat username on Twitter, inviting people to add him, Stiles gets brave and adds him.

They develop a snapping relationship, and it gets intense.

I Settle for Long Distance Calls by iamursforevrmre | 4.3K | 2014

Derek is the guy who Stiles met on some random band page on MySpace because Derek made a ridiculously hilarious comment and with a spurt of confidence, Stiles had messaged him to tell him just how hilarious it was and they got to talking. Derek is the guy that made a FaceBook account just to talk to Stiles on the messenger so they could talk more when MySpace was slowly dying out. Derek is the guy that changed his text message plan to unlimited when he finally sent Stiles his cell phone number. Derek is the guy that has been on the phone with Stiles at any and all hours through the day.

And Derek is the guy that Stiles is in love with.

You look like my next mistake by Vendelin | 15K | 2015

“So, are you dating someone new? Someone who doesn’t mind that you’re frigid?” Kate cocks her head to the side, smiling as though she just asked him about where he bought his shoes.

His entire body sighs in defeat as his shoulders grow square. Just as he opens his mouth, someone comes up to stand beside him, snaking an arm around his shoulders. When he glances to his side, expecting to see Isaac, his brain seems to malfunction. Because it isn’t Isaac. It’s Stiles Stilinski, the lacrosse talent of the year, a senior who Derek has seen multiple times from far away, but never ever talked to.

In which Derek is a nerd jock, and Stiles is a frat guy, and Derek falls for him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Coaches Cupcake Coffee House by ChildOfTheRevolution | 4.8K | 2013

Danny looked at him as if he were crazy, ‘It means he wants to ride the dick Stiles.’ He said slowly, as if talking to the mentally insane.

‘Ride the dick, my dick?’ Stiles asked weakly.

‘Figuratively speaking of course, Derek looks more like a topper to me. And you, my friend, are a twink of the most twinkiest standards, but I’m not one to judge.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Stiles admitted, finding himself in a weird crouch-like stance that he apparently now adopts when he’s overwhelmed about finding out Derek Hotcakes wants to bone him three ways to Sunday.

Gladiator AU ( Series) by HaleHole (SweetFanfics) | 9.9K | 2 Works | 2013

He looks up at the door and waits. He hopes that whoever it is, they will be go easy on him. Werewolf he might be, with superhuman healing, but that does not mean that he will not be sore the next day. And he is scheduled for a fight.

Let it be someone easy to please, Derek hopes. Someone who will be quick to take their pleasure and even quicker to leave. He keeps hoping this as the door is pushed open. A voice murmurs a quick set of instructions to whoever has hired him for this session. It is cut off half way through by a familiar, impatient voice that makes Derek strain against his bonds. -- Rome based, Gladiator AU

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain | 35K | 2013

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Theory of Overprotective Canines by rosepetals42 | 11K | 2015

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Hot for Teacher('s Aide) by linksofmemories_archive | 8K | 2013

“He invited you to his apartment.”

“To do a lesson plan.”

“Yeah and to probably lesson your plan while you’re there,” Scott said, waggling his eyebrows.

“That made no sense, but you still managed to make it sound dirty,” Stiles said. “I’m impressed.”

The healing touch by devilscut | 96K | 2015

Stiles loses his temper with the rest of the pack when they all make excuses not to volunteer to help their Alpha. Deaton has instructed that for the next 24 hours Derek can't use his hands after he seriously injures them in a magical entrapment. Seeing the emotional hurt that Derek's selfish pack has inflicted on him when they argue and try to get out of it, Stiles volunteers to stay and then proceeds to give the rest of them a verbal ass-kicking. He then takes care of his friend, the Alpha, Derek Hale, while trying to work out what his feelings are towards the werewolf.

Quit Dragon Me Around (Seies) by WonderWolf | 17K | 3 Works | 2015

Stiles makes the mistake of taking Derek’s sword and now the grumpy werewolf seems determined to stop him from stealing and landing himself in jail.

Stiles is not pleased. He’s also starving.

(Or the one in which Derek has good intentions, but little understanding of how Dragon biology works. He just wants the cute mole-speckled kid to be safe). -----

“Five meals, Scott. Derek Hale has stopped me from eating five meals. I can’t believe he’s really trying to kill me over stealing his sword. That’s so petty of him. It isn’t like I meant to steal it,” Stiles complains.

“You kind of did mean to, dude,” Scott adds unhelpfully.

“But you don’t understand, Scott. It-”

“Just smelled so good? I know, you’ve said that like fifty times over the past two weeks,” Scott says.

“This is the equivalent of him stealing my lunch money, right? Thanks to him, I didn’t have a meal this week. Or last week! He’s a bully, is what he is. A nice smelling, douchebag of a bully.”

You'll See Me Again by matildajones | 10K | 2015

Stiles is standing there in his uniform, hair long and hands behind his back. There’s a blush on his cheeks and he can barely look Derek in the eye.

“Hey,” he whispers. He’s wearing the medal Derek had presented to him.

Derek stares. He doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore.

--

Stiles is the soldier who saved Derek and brought him back home. He doesn't seem to care that Derek's a prince or that he's a little bit broken. Derek falls, quick and sure, but it's not easy knowing that Stiles will soon have to return to the war.

Thousand by ericaismeg | 4.2K | 2014

“Seriously, Erica, I could tell him a thousand times in a thousand ways and he's never going to understand what I mean.”

“I thought I told you to spell it out to him,” Erica says. “Derek's has trust issues. I told you this would be difficult.”

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf | 11K | 2015

“There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!”

“We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

The Wolf that whispered into Stiles' Heart by ElStark | 9.9K | 2015

Basically the Union of the prompts:

Mute!Stiles + Wolf!Derek + Soulmates/Mates AU

~

“Don’t you have a pack?” Stiles asks him –by then he had discovered that the wolf was in fact a male wolf –“I mean, wolves move in packs, right? Lone wolves don’t make it on their own. I read it yesterday.” He says while they’re both sprawled on the fallen leaves in Stiles’ secret-thinking spot in the woods. Derek licks his face, and Stiles laughs. “Is that your way to tell me that I’m your pack?” Derek licks him again on the nose, making the boy’s face scrunch up, “Ugh. Gross, dude!” he wipes his drool covered face with his sleeve and then gives the wolf a pointed look, “I’m not a wolf, you should have noticed, you know, I don’t exactly have fur and I don’t growl and I don’t have glowing eyes…” He says leaning in to look them closer, “Are you even supposed to have those kind of eyes? I couldn’t find anything about wolves and glowing eyes on the internet..” The wolf snorts.

Aftermath by GhostwithShotgun | 11K | 2015

Stiles suffers from PTSD and insomnia after the events with the nogitsune. He has nightmares, gets at most one hour of sleep every night and has daily panic attacks. He tries his best to hide it because they all have their own troubles and he doesn't want to burden his friends further.

Meanwhile, Derek has made a habit out of checking all pack members every night to make sure they're alright.

Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit | 18K | 2015

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

--

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

It's a Schlong Story by floatingstark | 33K | 2015

"Do you like him?"

"Of course I do, he’s great!"

"Then what is the fucking problem?"

"My dick!"

-or-

Ex-Porn Star Derek Hale has a lot of issues but Ice Cream Parlor Owner Stiles Stilinski is not one of them.

Bad Dog Bakery and Café by Boom | 27K | 2015

Stiles saves an Omega from wolfsbane poisoning. Said Omega now won't leave Stiles alone. Stiles doesn't really have a problem with this.

Beat The Blues by lilpeas | 2.9K | 2015

Derek and Stiles have been childhood friends since the sandpit. When Talia realises Stiles is in love with Derek, she knows Derek has to stop seeing him: Derek’s a werewolf and Stiles is human. It can’t be.

But things never go according to plan.

Red Light's Already Off by orphan_account | 3.3K | 2015

Stiles isn't a hooker. He just plays one on TV.

Noteworthy Observations by LadyDrace | 3.7K | 2015

In which Derek recieves complimentary notes in his locker from a secret admirer, and though it turns out they weren't actually for him, things turn out pretty well in the end.

One Hale of a Sandwich by whatthehale | 10K | 2014

Stiles in bed isn’t really something Derek should be thinking about.

Ever.

Because the person who normally picks Lily up from school? Is Scott.

Lily’s other parent. And Stiles’s partner.

Not to mention the entire source of Derek’s current misery.

--

AKA, the one in which Derek thinks Scott and Stiles are in a relationship and that they want to threesome with Derek. Spoiler Alert? They aren't and they don't.

Choice by Omni | 8.6K | 2015

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings.

Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't.

(Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

Emergency Love by Kedreeva | 13K | 2012

Wherein Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a paramedic, and they just keep meeting.

gave your smile to me by Sarageek16 | 4.7K | 2013

In which Stiles is a hooker (but not really), Derek wants to feed his skinny little body, and there is soup. Not necessarily in that order.

[poptod]

Selcouth (Sirius) (Kenny x Reader)

Description: selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful. The greatest teacher is also a friend. In your case, you’re usually the teacher, but Kenny is alway so eager to listen to you. (wonder why.)

Notes: i really like this one. it's just... nice. it isn't stressful to read or write. also sorry for any errors in this or in my description/notes i’m really high i just got bored an wanted to write a story. implied male reader. Word Count: 4.8k (apologies i tried to make this shorter but i just love ken)

There was something very unearthly about you, and he knew it wasn't just him thinking that. Most people found you interesting – so did he, but he knew you had very few friends (if any at all), and someone as popular and selective as you probably wouldn't want to become friends with him. The most unfortunate part about it all was the fact that you weren't quite aware that you were popular. Instead, you kept quiet and roamed the halls with a vacant, soft smile that had everyone vying to be your friend. To unveil your secrecy, to get your backstory, to understand what exactly made you so extravagantly different.

It was considered an honor to your fellow students if you sparked conversation with them, as it was something you rarely did. That's why, when you sat down beside Kenny during class, Kenny became very anxious. His hands shook and his knees were weak – but you just smiled and greeted him, using his name like you were old friends. He couldn't remember telling you his name, but maybe you'd picked it up. Maybe it was another one of your hidden, strange talents.

"Do you want to learn archery?" You asked, a question that stunned him so much he sat still, staring at you. He only answered when you raised your eyebrows expectantly.

"Oh, um – I... yes, actually," he finally answered, watching as that smile he'd watched so many times sprouted across your lips.

"I thought you might like to," you said, your eyes flickering to the front where the teacher had yet to appear. "I can teach you, if you like."

In a graceful, soft movement you were once more looking at him, your eyes bright and pitch black simultaneously. He swallowed thick, pinching his arm.

"Really? That'd.. be fun," he said with a nervous giggle, fidgeting with his fingers. He hadn't really lied when he said he wanted to learn archery, but he also didn't expect to genuinely get an opportunity to learn it, leading to an anxiousness that wondered if he was scared of failing or scared of you.

"Here's my address," you said, pulling a piece of paper out of nowhere and handing it to him.

Looking over the scribbles he read an address and a phone number, but before he could look up and ask you for a time, you were gone. Startled, he looked over the crowd in the classroom, finding you nowhere. Were you even taking the same class as him? He hadn't seen you in Algebra before. Slightly shaken, he returned to waiting for the teacher, trying not to think on your interaction.

That same afternoon he walked to your house, feeling a little guilty for blowing off his friend to spend time with you, a stranger. Larry understood well enough – he wanted to be well-liked, like you, and for him Kenny was a gateway to that. However even with all that assurance that he wasn't making a mistake, something said that he was doing the wrong thing. Perhaps it was just the fact that he had to climb up a very steep and very long hill to get to your house on the outskirts of town, but by the end of the venture, standing in front of your door, he hesitated to knock.

Taking a deep breath he rapped his knuckles against the dark wood, waiting with fidgeting hands as footsteps sounded behind the door. Through the windows he could see lights, and in the frosty pane, he caught sight of a black grand piano sat upon a Victorian-esque carpet. This was more of a mansion than a house – a beautiful mansion stuck in the middle of nowhere.

The lock clicking and the whine of a door opening caught his attention, his eye turning back to the door, where he found a middle-aged woman peeking through a tiny crack.

"Uh... I'm – I'm here for, uh, (Y/N)," he said nervously, reluctant to make eye contact with her.

She looked him up and down, pausing only a moment on his ratted boots before she closed the door on him. A sigh fell from him – maybe he had the wrong address? Before he could wonder if there were any errors in your address, the door opened once more, revealing your smiling face.

"Kenny, hello," you said, opening the door wide to let him in. He spoke a soft thank you, shimmying past you and into your home, where a fireplace warmed up the living room in great contrast to the chill wind of winter's beginnings.

You lead him to the couch, letting him sit down on the plush fabric in front of the stone fireplace. For a moment you left him there, wandering into another section of the house before returning, two cups of hot chocolate in your hands complete with whipped cream. Handing one to him, you sat beside him with a relaxed posture.

"It's a colder day, certainly. I like the cold though," you said conversationally, looking down into your cup before staring at the flickering flames.

"It's not my favorite," he admitted, his voice soft compared to your own.

"That's fair," you said, smiling. "You get used to it when everything's inevitable."

He nodded distantly, his brow furrowed in confusion. Did you ever even try to make sense?

"So, um... how long have you done archery for?" He asked, reluctant to meet your gaze, but when he did all regret left his head. Your cheeks, pink from the cold, matched so well with your darkened eyes and the graceful, soft way you always smiled.

"Not all that long, I don't think. I can't remember when I started," you said, using a few random hand gestures as you spoke. "I'm assuming you don't have your own bow though, right?"

"Yeah, a bit – it's kind of expensive," he said to which you avidly agreed.

"That's why I made my own," you said as though that was normal. Kenny's eyes widened – knowing how to use a bow was one thing, but making one was something else entirely. "I've actually made a few," you continued, "so you can have one of them."

"Oh, I couldn't –"

"No, no, I'm not doing anything with them. Better in the loving hands of a different owner than in the resentful hands of a creator," you said, offering that trademark smile as you stood, setting your half empty mug of hot chocolate on the side table. He blanked out for a moment in an attempt to process what you'd just said, but the moment he came into his body to find you gone, he scrambled to his feet and followed you up the stairs.

Following you through the hallways filled with photos of long-dead relatives, he stumbled over himself only once, though once was plenty to make him feel embarrassed. Still, he joined you in your room where massive windows lit the whole of the room. A large bed sat in the corner, the wall beside it covered entirely in sheets of paper pinned there, notes and strings connecting everything together. To the left of that lay your desk, covered in the same fashion of notes and sketches. Most of them, he noticed, were astronomy related, speaking of the movement of stars and what ancient cultures thought of the constellations. Besides that and the bookcase full of ancient African artifacts, your room was rather normal.

He followed your footsteps to the corner of the room, where you opened a large, wooden chest stamped with '1847' in golden letters. Looking over your shoulder, he found an organized layer of a bow and several arrows, all of them made by your hands. To his surprise when you hooked your fingers in the velvet loops and pulled, the layer gave way for another velvet case. This time it held a sword and its' sheath beside it. He tried his best not to say anything, watching in silence as you raised two more layers before getting to another bow and arrow, which you took out of its' casing to hand to him.

You'd payed extra attention to this bow – flowers were carved into the wood, flowers and cuneiform script speaking prayers he couldn't understand. The arrows were much the same as the first ones he'd seen, but he remained adamant that he needed to be careful.

"We should work on form first, it'll save your life from cramps and such," you said, pulling him to his feet and turning him around, making sure the large, floor-length mirror was right in front of him.

In his reflection he saw himself holding the bow and looking rather gangly as he usually did, and you, standing beside him with your hands poised delicately upon his shoulders. You had a look in your eye – determined and confident as your hands moved, fingers dragging down the bare skin of his arms before you reached his hands. There you guided him, bringing his arms up so he held the bow in the right position.

"Are you left or right eyed?" You asked softly, still staring at him in the mirror.

"R – right," he said, stumbling over his own words as the corners of your lips perked upwards, a tell-tale sign that you were enjoying yourself greatly.

That made his heart flutter – the thought that you enjoyed time spent with him. He never considered you someone he would date, though one of the reasons for that was because he didn't think you'd be interested in him. But now, watching the way you moved his hips and the feel of your chest against his back, he could think of nothing else. The way your lips quirked upwards, the mess in your hair and the blush beneath your skin. He could stay like this for so long – watching you at his side.

"Here, loosen your grip. Stand to the side," you murmured, moving him so he stood at his side, his left arm extended straight holding the bow. Stepping out from behind him, you fixed his grip, making sure the wood rested right below the ball of his thumb.

"There you go," you said when all was correct, and didn't it always make him so pathetically happy to know you were pleased.

"So I close my left eye?" He asked, switching between closing the left and right.

"That's right," you said, reaching for his right hand and holding it on your own. "Now take the string, draw it back so your elbow is level with your shoulder," you murmured as you set his arm into place yourself. "Don't put pressure on your wrist. Use your thumb."

Trying his best to remember your instructions, he hooked his fingers around the string, pulling back and attempting to keep his wrist, shoulder, and elbow even with each other. When he accomplished that, he looked to his reflection standing tall and firm in a way he rarely ever stood. Almost... confident. He smiled.

"Alright," you whispered, gently moving your hands from his and placing them on his shoulders. "Let go."

He followed your command, the string of the bow twanging forward with empty ammunition. Another bright smile crossed him – he did it, and you looked proud of him.

"Perfect," you said with a grin, patting his shoulders before abandoning him to sit on your bed. "Do it without my help."

Nodding he gulped, turning back to his reflection and holding the bow up once more. With a deep, calming sigh he drew the string, letting it snap back into place. Immediately as he finished he looked to you, gauging your reaction.

"Wonderful. Ready to try it with an arrow?"

"I think so," he said with an excited grin, giddy as you reached for the quiver, slinging it over your shoulder and leading him out of your room.

Down the steps you led him, slipping into your shoes and pulling a coat on as you stopped at the front door. Out of politeness he copied, putting on his own coat before rushing through the open door, trailing after you as you led him out back of the house, where a great expanse of empty land stood unclaimed and dead in the chill. A few feet into your backyard and the ground gave way for a steep cliff, leading down into a mess of bushes and brambles. He looked at it curiously for a moment before returning to you, scanning your useable backyard, where he found a dull, red target nailed to a tree. You led him to the opposite side of the yard, to a marker that sat exactly ten feet away from the target.

"Here," you said, pulling an arrow out of the quiver and handing it to him. He examined it nervously, doing his best to keep position while figuring out how the bow launched the arrow. Fortunately he didn't have to embarrass himself for long, as you stepped in, taking his hand and showing him the groove at the end, where the string would sit. "The arrowhead should sit above your grip on the left side," you continued. "Breathe slow, aim a little higher than your target."

As usual he kept your advice at the forefront of his mind, letting all other thought disappear with his even breath. He aimed, and once assured of his aim, he released the string, launching the arrow through the air. To his immense surprise it landed on the target, and even further than that it had landed on the ring right next to the exact center of the target.

His mouth hung half open, the ends curling into a bright grin that had you smiling and patting his back.

"Fantastic shot," you said with a soft chuckle, your gaze switching between him and his arrow.

"Can I do it again?" He asked eagerly.

"Of course," you said, leaving his side to fetch the arrow and return it to him.

He tried several more times, but no other shots that day were quite as good as the first one. By the fourth-or-so shot he began losing hope, wondering if the first shot had been a fluke, and the truth was that he was horrible at archery. Would you still like him if he failed?

"Don't worry about it," you said in that soft, humming voice that always managed to calm him. "A lot of people get a good first shot and a few lousy ones after that. It's more of a practice thing once you know how to do it."

"So I can come up again?" He asked, strolling beside you as the two of you reentered the house, a quiver in your hands and a bow in his.

"Of course. Any time you want," you answered.

"What if you aren't home?"

"Oh I'll know when you're here. No need to concern yourself," you said with a sweet but curt smile, taking the bow from him and setting it on the steps leading upstairs.

"Um... okay. Next week then?"

"Sure."

Every now and then you'd talk to him during school, and each time it was a different subject. His grades, your teachers, the weather, ancient Rome, the beliefs of the Sandawe people and the mystical knowledge of the Dogon tribe – it was enough to make his head spin. You knew so much, memorized so much information and you talked to almost no one but him. If he had that much information crammed into his head he wouldn't be able to stop talking.

There was a side-affect to your budding friendship – Kenny wasn't sure if he liked or disliked it, but people were nicer to him. While he'd usually be sure that it was a good thing, he knew it stemmed purely from the fact that you were friendly with him, and those in turn being nice to him probably only wanted a way to get to you. After all, it wasn't that long ago that he was the one they were making fun of.

You were a good distraction from it all. Pulling him away from other's opinions, leading him in a direction of self-love he hadn't previously thought attainable. But no, you managed to convince him to (in the least) like himself, and to find the good aspects of himself. Not only that, but the things you'd shown him had also spurred him to find the good aspects of others, a talent few high schoolers had.

As good of an impact as you were in his life, he still didn't understand you all that well. Your stories of your past were vague and coded deep in a language he couldn't understand. One can know another without knowing the whole of their past, but he had a feeling he'd understand you a bit better if you explained things in a normal way. You said the strangest things, too – things about the world, observation of beliefs, careful notes of the human condition – things like, "I don't know if I could ever go back to heaven," and "everyone has a specific length of time on earth. To spend it watching others you don't even know is a waste of time," which was in reference to the beginnings of 'social media'. Apparently you didn't like it, but at the time of the conversation you weren't even discussing technology with him. He asked you what you wanted to eat for lunch and out of nowhere you said that, and it took him a pretty long while to get what the hell you were talking about out of you.

Besides that, you were great fun to spend time with, and always a fantastic help with history homework. Not anything else, though – almost all other subjects completely stumped you. There was only one other class you were rather good at, but it was a college level class, and neither you nor him were taking college classes. But it was still fascinating to hear your science, so he let you talk all you wanted to about astronomy and astrophysics with a side of conspiracies.

"I've mentioned this before," you said, fidgeting in front of your corkboard as you flitted around the room, piecing together a story Kenny could hardly understand, "but – but the Sirius star, it's one of my favorite mysteries. You know the Dogon tribe, I mentioned them before. It's just fascinating that they could've known it was two stars. Like how did they know that? How'd they see that without telescopes?"

"Maybe they've got good eyesight?"

"But that's just the thing! If you connect this to the Roswell incident of 1947 or – um, yeah, 1947, the skies on that date over Nevada, it had Sirius there. See, I think it's a possibility that –"

Right around there you lost him completely, but he continued to diligently pretend he was listening. A distant smile crossed his face – hearing someone whose usually rather quiet go into a massive spiel, that was the core of humanity to him. Letting go of ones fears just to share something they love so dearly.

"Oh, looks like the sun's hidden itself again," you said, interrupting your own speech to look outside the towering windows in your bedroom. "Hungry yet?"

"A little," he admitted quietly, a blush spreading wild across his cheeks when you took his hand, intertwining his fingers in yours as you led him out of your room and down the stairs.

At the kitchen you stopped, leaving him on the edge of the stone floor as you went to the fridge, opening and scanning its contents. While you rummaged through that, he stepped quietly closer to you. You didn't notice his approach, too concentrated on your search, allowing him a time to watch you illuminated by the white light of a fridge. Tacky, yes, but you were warm. Maybe even familiar – all he knew was that he could stare in wonder for hours, watching your unearthly glow.

Outside, fall had turned to winter, allowing a shallow layer of snow to carpet all the dead grass that originally filled your yard. The balcony, while also covered in snow, had a picnic area beneath a large umbrella, which was also where a long, black telescope sat. He sighed – it felt as though it was just yesterday that school started and you approached him. Now you were finding dinner for him in your house, letting him stay as long as he wanted to.

The two of you ended up settling on a package of ravioli, as it wouldn't take too long to make and was easy enough. You ate together on the couch, watching a children's show on the television till you both finished, setting your plates aside.

When the show ended you stood, returning to the kitchen with your dishes and setting them in the sink. He followed quickly after, curious to see your aim, and watching quietly as you drew two brightly colored mugs down from one of the shelves. It didn't take long till he recognized the steps you took – you were making hot chocolate. Two cups with good cream, better whipped cream, and a perfectly red cherry on top. You smiled bright as you handed him the purple cup, keeping your own pink one close to your chest. 

You liked this, he realized – you liked giving things to him. Bows, food, drinks, and more importantly your thoughts. He wondered if you'd ever given your thoughts to anyone before.

"Can I show you something?" You asked after taking a sip, enjoying the warmth slip down your throat.

He nodded, following you when you left, taking him to the backdoor where the two of you slipped on your shoes, opened the glass door, and stood beneath the umbrella. Setting your cup down on the table, you uncovered the telescope, moving the three tall legs into the snow to see past the umbrella's cover. He set his own mug down, coming to stand beside you in the pitch dark of night. All that lit the two of you up was the distant light of the stars and the lights from inside, casting yellow glow against the bare wood and glittering in the snow. A chill ran through him – neither of you were wearing coats, and it was the dead of winter, at the bright-and-early time of 12 AM.

"Come here," you beckoned him closer, watching with that soft smile as he moved, shuffling closer to you. You scooted a little closer to him as well, mooching off his body warmth as you looked through the telescope in a search of the heavens.

"I like the moon," you mumbled, a strange statement to make considering there was no moon that night, "but I like it when she's gone, too. You can see the stars a little better. Here."

You offered him the eye, and hesitantly he took your place, carefully looking through and hoping he didn't accidentally change the angle. Mostly inky darkness, but there was a star glowing blue in the night.

"Is that.. is that Sirius?" He asked, hoping to God he didn't sound like an idiot. It looked like there was a smaller light beside the larger one, but he couldn't tell for sure – he just wanted to impress you.

"Yeah," you said with a bright grin and a chuckle, "that's Sirius. Locked in an eternal dance with another sun 1.8 billion miles apart... they love each other but they cannot ever touch. That'd kill them. Sad story, really."

He wasn't sure that was an actual story, but it hurt him nonetheless. Just a twinge of pain in his heart.

"Did you know it's one of the brightest stars in the sky?" You asked softly, staring up at the star. He looked up to you.

"It looks like it," he mumbled, looking up at the sky before returning to you, watching how the light danced in your eyes and kissed your cheeks in a dim, blue light that left you glowing.

"Their dance reminds me of a story," you said, your voice still airy in your daydream. "Nwt and Geb. Geb was the dry land and Nwt was the sky, and like most opposites they were in love. But their love angered Ra... at least, that's what most of them say. He made their father keep them apart for eternity. His name was Shu, and he was the air between the earth and the sky."

"I know you like these stories a lot, but I don't think I can listen to them without thinking about the whole incest thing," he said unprompted, sparking a laugh from you.

"I know, it's horrid," you agreed, still grinning. "But it's nice to know forbidden love made its' way into every culture. Means there's a chance for people like us, that the others might have empathy."

"People... like us?" He asked quietly, unsure of your meaning.

"Boys who like boys," you said, instantly making him shut up. "Girls who like girls," you continued, "those who like both, those who like neither."

"Oh," he finally got out, staring at the snow-laden floor with his hands stuck deep in his pockets. He hadn't ever told you about that part of himself. How did you know?

"Here, I'm sorry," you said softly, handing him his still-warm mug of hot chocolate. He gratefully took it from you. "I shouldn't have said anything. It was insensitive of me and I apologize. You can come out whenever you're ready."

"What makes you think I'm gay?"

You looked him up and down, offering no more than a sad look. He could almost laugh, but before he could get any reaction out of himself, you moved from your place beneath the umbrella to join him beside the telescope, your side pressed against his.

"Happy Christmas, by the way," you murmured, staring up at Sirius just as he did.

"I don't celebrate Christmas," he said in the same distant tone, making you giggle thoughtlessly, looking to the ground before you looked up to him.

He was wonderful, wasn't he? The way he smiled and the way his fingers curled in on each other, the freckles dotted across his skin and the rough feel of his hands. He was rather toned as well, a surprising fact that had little affect on your view of him, as the physical body had never appealed to you very much. All that was important, all that you remembered was the signs when he was nervous, the anxious blush that sometimes crossed him, the beautiful, uncontrollable laugh he had every now and then. You knew about how he stuttered when embarrassed and how he laughed when he lied, and you knew his favorite shirt on you just as well as you knew his favorite Star Trek character. That was love, wasn't it? Being known – it had to be love. To know someone was to love them, and in more than one or two ways you truly did know him.

"Happy Eid then," you said as you leant into him, staring into your hot chocolate.

"Oh, um, my mom wanted to invite you to a party. For Eid," he said, taking a small step away to look at you more easily.

"I'd love to come. Anything I should know about your parents?"

"No... just don't mention gay stuff," he said with a small laugh, making a smile of your own come to you.

"Hey, Kenny," you said as he stopped laughing, calling his attention back to you. "Watch this."

"Watch wh –"

You leaned forward, getting on your tip-toes to reach his lips where you pressed the sweetest and the first of his kisses, catching him so by surprise that he accidentally dropped his mug. Somehow you didn't seem to mind – you just kept kissing him, and he adored it. For a single moment nothing else mattered, and he could touch you without guilt, kiss you without thought, leaving only intrinsic care like he was built to love you. When you pulled back he stayed in that position, his eyes still closed in a dream-like state. Your giggle brought him back, erupting a bright blush on his face as you rested your freezing hand on his cheek, pulling him in for a shorter, softer peck.

"W - wait, I broke your mug," he said, stuttering as he stared at you, waiting for you to get angry.

"No, I made sure it didn't break," you said with that soft smile, and the two of you looked down to the mug.

Lo and behold, it hadn't broken. Another one of those 'mysterious' miracles that happened around you. You picked up the mug, handing him your half-filled cup and letting him drink from that instead.

"I think hot chocolate is sweeter when it's shared," you said, sitting beside him on your bed with the cup placed between you.

"You sound like a hot chocolate advertisement," he said with a laugh, making you grin.

"Just enjoy it," you murmured, kissing the top of his head.

[gh0stiegirlie]

Shitty Cooking — Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Synopsis: You’re terribly shit at cooking; So bad, that you’re banned from cooking at U.A. all together. And when Bakugou sees your pathetic attempt to cook ramen one night, he can’t help but intervene.

Length: 4.8k words

A/n: Oop-- I’m aware I’m working on a series rn, but this idea popped in my head and was too cute not to write!

You know you’re not a great cook, but you weren’t aware you were ‘fill the dorms with smoke and set off all the fire alarms un U.A.’ type bad until hundreds of kids were soaring down the halls (some recklessly using their the quirks to literally soar through the air) towards an exit. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper, struck with total astonishment of the chaos surrounding you; and fearing the consequences for instigating it. “I’m fucked.”

“Y/n, what are you doing? Come here!” Iida calls from behind you. He clears his throat before bellowing, “Everyone from Class 1-A, this is your class rep. Come line up in an orderly fashion to exit the building!” With a groan you jog over to Iida, some boys sluggishly falling in line behind you.

Before Iida guides your class down the stairs, the fire alarms cut off.

��Huh. Must’ve been a false alarm.” Kirishima says.

“I feel bad for whatever sorry bastard pulled that alarm.” Katsuki Bakugou grumbles from behind you. 

“Yeah! Aizawa is probably going to expel them!” Kirishima agrees. You pull at the neck of your uniform, suddenly feeling feverish. Mr. Aizawa wouldn’t expel you for something this stupidly accidental… Right?

“You know, I hope he does! I’m pissed off too! I was in the middle of charging up my--” Kaminari is cut off my Kirishima elbowing him in the stomach.

“No one wants to know, bro. Trust me.” 

“Alright, class 1-A,” Aizawa announces as he enters the room. He’s dressed in his usual all-black attire, but the purple bags under his eyes and disheveled hair implies he’s more exhausted than usual. “Since-- for some reason --this class is involved in everything bad that happens to this school, I assume it was one of you that pulled that false alarm, either as a mindless prank or on accident. Either way, it woke me up from my nap.” With hands folded neatly behind his back, he patiently paces in front of you and your lined up classmates. In his black, formless drapes, he looks like a demon hovering around the room, waiting to select the poor soul he’ll drag down to hell. Or in this case, the principal’s office. “Tell me who pulled the alarm or you will all be expelled.”

The class erupts in a chorus of whines, but you remain silent.

“Well, who was near a fire alarm?” Tsuyu asks, tapping her chin with her forefinger.

“Bakugou and I were playing video games together!” Kirishima announces, wrapping an arm proudly around his friend.

 “Get. Off. of me.” Bakugou snarls.

“Uhh-O-Oh! It could’ve been me! The weights in the gym are close to the fire alarm… I could’ve accidentally pulled it!” Deku confesses, having an unfortunate tendency to blame himself for everything. Uraraka gently places a hand on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t you,” she assures him. 

“The smoke was spilling from this area. Was someone in the kitchen?” Aizawa deadpans, strolling over to the students to briefly analyze them. When he walks past you, you stiffen. You wince at your foolishness and dart your eyes to the ground, hoping he didn’t notice. He stops to face you. “Where were you, Y/n?”

Shit.

“Huh. Now that I think about it, I did see Y/n in the kitchen when the fire alarms went off!” Iida boldly states. He gasps and points a finger at you. “Y/n, it was you!

Bitch!

 Aizawa sighs, turning towards the dorm exit. “Y/n, you’re banned from using the kitchen. Forever. To ensure you don’t wake me from a nap again.”

You bury your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment, but that doesn’t stop the class from laughing at your expense.

“Heyyy, don’t look so down! I can cook for you for now on!” Mina exclaims, excitedly shaking your arm.

You pry away her grip from your arm. “I’d prefer to survive on vending machine snacks,” you insist before storming off to your dorm.

It’s late at night when your stomach begins to growl. You stroll over to your snack cabinet, only to gasp in horror when it’s empty. Your stomach begs for food. 

You know what you have to do.

At 11 pm, you stick your head out of your door. All the lights in the hall are off, though the full moon illuminates the hallway by shining through the windows. The only sound on the entire floor is the faint squeaks the ground emits as you tiptoe to the commons. 

Normally, the common area is alive with students of all ages dining and socializing. The room now lays completely still, and witnessing its desolation in the dead of night is eerie. But more importantly, the kitchen appears undisturbed.  

You strategically plan your path to the kitchen, knowing the area between the commons and kitchen holds the creakiest floorboards in the dorms. After planning your route you advance, only hopping on one floorboard that cries out. 

You pump your fists when you make it to the cabinets, satisfied with your success.

You grab a pot and place it under the sink, keeping the water dripping at its lowest setting slowly until its full, not wanting to risk waking anyone. Then, you grab two eggs and carefully drop them into the water. As soon as you turn on the stove to boil the eggs, the liquid begins to bubble and pop, shooting scaling droplets in your direction. Immediately following this, smoke rises from the pot. 

“Not again! How does this keep happening?!” you whisper cry, covering your eyes with your hands and shaking your head vehemently. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” You peek through your fingers at the flames and try to think about how you can solve this. 

But apparently, you don’t have too. Someone pushes you out of the way and turns off the stove, before swiftly dumping the contents of the pot into the sink. And just like that, the fire is out. And you’re saved.

When the smoke clears and you turn to thank the prince who rescued you, your eyes widen. 

 Fuck.

Katsuki Bakugou’s blood-red eyes dig into your heart like two sharp knives. He holds his hands in a defensive stance, preparing to shoot explosions at you. For being your ‘prince’, he’s acting more like an angry troll.

It’s been two weeks. There’s no way he’ll remember you’re banned from cooking, right?

“What the hell where you doing!” he whisper yells. “Aren’t you the bastard whos banned from cooking because you almost burnt down the damn school?”

“Uhh…” 

You try to think of something clever. 

“No…?”

Bakugou leans against the sink and folds his arms. The same eyes that once glared daggers into you now look your body up and down. You suddenly feel embarrassed for only wearing a long t-shirt with tight mini shorts. You tug at your shirt self-consciously. 

“You’re more of an idiot than I thought, huh?” he scoffs, digging around the cabinets for another pot. “What were you trying to make.” He doesn’t model it as a question, instead poses it as an annoyed statement. Like he is now in debt to assist you, even though he’s the one who saved you.

You don’t reply, finding yourself at a loss for words. Bakugou points the new pot at you accusingly. “Well?” he snaps.

“Well-- I, uh--” you start, swallowing hard before continuing, “I was trying to make spicy ramen with soft boiled eggs.” You explain while fiddling with your fingers. You don’t know why, but you find it difficult to make eye contact with the boy while he’s wearing a fitted tank. His biceps bulge out of the tight top, exhibiting the strength that’s normally kept hidden under a loose uniform top. You desire to devour him over any ramen. But this is Katuski fucking Bakugou, so you try desperately to keep your eyes at bay by distracting them with your twiddling hands. 

Bakugou laughs. You know he’s merely humored by how pathetic you are, and is probably thinking about how much better he is than you simply because he can cook(any win is a win for Bakugou), but it sends butterflies fluttering around your stomach none the less. 

“I’ve been able to make that since compulsory school. You’re just a dumbass.” he brags, grabbing two more eggs and throwing them into the flooded pot. You ignore his attitude to instead focus on the dripping container.

“Hey, isn’t that a bit too much--”

“Do you want my help or not?” he growls, and you decide not to question is methods. He switches on the stove. “What’s the recipe?”

You hand him your phone. As he scans the recipe, you can’t help but study the way his lips move around the words he mumbles to himself. Every action he makes is always so big, and brash and aggressive, that watching his lips calmly form breathless words is alluring.

“...scallions, togarashi, and nori.” he finishes, before setting your phone down on the counter and turning towards you. You switch your attention from his rosy lips to his vermillion eyes. “Now, I can trust you to grab the ginger, miso, and sambal oelek, right?” he teases. “I would ask you to grab the soy sauce and vinegar, but I’m not sure if you can tell the two apart.” he continues taunting you, but as embarrassed as you are, you enjoy this friendly banter. “I don’t know if you even know what sesame oil is.” 

You roll your eyes and mumble “I do know the difference…”, but leave out the fact that you really don’t know what sesame oil is. 

You push yourself onto the tips of your toes to reach for the cabinet, leaning your core against the counter for extra support. As you stretch to reach your ingredients, your oversized t-shirt hitches up your thighs and exposes the tight athletic shorts underneath. Bakugou doesn’t let the sight distract him from collecting the oils, but takes a brief moment to appreciate it.

Once you’ve snatched the ingredients off the shelves, you proudly display them to Bakugou. His approving grunt leaves you feeling accomplished.

“Now go over there,” he juts his chin out near the pot, “I’ll start cutting the scallions, onions, and nori while you sauce the pan.”

You grab the pan and head over a separate portion of the counter to sauce it, avoiding the stove at all costs. After a few minutes you look over at Bakugou, who is vehemently slicing through vegetables in a way that impresses you as much as it terrifies you. You make sure to note Bakugou is frighteningly excellent with a kitchen knife, and to avoid pissing him off whenever he’s in the kitchen. 

Bakugou gestures for you to accompany him at the stove, to which you obey without thought. The warmth of his body involuntarily draws you to him. You’re like a moth to a flame.

Bakugou takes the pot with the boiled eggs off the stove so you can replace it with the sauced pan. His bicep rubs against your shoulder as he pours the sliced veggies into the pan, heating your whole arm. You want to feel his heat in your hand, on your thighs, on your lips--

Bakugou distracts you from your thoughts once he pulls away. “I’ll boil the noodles and cut the eggs. Grab the sauces.” 

You nod and rotate back to the cabinets, where once again you strain yourself to reach the condiments on the high shelf, your shirt hikes up your ass, and Bakugou briefly (though for a bit longer this time) enjoys the view. 

By the time you’re done grabbing the herbs, Bakugou has completed his task. He debates asking you to grab the bowls, yearning to see your ass in those tight shorts one last time, but decides he’s objectified you enough for one night and grabs them himself. 

“The recipe says to wait ten minutes,” he informs you, leaning against the countertop. You hop up on the kitchen island and begin to swing your legs. Bakugou’s eyes nonchalantly eat up the sight of your bare thighs, storing the way they look for later. 

Bakugou crosses his arms and clicks his tongue before asking, “How are you so bad at cooking?” he furrows his brows with a huff. “I know you’re not a complete idiot-- you placed one below me on the final. So how are you so stupid?”

You shrug. “I dunno. I’ve never really been interested in cooking.” You bashfully pull your eyes away from his to gaze up at the ceiling. (even though you can’t see anything). “There are so many more interesting things I can do than learn how to cook.”

“So you’re going to be a pro-hero who can kick villain ass, but lose a fight to a damn hard-boiled egg? That’s pathetic!” 

A hysterical laugh escapes your lips, and you quickly slap your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Your other hand tightly grips the edge of the table as you rock back and forth. 

Hell yeah, he got you to laugh. The corners of Bakugous mouth twitch into a smile, to which he immediately curves into a smirk. But he can’t hide the faint blush on his cheeks.

“Shut up, dumbass. People are sleeping,” he moves closer to you so he can playfully hit your frantically kicking legs. This time, he can’t help it when his smirk turns into a smile.

“I’m---Sorry---” you spit out between chuckles, “It’s just--- so true.”

After a few more minutes of increasingly angry shushes from Bakugou, you calm down.

“Wow Bakugou, I didn’t know you were funny,” you tease.

“What do you mean?! I’m hilarious!” he fumes, making you break out into laughter again.

“Now you’re the one who needs to chill.” You playfully shove his arm. But your hand lingers on his toned bicep a little too long, leaving a dusty blush on your cheeks when you pull away. “Honestly, you are funny. Just your anger kinda intimidates people to the point they’re too scared to laugh.” 

Bakugou tries to hide how tense he is by puffing out his chest under his crossed arms while bellowing “Good! They should be scared!” He’s always himself around extra’s because he doesn’t care what they think. He just wants them to recognize he’s better than them, and they all do. But you’re… Not like the other extra’s. When others look at him, waves of heat wash over his body, which eventually turns into red hot anger. But every time your doe eyes meet his, his face grows hot and he feels far from angry. He doesn’t want to yell at you, he wants to have a genuine conversation. Then when he initiates, he starts overthinking everything he says and does. Did he say something dumb? Did he hurt your feelings? Did he look good? Maybe he should’ve brushed his hair today-- 

You brush a stray hair behind your ear, fluttering your eyelashes at the boy. Your e/c eyes twinkle under the moonlight in a way that makes Bakugou stomach do backflips. He could give less of a damn bout the ramen. Because right now, he’s hungry for you.

As if destined to ruin the only emotional connection Bakugou has ever felt, the timer dings. 

Bakugou grabs a set of tongs and puts two servings of noodles into his bowl, and gives you one.

“How come I get less?” you sulk as he pours the sauce/veggie mixture on top of your noodles. 

“Because you weren’t the one working out for five hours!” he snaps out his emotionally authentic state to explain this in his infamously aggressive tone. Emotions are for simps desperate to get their dick wet, and he’s a fucking badass with ambition. He doesn’t have time for that shit. He sprinkles togarashi on the noodles for a final spicy touch. “I was actually doing shit while you and all the other sissies were in bed.”

You watch him walk away in disappointment. You had grown hopeful there was a spark between you two. That maybe he’d made you dinner because he finally developed genuine feelings for another person, or at least because found you interesting. But now, he’s walking away to eat in the solitude of his room. You guess you shouldn’t have expected him to fall in love with you after one brief conversation.

You hang your head as you grab your bowl, and then lumber behind Bakugou on his way to the dorms.

Except, Bakugou takes an unexpected turn toward the communal dining hall. And you giddily follow.

You practically skip to the seat across from Bakugou, though quickly hide your glee when he looks up at you. The lack of utter resentment in his eyes warms your heart. 

The first bite of your meal is euphoric. It’s so good that while you’re eating, your stomach growls for more.

“Bakugou, this is like, amazing!” you scarf down noodles in between words. “How did I not know you were a great cook?!”

“Eat slower dumbass or you’ll choke!” Bakugou chides, before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make a “tch” sound. “You should’ve expected it. I’m pretty good at most things.” he concentrates on his noodles when he quickly adds “But uh… Thanks, I guess.” 

During the past half hour, you and Bakugou have interacted more than you could have conceived in your worst nightmares, yet he’s treated you amiably. Of course, there were the occasional digs thrown at your asinine cooking skills, but he was never truly hostile. Bakugou never keeps his thoughts hidden from everyone; It’s known he’s always straightforward, even when it’s not appropriate. But, this is different from his brutal honesty. He’s allowing you to pass through the barricade of hostile flames, those same flames that shrivel up and spit out anyone else who even tries to so much as walk by him, and entering the area where his fire kindles. He’s letting you peek through the cracks of his ruthless facade so you can see that he’s human, not a walking bomb. 

While normally he parades his gifts, he’s humbly made dinner for you without the expectation that you suffocate him with compliments. He always holds his head with pride, yet brought himself down to earth so he could thank you.

You smile coyly into your ramen. “Hey, how come you decided to help me?”

“I was hungry.” Bakugou deadpans, but his rosy cheeks tell another story. He drops his chopsticks to look at you, a taunting glint in his eyes. “Plus, you were close to burning down the entire school. Again.”

You roll your eyes. “Just wait! Next time I try to cook, I’ll do fine!”

“If you ever feel like cooking again-- Don’t. You’re shit.” Bakugou swallows a few noodles and digs his chopsticks in the bowl, searching for another. Though really, he’s just using his delicious food as an excuse to not meet your eyes. “Just ask me. Because next time you step into a kitchen, you’ll be lucky to make it out alive.” 

“Maybe you should just teach me how to cook!” you giggle into your chopsticks. 

“Maybe,” Bakugou echoes, but he doesn’t mind cooking for you again. He wants to.  

“You should show me some of your recipes!” you poke Bakugou’s cheek with one of your chopsticks, and he snarls.

“Only to watch you fuck it up?” he laughs. “Yeah, right. I’ll do the cooking for now,” he concludes before the two of you fall into a comfortable silence.

You never thought you would ever feel tranquil next to Bakugou, but his presence in this room feels like holding a torch in the night. His mere demeanor makes you feel safe. You feel protected. 

You’ve watched Bakugou fight before and he’s an absolute maniac. But you want him to be a maniac for you. You want to watch him fight for you. You want to continue these midnight escapades. You want him to cook for you every night after he gets back from the gym. 

You want Bakugou. You need him.

Fuck. 

You have a crush on Katsuki Bakugou. 

“Hey, let me wash your bowl for you.” you offer when you both finish. “Cmon, it’s the least I can do.” Reluctantly, Bakugou hands you his dish. “I won’t let you down, chef.” You assure him with a wink. 

Your wink completely throws Bakugou off. He watches your ass bounce as you strut away in shock. Only once you reach the sink does he finally have enough control over his blush (and boner) to approach you. 

“See! I can do something!” you gesture at the spotless bowls. 

“Yeah. It’s something.” Bakugou smirks. “Something any dumbass can figure out how to do.”

You gently jab his side with your elbow. “Cmon, give me a little credit!

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Fine. It’s impressive... For a dumbass.” 

You ignore the demeaning nickname. “Thank you!” you beam.

When you don’t receive an answer, you become nervous that you were too boring for him, and he’s lost interest in you. When you look at him, he’s rubbing his eyes to keep them from locking shut. That’s when your own exhaustion hits you, and your eyelids begin to droop. A yawn escapes your lips and echoes throughout the kitchen. 

“Is it past your bedtime?” he snickers, even though he’s visibly more exhausted than you.

“Shut up.” you yawn again. “Y’know, every time our class does something fun, you’re always the first one asleep. You’re like a baby.” You roll your shoulders before stretching your arms. “It’s lame.” 

Bakugou scratches his head mindlessly. “I have more important things to do than hang out with you extra’s” he retorts.

“Yeah, like sleeping? How exciting.”

“Sleeping is more fun than hanging out with lame-ass extra’s.” 

You push out your bottom lip and cross your arms. “Hey! I’m not boring.” You pout.

Bakugou laughs. He actually laughs. His vermillion eyes twinkle and his tight-lipped smirk expands into two full rows of teeth. His broad shoulders bob and when he shakes his head, his blond mane bounces. An animated smile spreads across your face, so wide it exposes your fine lines and under-eye creases. But you can’t help it. You want to be the person that tames Bakuogou to the point he feels comfortable laughing. You want to be the reason he finally smiles as he falls asleep.

“You’re not boring. You’re just an idiot.” Bakugou snickers.

You yawn in reply, and Bakugou rolls his eyes, “Cmon, idiot. We’re going to bed.” 

Bakugou guides you to your room with his hand on your lower back. He doesn’t touch you, only hovers, but you can feel the heat dispersing from his palms. His warmth draws you in, only to fully envelope you when you rest your head on his bicep. He doesn’t object and continues escorting you to your dorm. 

“How did you know this room was mine?” you ask, casually leaning into Bakugous palm so his hand finally touches you. He flinches at the contact but doesn’t pull away.

“The room competition.”

“I remember you were being super lame and sleeping. So how do know, stalker?” 

Bakugou currently is too drained to address your name-calling, but he’ll address it when he gets back at you another time. “Yeah, well, Sparky was ecstatic to be in your room and filled me in on every detail I missed. Including your dorm number.”

You scrunch your nose and stick out your tongue. “Ew! What a perv!” you chirp.

“That’s what you get for letting Denki-dumbass in your room.” 

When you giggle at Bakugou, he smiles softly back before averting his eyes to the ground. He clears his throat and shifts his weight.

You’re making Katsuki Bakugou nervous!

And you love it. You want Bakugou to feel conflicted around you, for his emotions to overwhelm him so much that the forbidden praises resting at the bottom of his throat, those kind words he would never confess to anyone, to shoot out at you. You want to watch him awkwardly recover from the unprecedented compliment he aimed at you, and listen to his guttural mumblings as he makes a feeble attempt to regain superior ground. 

He silently turns away, but you grab his wrist and tug him back. You hastily kiss his cheek, leaving both of you blushing deeply.

Then, Bakugou leans down to kisses you. 

The kiss starts slow and sleepy, but Bakugou isn’t into that type of shit. He’s not into the type of kiss that bores you while simultaneously leaving you begging for more, so he pulls you closer to deepen and speed up the kiss.

Kissing him is like licking a sugary caramel apple. You’ve never met a boy who tastes this good-- alas, you’ve never actually kissed one, either. But there’s no way every boy is like this. You open your mouth so his tongue can intertwine with yours.

His tongue is slippery, his lips are spitty, and he bites your lip to point you know wake up with sores, but you enjoy every second you spend breathing in his heat. You can feel the temperature rising as you snake your hands into his hair and press against his chest.

 Are you making out with Bakugou at midnight?

 Yes, you are. And you love it.

 The kiss ends far too soon. You want to kiss him until you’ve sucked all the sweetness off of his lips. You want to remain in his grasp forever. 

“G’night, Y/n.” he whispers in your ear, his warm breath sending chills down your spine.

With that, he shoves his hands deep into the pocket of his sweatpants and trudges to his dorm. 

You wake up to a sharp pain on your neck. You groggily stumble to your mirror, your mouth falling agape at the sight of a hickey.

When the fuck did Bakugou even do that?!

You gingerly apply pressure to the love mark wit your fingers, and it stings. 

Then it hits you why he did this. 

It’s a territorial mark. 

Your scoff. He’s claiming you before even asking you on a date. 

That’s fucking Katsuki Bakugou for you. But, honestly, the thought of him putting his ownership of you on display like a prized trophy, boasting how you belong to him makes you feel weak. 

You don’t want to seem like a slut, but you also don’t  hide Bakugous marking. It’ll convey the message that not only are you his, but that you are the girl he let his heart out of its cage for. 

When you pass the ‘Bakusquads’ table, it’s empty, except for a plate steaming chocolate chip pancakes that sit across from him. 

Your favorite.

You hesitantly sit down in front of Bakugou, who briefly admires his work on your neck before merely greeting you with a grunt.

You’re in awe of the fluffy, chocolatey pancakes preceding you. There’s a waterfall of syrup trickling off the sides, with a single slice of butter perked on the top pancake, like a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae.“Did you… Make these for me?” You use the fork he grabbed you to dig in. It never even crossed your mind that Bakugou held the capacity to be this thoughtful. But not only did he make you three heavenly pancakes, he brought you utensils, and even set them down with proper etiquette. Fork on the left, knife and spoon on the right.

“Yeah. Since you can’t cook for shit.” he croaks. “I don’t want you poisoning yourself.”

“Awww Bakugou? Do you care about me?” It’s obvious he does, but he would be caught dead before he admitted it.

 “Eat shit.”

“If you wanted to eat shit, you should’ve let me make breakfast.” You quirk an eyebrow, biting your lip to suppress a smile.

Bakugou gruffly responds. “You have a point, idiot.” 

You take another bite of your pancakes and moan into the fork. “Bakugou, for real, you are amazing at cooking.”

 He rolls his eyes. “I know. I don’t need you to tell me.”

You giggle to yourself, deciding it’s best to leave grumpy morning Bakugou alone. “Okay big guy, I’ll back off with the compliments. But I’m not fucking with you. I really mean it.”

There’s a brief pause. “Thanks, asshole,” he mumbles, keeping his head down so you can’t see the deep blush on his cheeks.

A long, comfortable silence, reminiscent of the one last night, ensues. Halfway through your meal, you set down your fork. You straighten your posture and exhale weightily, gaining Bakugous attention. 

 “Hey, Bakugou? Do you… Umm, would you wanna go on a date?” Even though it’s obvious he likes you, your voice quivers as you speak.

“Sure, idiot.” Bakugous voice barely wavers, but he still plasters a cheeky look on his face to cover it up. “But I’ll cook.”

[cultleaderyoongi]

in my head | ksj

☆ pairing: Seokjin x f. reader

☆ genre: established relationship • angst

☆ word count: 4.8k

☆ warnings: mentions of toxic relationships, manipulative behavior, alcoholism, and infidelity; mature language

☆ inspo: Ariana Grande - in my head

"My imagination's too creative, they see demon, I see angel."

☆ a/n: Hi, this is my first piece on this site. I'm really excited to kick off this drabble series cough these are gonna be proper oneshots sry cough It took me way longer than I wanted. I initially intended something around 1-2k, but this topic deserved way more background than what would've been possible at half the length. Hope some of you give it a chance, and please lmk what you think ♡ 

© cultleaderyoongi on tumblr | do not repost or translate on any platform

You swore to yourself to never be blinded by love, to not let the idea of it cloud your mind.

Yet here you are, under the bright lights in your bathroom, washing off the telltale signs of your realization. One look in the mirror and a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment seeps through you, concentrated in the core of your body.

Though the dark trails on your face now gone, you can't help but feel miserable at the sight. This isn't the person you remember. A lilac shadow underneath the eyes, much more striking through the pallor etched onto your face, the uncomfortable tightness of it akin to that of stretched skin on a drum. There's only so much essence and moisturizer can do.

Three silent knocks on the door stop you in your routine. Then the clicking of the handle, followed by the door cracking open. Unconsciously, you take a sharp inhale, holding it in the back of your throat.

"Can I come in?" he murmurs through the crack, the features of his face barely visible in the dark of the hallway.

You sigh, releasing the breath that you've been holding. "Yeah." The single syllable is the first you speak ever since your argument about an hour ago, the fluttering sound of it making the sudden usage of your vocal cords apparent. 

Hesitantly, he swings the door ajar wide enough to slide through, shuffling behind you.

You watch him intently through the mirror, unsure of what to do, so you resort to opening the jar of eye cream that has been sitting in your hand, tapping the product onto your under-eye area. 

"Look," he starts, his gaze fixated on you, "I'm sorry." 

You meet his eyes in the mirror. "I know." And truly, you do. There's never a moment where you doubt his remorse. 

But this was one moment of many, and you know deep inside you have to stop lying to yourself.

He continues. "I didn't mean to lash out on you like that. Please, forgive me." A hint of fresh tears starts to well up in his eyes, the last words coming out as a croak. 

You roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, averting your gaze towards the marble top counter of the sink, putting back the jar with shaky hands.

"Baby…" He slings his arms around your waist, his chin resting atop of your shoulder, the side of his face nestled into your neck. "I never meant to hurt you. You're everything to me. I'm so sorry."

The strong hold of his embrace a shelter and a shackle all at once, your body is confused at how to react. A side of you wants to push him away, walk out and never look back. The other side wants to revel in his touch and feel the warmth of his skin once more – just once.

Upon a sniffle coming from him, your eyes dart towards where his arms are interlocked in front of your stomach, never faltering in their tight grip. Mentally, you curse yourself for what you're about to do, but your own limbs can't help but search for his, your fingers tracing along the sides of his forearms.

He drops his head at that, his forehead burying into the space between your neck and shoulder. Silent sobs start to escape his lips, his entire body shaking like a leaf.

As if on autopilot, your hand finds its way to his dark locks, running through the silky strands. One and a half years worth of your relationship taught you this is the best way to calm him down.

Repeating the motion over and over, his whimpers slowly subside, residing as choked-out coughs in his throat.

You know you're done for at this point. There's no turning back, so you carefully release yourself from his hold, turning around to face him. Clutching his face in between your hands, you caress his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs, running over the remnants of regretful tears. "This can't happen again, okay?"

His gaze lifts up at your words, blown out as if his soul had left him, leaving only the reflection of you in the pitch black of his irises.

You swallow. "Promise me this won't happen again." This is a lot to ask for, you're aware of that. Promises have been made along the way and discarded not long after. You know you're risking everything, but it's a risk willing to take to fix the man you fell in love with. "Kim Seokjin," you speak again, waiting for an answer, a sign. Anything.

He licks his lips, nodding lethargically. "Okay."

Truth be told, you hoped for more than just a single word to come out of him, but you know this is all you're going to get now – and for now it's more than enough to be with him. Just once more.

By the time you figured out the true face of Kim Seokjin, it was already too late.

Things progressed naturally, your first encounter through a mutual friend leading to you taking a liking to each other, your first date and parting kiss that night developing into something more than just a simple crush.

He was everything you wished for, and so much more.

Or so you thought.

You started to see the ugly sides of your relationship sooner or later – definitely later rather than sooner.

It wasn't until a couple of months ago that things got out of hand. You met up with your friends on a Saturday night – despite his initially silent protests.

"Why can't you stay home tonight?" he pleaded with a drop of a smile.

"I told you already, Nayeon just got back from her internship program in Japan. We haven't seen her for half a year." You peeked a last glance in the mirror to spot if any finishing touches on your make-up were necessary. "Besides, I offered for you to tag along. It's not too late to change your mind," you singsonged with a small shrug of your shoulders.

Your boyfriend's reflection froze before a shake of his head appeared in the corner of the reflective surface. "Nah, I'd just feel out of place."

Your body reacted at that instantly, turning to face Seokjin whose head was hanging low now. "What makes you say that?"

He sent you a tired glare. "I don't know, I just don't think your friends particularly like me."

His words forced a frown onto your face. Quickly, you made your way over to the bed where was sitting. "Hey, that's not true. They like you very much," you cooed, taking one of his hands into your own.

You didn't realize where his insecurity came from at that point, especially since he's always been confident by nature – or so it seemed.

His eyes narrowed at your words, lips slightly apart as if he intended to say something before clasping your hand in both of his. "Who's coming anyway?"

A growing smile appeared on your face. "They're all gonna be there. Jisoo, Jimin, Nayeon of course, Taehyung,…" He stayed mute at the mention of your individual friends, so you took it as a queue to probe further. "We're gonna do some karaoke. Come on, it'll be fun! You won't regret it." You got up from the bed, his hand still in yours.

He hesitated at first, but gave in eventually to which you reacted with a silent squeal and your arms around his neck. "Yay, I'm so excited! You should get dressed then. We have like 10 minutes max before we gotta leave." You rushed your boyfriend, slowly shoving him towards the closet before disappearing into the bathroom to secure your hairdo with some hair spray.

Five minutes later you re-entered your shared bedroom, ready to slip on the dress you chose for the night when you spotted your boyfriend in his attire, on the bed with your phone in his hands.

"Whatcha doin'?" you asked, slightly perplexed.

Seokjin jumped at your sudden appearance, the device in hand almost flinging out. "Sorry, I-I couldn't find my phone, so I was just trying to ring it."

Sliding into the skin-tight fabric, you spotted the object in question atop of your vanity, holding it up with a tight grin.

"Ah," Seokjin exclaimed, "how stupid." He stood up, retrieving it from your hand. "What would I do without you?" Bending over, he pecked your red-tinted lips.

This was very unlike him, awkwardness clear in his actions. Still, you decided to heed no further attention to his antics.

"You certainly wouldn't survive a day in this world as it seems." Stepping into a pair of high heels, you mustered the man in front of you, a stoic expression on his face. "So, how do I look? Do I look okay?" You fixed the off-the-shoulder sleeves, awaiting a response.

He gave you a shy nod. "Yeah."

"Wow," you chuckled. "So much enthusiasm. Saving all that energy for the karaoke or what?"

Your boyfriend shook his head at that. "No… I'm sorry. You look great." Peppering a small kiss onto your forehead, he embraced you in a hug, face buried in your hair, mumbling something you couldn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. I said we should probably leave."

The night started off calm, clinking glasses and laughter filling the room you rented. Everyone enjoyed themselves, singing along to whoever's turn it was to perform.

Only Seokjin was seemingly passive throughout the continuation of the night, inspecting the scene from the corner of the couch, calmly sipping on his third glass of bourbon.

You checked in on him what must have been an abundance of times, making sure he was comfortable. He assured you he was merely on the verge of fatigue, his eyes half shut, arm propped up on the back of the couch, head resting atop of it.

"We can leave anytime you want. Just let me know, okay?" You shot him a concerned look, rubbing the back of his neck.

He gave you a small smile, signaling you he was alright for now.

"Hey, _____."

You turned around to face the growly voice calling your name.

"Do you wanna sing a song together?" Taehyung beamed you a wide grin.

"Depends," you responded. "What were you thinking?"

He scratched the bottom of his chin as if he had a hard time coming up with an idea. "Maybe some Ariana Grande, so you can show off your singing impression again?"

You screeched in reply, shooting up from the couch. "Shut up, that was one time! I was really drunk that night, okay? I know I sound nothing like her."

A mocking grin made its way onto Taehyung's face which you mirrored. "Okay, you choose then."

The both of you settled on "Best Part" by Daniel Caesar and H.E.R. – one of Taehyung's favorites. Stepping closer to the monitor, your voices ricocheted off the walls in perfect harmony. The rest of the group, fairly intoxicated, raised up their glasses into the air, swaying in tune with the melody.

With closed eyes, you enjoyed the moment, feeling the warmth flow through your body when suddenly a loud clicking noise pulled you out of your trance. You didn't noticed your boyfriend got up to leave the room.

You stalled in motion, eyes wide open and mouth hanging ajar. "W-what just happened?"

"No idea," Jisoo piped, "he just grabbed his jacket and rushed out."

Your gaze shifted to the spot where he was sitting before.

"Maybe he had a little too much," Jimin proposed. "I saw him toying with that last bottle of soju earlier."

You didn't hesitate any longer, immediately reaching for your coat and purse. "I should go look for him." With a guilty look, you took Nayeon's hand into your own, squeezing it lightly. "I'm so sorry. I'll let you know what's up, okay?"

Your friend gave you an affirming nod, mouthing a silent It’s fine before you left the vicinity, leaving a perplexed Taehyung behind.

Out in the cold, you sunk further into the fabric of your coat, the wind licking at your exposed legs. You needed to find Seokjin as soon as possible.

A cough to your right had you turning your head, spotting the man in question leaning against a lamp post.

You let out a relieved sigh. "There you are." Heels clicking on the asphalt, you made quick way of moving over to his side. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" Your hand came out of your pocket to rest on his shoulder only for him to brush it off. Confused, you studied him, a crease forming in between your eyebrows. "What's up?"

"N-nothin'," he slurred. "Can we jus' go home?" His torso was slightly hunched over, hands rubbing at his temples.

You folded your arms in front of your chest. "Are you drunk? Is that what you are?"

"No…" he trailed. "Please, jus'– Fuck, can we go home?"

This was so unlike him. You were at a loss for words, but wasted no time in fishing your phone out of your purse to call a taxi before typing out a short message to Nayeon, telling her you had to leave and you would make up for it soon.

The course of the taxi ride remained silent, Seokjin's arm propped up on the window, head buried in his hand.

With yours, you reached out for his that was resting beside him on the leather seat just for him to pull back.

A sharp pain found its way inside your chest. Tears started forming at the corners of your eyes. What did you do wrong?

"Now, could you tell me what's wrong, please?" You swung your purse across the kitchen island, not caring that it slid off the smooth surface, landing on the vinyl planked floor with a thud.

Seokjin avoided your stare, his adam's apple bopping up and down. "Do you like Taehyung?"

Your eyes squinted at his question. "W-what do you mean 'do you like Taehyung'?"

"Exactly that. Do you like him?" He now looked at you, piercing gaze tearing you apart piece by piece.

"I don't think I can follow. He's been my best friend since childhood, of course I li–"

"No, do you have feelings for him?"

You couldn't believe his proposition. "Where is that coming from? No, I do not have feelings for him!"

"Then why do you dress like that?"

Your vision darted down to your black bodycon dress, hands carefully picking at the polyester fabric. "Because I want to. That has nothing to do with Taehyung. I dress like that because I feel like it."

"Would you dress like that for me?"

With any further word he spoke, you lost more and more sense of reality. "Do I not dress like that for you? Anniversaries? Birthdays? Holidays?"

The room stayed silent, a nerve-wracking minute passing before you spoke up again, voice calmer than before. "Seokjin, do you think I'm cheating on you?"

Your boyfriend dropped his head at that, hands buried in the pockets of his dress pants. "No, of course not."

"Then why all this commotion?"

He let out a heavy sigh, hands nervously running through his thick hair. "I dunno, I just…" His train of thought left him. "I love you, so fucking much." He made sure to put emphasis on every single word. "I know I shouldn't worry, and this is no reason, but you know what happened to me…" He stalled to study your expression which didn't change, so he proceeded. "And I trust you, but not everyone else. I just can't bear the thought of losing you."

You listened to him silently, arms interlocked in front of you. He had told you about his last relationship coming to an end due to his ex-girlfriend cheating on him with his best friend. You couldn't grasp how someone could have harmed the kindest and funniest person known to you with a clear conscience. She must have had no values, you thought to yourself –  and you wondered if you were no better than her.

Upon a sniffle coming from him, you found your words again. "You know I would never do something like that to you, right?"

He resorted to a lethargic nod.

As you kept talking, you stepped closer to where was standing. "You're the most important person in my life, and I would never do anything to purposefully hurt you." You were now near enough to reach for his hand. "Please don't misunderstand any of my actions. I love you, and only you." Tears were now dangerously close to spilling.

Before you knew, Seokjin's hand came out to wipe away the stray tears that started rolling down your cheeks. He pulled you into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry I'm just breaking this to you. I know I should've said something sooner. Please, forgive me." From the shaking pitch of his voice, you could tell he was crying now, too.

At that, your arms tightened around his waist with no intention of letting go. The thought of him suffering in silence rendered you with an unknown feeling close to guilt and shame. He was always so strong and resolute in every aspect of his being, thus seeing him in this vulnerable was nothing short but a blow to your heart. You wanted to be the best version of yourself for him, just like he was for you.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, the clock on the wall ticking quietly by the second, making the hairs on your neck stand up straight.

As he released you, he took both of your hands into his. "Would you do me a favor though?"

You bit your lip, looking up at him with still blurry vision. "Anything for you. What is it?"

He blinked heavily once. "Could you not see him so often?" The grip on your hands tightened. "I know you said there's nothing to worry about from your side, but it's him I worry about."

You swallowed down the lump in your throat. This was a lot to ask for – foregoing your best friend since kindergarten days. There barely has been a single day where you didn't talk to him. He shared most of your memories with you, always having been a constant in your life.

"Sometimes, I see him looking at you with this glint in his eyes, like there's a spark of curiosity in him. And it kills me." He took one of your hands to pound on his chest.

Your mind went into overdrive. What were you going to do? How were you going to break this to Taehyung if you decided to cut ties with him?

"I don't wanna assume too much about him, but isn't he kinda promiscuous anyway?"

You let his words sink in before nodding gingerly.

He sent you a tired smile. "Could you just try to stay away from him for a bit? For me? Until I've caught myself."

This man had become your life at this point, and you wanted him to be your life until the end of time. And you were willing to accept losses if needed.

"Okay."

This specific night has been deeply engraved into your memory, and he progressively became more possessive towards you ever since. His face distorted in disdain whenever you informed him of your plans to go out with your friends, his words were tainted with criticism every time you wore something he deemed inappropriate or too revealing – despite your initial compromise of having girls' nights exclusively.

But you brushed it off at first, considering it his idea of protecting you from the ogling eyes of strangers. The rose-colored goggles robbed you of your ability to think straight and decide for yourself. Thus, you adapted to his ways, starting from changing your style and going out less, to refraining from going out altogether. You had no other choice.

It didn't take long for your circle to catch on – especially Taehyung, who was visibly outraged by your boyfriend's proposal which incidentally made it easier to break things off. The girls questioned Seokjin's methods with critical eyes.

"Don't you think this is going a little too far?" Nayeon asked, pink lips wrapped around the straw of her drink. "Not to step on your shoes, but you've changed your entire lifestyle almost!"

You shot her an incredulous look. "I have not! He's concerned, and I should be more considerate of that."

Your girlfriends didn't dare to argue much, clear concern drawn onto their faces though. Why couldn't they understand that you solely attempted to ease the tension for Seokjin?

"Please, really think this through, _____," Nayeon continued. "This is the first time we get to see you after what? Almost three months? We used to hang out every weekend before. You can't tell me this was all your idea."

Clenching your fists under the table, you replayed her words in your head. None of your friends were in a relationship. They didn't know what it's like to be in your position, the everlasting conflict of hurting yourself or the person you love. But ultimately, you hurt yourself either way.

That night, you got home with thoughts running a thousand miles per hour.

"Why're you so late?"

You jumped at the voice sounding from the darkness of your living room. "Gosh, you startled me." Catching your breath, you squinted your eyes at the silhouette in front of you.

"It's almos' 1. You wanted to be 'ome by midnight," Seokjin stated matter of factly.

A tired sigh escaped your lips. "I know, and I'm sorry. We got caught up talking."

You didn't notice your boyfriend had been sipping on a beverage until he slammed the empty crystal glass onto the coffee table.

"D-did you stay up to drink while I was gone?" You eyed the half empty bottle of whiskey next to it.

He smirked at you, mindlessly running his fingers through his raven hair. "Jus' for a little bit. I was waiting for you mos'ly."

You took a deep inhale, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Come on. You should get some sleep."

You swore to yourself to finally put an end to this charade, to not play this game anymore.

Now here you are, in the darkness of your bedroom, coming to terms with your own betrayal.

Ever since your fight three hours ago, your mind has been racing uncontrollably, your body tossing and turning with no sight of peace to sleep.

Seokjin passed out right after you made up in bed, sealing your reconciliation with breathy moans in between heated kisses, and naked skin on skin under silk sheets.

Though the peaceful rhythm of his breathing the only sound in the air, you can't help but feel suffocated by the noise, the steadiness of it aggravating your insides.

The inner turmoil is relentless, recklessly playing with your conscience. You told him you would be out for a company dinner. A harmless get-together with your co-workers to celebrate the upcoming holiday season. What was wrong with that? Was that too much to ask for? Did you go too far again?

A silent buzz disrupts your thoughts. Then another. And another.

Bending over your boyfriend's sleeping form, you reach for his phone to put it on silent.

You don't mean to look, but it's inevitable.

from unknown [today 12:41 AM]

Wtf are you on about? I haven't talked to your gf in like 6 months

Just like you wanted me to

from unknown [today 12:42 AM]

But maybe you should talk to her

Who is this, and why aren't they supposed to talk to you? Is this…?

Hastily, you unlock Seokjin's phone to check the conversations. Just like you assumed, he messaged Taehyung – multiple times at that.

to unknown [yesterday 10:12 PM]

I thought i dmae mysfle clear

I told you to sftay away from hver

to unknown [yesterday 10:13 PM]

What more do i havye to do?

Do i have to break your neck for yqou to finalily get jit?

to unknown [yesterday 10:14 PM]

I know you're cfucking behind msy back

Ynou both shohuld juts tell me

You choke as if a string of barbed wire is wrapped around your torso. This isn't the Seokjin you remember, the Seokjin you fell in love with. You endured loss and pain for his benefit, sacrificed time and love to build him up – just for it all to be in vain. He doesn't trust you.

Nausea starts creeping its way into your system, your mind and body going into autopilot.

You have to get out of here.

Without wasting another second, you grab your phone, scrolling through your contacts list in panic.

There's only one person in this world you can turn to right now.

to Tae [today 12:45 AM]

Taehyung, I am sosorry

Ik you're up

to Tae [today 12:46 AM]

Idk if you even wanna talkto me

But I'm sofucking sorry

I should've listened toyou

to Tae [today 12:47 AM]

Idk what todo

All Ik is I need to fcking get outof here

Iam so so sorry

With your heart pounding in your chest, and your breath stuck in your lungs, you make quick way of rummaging through the closet, putting on the first pair of underwear and bra you could find before slipping on a hoodie and sweatpants, indifferent about the outcome of your blind pick, the stinging tears in your eyes distorting your vision.

Even if Taehyung doesn't answer, there's no way you can stay here for another minute. You need to get away somewhere. Anywhere but here.

Your legs move as if on their own, your fight-or-flight syndrome fully kicking in. You can't confront him about it. He will pull you back in – just like every other time.

Making your way through the expanse of the living room, you study your surroundings, multiple pictures of the both of you hanging on the walls – one from New Year's Eve where you took a classic couple picture, kissing while holding sparkle sticks. You felt awkward asking one of your friends to take it, but he shamelessly did it for you. Another one from your birthday where he planned an entire day of your favorite activities, this particular picture showing you in front of a piece at an art exhibition you were dying to attend. You never smiled wider at anyone's gesture. And another one from your one-year anniversary where he took you to the Great Barrier Reef which you always wanted to see, the two of you enjoying a picnic on a dream of a white sand beach.

These images serve as a stark contrast to the ones you witnessed a mere three hours ago, the reflection of the moonlight illuminating the dark of his irises, menacing and miserable all the same, the echo of breaking crystal still making you flinch just from the memory, the sharpness of his accusations still ringing in your ears, the amber liquid spreading across the dark wood floor like blood, slowly seeping into the pearl white of the carpet in the center of the room.

He has been your world for the past one and a half years, and you still love him dearly. You know you always will, but in the process of loving him you disregarded yourself. You diminished your own feelings in order to heal him – but to no avail. You lost yourself, and you had no idea up until this point. But you know you can't take it anymore.

A vibrating sensation in your pocket pulls you out of your reverie, the incoming message on your phone inducing hot tears to shoot into the corners of your eyes.

from Tae [today 12:49 AM]

I'm coming to get you. Be there in 5.

from Tae [today 12:50 AM]

Don't be sorry. And please don't blame yourself.

It'll all be ok, yeah?

A silent, choked-out weep leaves your lips. Clasping a hand in front of your mouth, you let the tears flow uncontrollably. This is it. You're actually breaking out of this endless circle. Just a step out of the confinements of this apartment, and you're free.

The determination and resolve starts rising in your chest, relief bubbling to the forefront of your core –

"Where are you going?"

[theeternalspace]

Title: (Honey you Should) See Me in a Crown 3/?

So it’s late here, I’m hot and sleepy but here! Have chapter three of this train wreck! This is... well, not a lighter chapter really, but it a bit of a breather from the heavy torture to see what else is going on in the world and get a bit of plot. And then more pain. 

Also there is no unsympathetic characters in this story, but the fake Anxiety is a mean boi who has a lot of mean thoughts about the characters so be aware of that. 

Previous || Next

Masterpost

Summary: A fake Virgil has been sent into the mindscape. How will he fare? 

Word Count: 4.8k

Characters: Fake!Anxiety, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders

Trigger Warnings: Possession/Corrupted Side, Evil!Roman, blood, illness, confusion, lots and lots of negative thinking. If I missed any let me know and I will edit.

~

So this was the area where the main sides lived. Anxiety wasn’t impressed by it, hunching deeper into his purple and black hoodie, suspicious eyes darting around as he stepped out from the Imagination and into a hallway that was at once familiar and completely new to him. He wasn’t really very fond of this hoodie either. What had been the problem with the old one? It was all black, it was comfortable and he didn’t have to stand out while wearing it. All and all, it had been a perfect hoodie. Perhaps he could wear it in the comfort of his own room - the memories he had taken told him that the other main sides didn’t come in unannounced and that the ‘others’ didn’t come in at all. Which was almost a shame, Anxiety had all sorts of ideas as to how to distract them from the Boss and what sort of fun he could get up to now he was off the leash. Ideas that would be so much better if he could somehow rope in Deceit and the others.

Perhaps once he was back in the safety of the room that was now his, along with the hoodie, he could plot how to approach them without giving the Boss’ game away. It wouldn’t do to upset the new Creativity, Anxiety giving a little shiver of fear at the thought of making this version of Roman angry. He had to toe the line, follow orders. 

Which wouldn’t be so hard when the main order was to distract the two idiots left running the place so that they didn’t notice until it was too late. Anxiety could do that, his gaze still shifting around, on alert for any threat as he headed down the stairs. 

It was all so... bright. There were no shadows, no place to hide, to watch events from a distance. He was supposed to protect by his fearsome reputation but how could he possibly do that when everything was so disgustingly... soft? These idiots had no idea what sort of monsters lurked in the darker corners of Thomas’ mind. They saw Anxiety, Deceit and thought they knew the worst of what there was on offer? The fools were going to get themselves overrun and corrupted, as surely as Creativity had been and Anxiety wouldn’t do a thing to stop it. He would rather enjoy seeing them be broken and changed for the worse. 

Just think what Thomas could get up to, when he wasn’t shackled by such petty ideas of good and evil. 

His name would be in lights, that was for sure. Just perhaps not the sort of lights that they had originally hoped for him. It was perhaps not the best thought for an Anxiety to have, but as much as Anxiety had claimed that title for himself, he knew he wasn’t an exact duplicate of the Anxiety that had come before and was now enjoying his Boss’ own brand of hospitality. There was some of Creativity in him too, some Intrusive Thoughts, some darkness that let him enjoy the thought of a dark Thomas in turn and being feared, respected. Having them cower in front of him. That promised to be more than entertaining. 

What could the memories of the old Anxiety do against the rush of power that was that? 

“Virgil, there you are, did you find Roman? Is he okay?” Morality came out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel as he spoke, a so painfully obvious fake expression of concern on his face. As if Morality cared about Anxiety or even Creativity. Anxiety tried not to let any of his discomfort show at the use of that name. It didn’t feel right, not when he was different to the Virgil they knew. But he had to play the part and that meant trying to embrace the name as best he could. At least until things changed and he could find a name of his own. Or the Boss killed him. Whichever way it went and he was loyal to Roman, he would follow him anywhere. Even to his death. It was one of the few things that the two of them agreed on, their loyalty towards the other side, even if it manifested itself in different ways. 

“Yeah, he needed a little help but we managed to solve the problem,” Anxiety replied, the not quite a lie rolling off his tongue with ease. He couldn’t do an outright lie on the off chance that it summoned Deceit but a different type would hopefully slip by without being noticed. He pulled his phone out of his hoodie pocket, doing his best to appear casual about the whole conversation. 

“I think he’s almost... embarrassed honestly. Princey needed some help. He said he was gonna go fight the Dragon Witch or something. Just a way to boost his ego I guess, give him a while and he will come swanning back with some grand tale we all have to listen to and pretend to be impressed by.” 

The trick would be not to press too hard, not to make it seem like he was trying to convince them not to go looking for Roman. Anxiety had other ways to stop them if it came to that, but he was, by nature, lazy and he didn’t really want to have to go to those lengths straight away. The aim was to distract them, not to go to war with them. 

Not to mention, they would be far more suspicious of his intentions if he was that obvious. Logic especially, despite his name, was the sort to want to do something because one of the others tried to stop him. Some Logic he was. The Boss would make him better. The Boss would make all of them better, just as soon as he was done playing with the original him and getting whatever he wanted from him. Anxiety had no idea what that was, but then it wasn’t his job to know that. 

“Oh come on Virgil, his tales are very entertaining,” Morality protested, Anxiety successfully managing to hide the smile he wanted to give and just as he had hoped, the moral side had latched onto his slight dig and so been distracted from the fact that Creativity was still within the Imagination. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Anxiety mumbled, and he didn’t want to push it too far. From what he knew of Virgil’s memories, he rarely disagreed with Morality and he had to play by those rules for as long as possible. The wimp, always agreeing with the other side, always going along with whatever plan he had because it was better than showing his own views. It was pathetic, how scared he was all the time. Convinced that if he dared to show any original thinking, then they wouldn’t be friends with him anymore. 

 “I just wish he could... be more open you know?” Anxiety finished, pushing aside those thoughts for now. 

“I get it kiddo... come on! Wanna help your old man make some dessert after dinner? If Roman’s busy it’ll just be the three of us but we can still cook up a storm, whatcha say?”

That... sounded like hell. He didn’t want to have to spend any more time with Morality than he had to but Virgil was apparently a masochistic moron who enjoyed the company of this blind but sunny idiot. Morality might be upset, or worse, suspect something if he said no and Anxiety couldn’t risk that.

“Sure,” Anxiety agreed with a tight smile, following Morality back into the kitchen. He could do this. It couldn’t last forever and as soon as possible he would make some excuse and get out. That, at least, was the sort of thing that Virgil would do. There was only so much socialising either of them could do. Anxiety was rather looking forward to getting his hands on his new bedroom. There was a lot of stuff he would no doubt have to throw away, but at least there he could express himself properly. 

The Boss could end this at any moment and while Anxiety was determined to do his job to the best of his ability, he was equally determined to have as much fun as he could. For as long as he could. Who knew what could happen tomorrow. All he had to do was think of an excuse to get out of this ridiculous ‘family bonding’ that Virgil willingly subjected himself to. 

He watched as Morality bounced around the kitchen, pulling out various pots and pans, collecting what seemed like a ridiculous amount of things in order to make what looked like some kind of pasta and garlic bread dish. Who knew you needed that many vegetables and green leaves in order to make a sauce? Why didn’t he just click a jar into existence like any normal side? 

Why did he have to make something complicated? What was wrong with a power bar or some takeaway if they wanted to be more elaborate. It was less work and Anxiety felt as though he had already done more than enough of that already today. Well. Convincing Morality had taken less work than he expected. One of the perks of looking like his precious ‘dark strange son’ he supposed, but it had been enough for him. 

Anxiety opened his mouth, his mind working away, a dozen possible excuses coming to the forefront as he tried to decide which one he was going to use to get away from this room. He never got as far as actually speaking. 

A sudden stabbing pain shot through his body. Anxiety gritted his teeth against the sudden agony, turning his head away from Patton and towards the wall as though that could mask his expression. Without conscious thought, his fingers twitched towards his thigh as he tried not to make his discomfort too obvious. 

What on earth was the Boss doing to the original? 

Not that he particularly cared one way or another. Not until it became so violent that it actually spread across the blood bond and affected him too which seemed to be exactly what was happening now. It had to be bad, really bad. Maybe there would only be one Anxiety sooner than he expected and that was almost enough to make him smile through the pain. Almost, but not quite. Anxiety certainly didn’t smile. It would ruin his whole look and unlike Virgil, he had no intention of softening his edges just to be accepted. He was here to spy on the others - and to keep Thomas safe - not play happy families with them. 

There was another stabbing pain in his thigh, Anxiety unable to stop his whole leg from twitching in pain, a soft little curse slipping out from under his breath. 

“Language!” Morality sang out from the other side of the kitchen and just how good was his hearing? Anxiety had been attempting to be quiet and yet he had heard it? That was just annoying. Yet another thing to add to his list of what annoyed him about the light sides and he was going to fill a whole mental notebook at this rate. Maybe he should actually conjure up a book once he was back in his new room. Something to keep himself sane with, he could write down all the disgusting, fake things they had done during the day.

Maybe, he could even show the Boss. It would be a good way to record down information he needed, as well as working out his issues with the idiots. Not to mention, it would be just pain, good, spiteful, fun. 

The bubbly side moved up to him, his head cocked to the side like a rather stupid dog. That was a pretty adept description now he thought about it - all wagging tail and soft dumb eyes with nothing going on behind them. Anxiety repressed another curse and he had wanted to get away from him, not have Morality come closer. 

“Virgil? You okay there kiddo?” Morality asked, his face still that mask of syrupy concern, acting the worried parent. It was a good act, he had to admit. Not good in that he was enjoying it in any way, but good in that he seemed able to keep it up permanently. 

It was sickening. How could the old him stomach all this? All the sticky sweetness, the fake honey that made him feel so dirty, and then worst of all the lies? Morality was just stringing them all along for the sake of his own superiority. He liked having the three of them dancing to his tune, following his outdated and boring ideas of what was right and wrong. 

There was no way he could be sincere in caring for Virgil. Who could have possibly cared for that screw up? 

No, it was all just to keep Virgil under control. All the better to make sure he didn’t get in the way of what Morality wanted. Just like the Boss was doing, but at least he was honest about it. He had said from the first second of Anxiety’s existence that his whole purpose was to make him ‘sing’, to break him and have him dance to his whims instead of Morality’s song. Anxiety much preferred the honestly of his Boss. 

“I’m fine,” Anxiety muttered, staring down at the floor and hoping that the lie would be believable enough. Or if not, then Morality would accept that he wanted to be left alone. Not everything had to be talked about and explored in any great detail. As though they really needed to talk about feelings, ugh. 

“You don’t look fine. It’s okay Virge, you’re allowed to be feeling rough. You’re allowed to admit if you’re under the weather,” Morality lectured, lifting a hand to press it against his forehead. It took everything in Anxiety not to slap the touch away, to growl and snarl as he wanted and how dare he think he could touch without permission. How dare he put himself into Anxiety’s personal space as though he has any right to be there. 

The nausea that rose in his stomach for a moment was only partly due to the pain still throbbing in his leg. It felt like a fire, radiating out from one single spot on his leg. 

Although. This could be just the chance he had been waiting for. The way out of having to help make a meal. He would have to be careful. Play the sick card too strongly and he ran the risk of Morality transforming into a mother hen and insisting on nursing him, which would be so much more worse than a meal with them. He sighed, making an attempt to look reluctant, almost embarrassed. 

“Okay, maybe not fine. I think I just pulled a muscle or something? Seriously... Pat, I’m good.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, adopting that casual slouch that was as much a part of Anxiety’s persona as his outfit. It felt comfortable, slipping into the role for real. He wasn’t the warm, nurturing type. It felt much better to be the edgy emo. Why would Virgil ever try and be something he wasn’t? 

Anxiety started to limp towards the fridge. It was only half acting, his leg still throbbing from the phantom pain that was spreading out from a spot in his thigh. It ran along his veins, something hot and unpleasant. Anxiety had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t actually bleeding. If he touched his leg, his hand wouldn’t come away sticky and wet. 

It was infuriating that Virgil wasn’t even here and he was still ruining  his day. Anxiety was going to have to get Virgil back for that. It didn’t matter that Virgil had no idea they were connected in this way, or that he wouldn’t have done it on purpose. It didn’t even matter that the Boss had been the one to actually injure Virgil - as far as Anxiety was concerned it was still his fault. He reached the freezer, hand curling around the handle. Without looking back at Morality, he spoke, pulling it open as he did. 

“I’m going to get some ice and lie down for a bit okay? I’ll get myself some food later.”

By the time Anxiety turned around, ice pack clutched in his hands, it was to find Morality visibility deflated, a disappointed and resigned look in those brown eyes. No doubt disappointed that he would only have Logic for company that evening. It was hard for Morality to manipulate Logic - oh, he could still do it, of that Anxiety was sure, but he tended to need the others to sweep the logical side along in the direction that he wanted. So much the better. The two of them probably wouldn’t get any silly ideas like going to look for Creativity tonight.

Morality nodded slowly, taking a step to the side which finally opened up Anxiety’s escape route. He was so close to getting out of this. 

“You’re right of course Virgil. You go rest it. I’ll bring some food on a tray up for you kiddo, so you don’t have to walk too far. I’ll leave it outside your door, just make sure you do some easy stretches.” 

That was. Surprisingly nice of Morality. Not the niceness itself - he expected that. What was strange was that Anxiety couldn’t see the point to it. If he left the tray outside without trying to talk to him, then he couldn’t try and guilt him into joining them for some family bonding. 

Was it to make him feel guilty? Obligated? Ah. Yes, that had to be it. Do something nice and pretend you didn’t want something in return. And then, down the line, after Anxiety had made the mistake of accepting the gift, then the trap would be sprung. Easy, Anxiety just wouldn’t touch it. Except then he might knock and there would be more interactions. Okay. He would take it inside but not eat it and then with Morality tried to use it against him, he would be ready. 

He grunted instead of answering properly and limped out of the room and started to climb the stairs. It was time to do some redecorating in his new room. 

--

The world was a confusing mix of pain and the complete absence of sensation. Was he ill? Virgil had been ill once or twice before but it had never felt quite as bad as this before. He remembered having the flu, long after he had properly moved upstairs into the main side area but at the same time long before he had been accepted by them. He remembered lying in his bed, shaking and shivering. The world had shifted from hot to cold back to melting again in the blink of an eye. Just like now in fact. 

Did he have the flu again? 

Virgil felt so weak, so terribly weak. When he could focus enough to think at all, those were the thoughts that consumed him. How ill he felt, how he could feel the cold sweat across his body. Sometimes, he was aware of other things too. Such as the brush of a wet flannel across his forehead, a cooling relief to the fire that was raging under his skin, albeit only for a moment. As soon as the flannel had passed, that coolness shifted to new cold sweat, a shiver wracking his frame. Could you be both on fire and freezing at the same time? It certainly felt like it and that meant there was no real escape from the torment. 

Over the sound of his own laboured breathing, he could occasionally hear a soft voice promising that things would be alright. Virgil always wanted to answer that voice, but his throat was so dry. Even swallowing was painful, talking felt far beyond him.  Every now and then - but far too rare for his liking - something cold would be lifted to his lips and Virgil would be able to swallow a mouthful of blessed water. It was never enough to soothe the ache in his throat, instead it only seemed to make him that much more aware of how much it hurt. 

He wanted another mouthful. He always wanted another mouthful, Virgil able to make a pitiful sound or two that could have been a request for more. It was the same routine, with Virgil only ever remembering after he made the sound what would happen next. The glass would come close again, would hover against his lips and then pull away without another drop.

Despite knowing it was futile, Virgil couldn’t help but try and follow that glass as it was pulled away from him. Every time, his body refused to work as it should, his head falling back into the pillows with a pained little cry. Every time two sounds would come to his ears. One, the soft clink of a glass set down upon a table somewhere. And two.... And two. Well, it almost sounded like a laugh. But that had to be the flu talking surely. Why would someone help him, only to laugh at him? 

There were rare moments of clarity as well. Moments when he was alone and the fire and ice had shifted to mere hot and cold. Seconds that told him the problem was coming from his leg. The slightest movement would set off the pain, would leave him helpless and broken upon the bed. In those moments, more than ever, it felt as though he was on fire and the source of the flames was his leg. You didn’t get the flu in your leg. You didn’t get any sort of illness in your leg, not like this. But if it wasn't the flu, what was it? 

Virgil tried to snatch at those thoughts, to knit them together into some kind of cohesive thought process. All too soon, however, that moment would pass and he would slip back into semi-awareness, moaning softly from the pain. 

He had no idea how long he existed in the haze. It could have been an hour, an afternoon, an eternity. Time had long since lost all meaning but gradually, he could feel himself start to float upwards, towards a lighter shade of darkness. The murmur of a voice became somewhat more distinctive, so much so that Virgil could almost make out what was being said. He didn’t want to wake up properly. Virgil knew that much. The real world was dangerous. It was sharp where his current world was all soft edges and pain yes. But even the pain had an element of softness to it, a detachment to it because he could slip further back into the dream world at any time. 

He wasn’t ready to wake up.

Something pressed down on his leg. 

The world exploded, Virgil arching upwards in an agonised scream, the sound torn from his vocal cords as he thrashed in the bed. Where the energy was coming from, Virgil didn’t know. He didn’t know a lot of anything right now, except the pressure was still wrapped around his leg. That almost but surely not, laughter sounded again. 

“It’s okay little bird, its okay. Hush sweetheart.” 

Virgil know that voice. He could recognise the sweetness, the melody to it. Roman. Roman was here. Roman had to be the one who was looking after him. Roman had brought him drinks and wiped his brow and was now sitting with him so he wasn’t alone. It both comforted and scared him. Why would it scare him? It was Roman, and Roman was his friend. Was his family and now that Virgil was starting to under the meaning of that word, having Roman here meant so much more to him. 

So why did Roman sound so... so gleeful? 

“Your leg got infected but it's going to be fine. I’m going to take care of you, okay?” Roman again, and infected? His leg? What had happened to his leg? Why couldn’t he remember? At least he finally knew why he was sick, even if he didn’t know the ‘how’. 

The pressure vanished once more, Virgil feeling his whole body go limp as he left out a sharp exhale. The pain was still there of course, sharper than before, a throbbing, piercing agony that kept him from slipping back into the safety of the daze.

“Come on darling. Open your eyes for me. Let me see those beautiful browns,” Roman coaxed. Dimly, Virgil could feel his hand against his face, fingers dancing lightly against his cheek. He wanted him to open his eyes? But that sounded so hard, that sounded like effort. Roman had been looking after him, had taken care of him and the least he could do was try and look up at him like he wanted. 

With a great force of effort, Virgil forced his eyes open. It felt as though he was prising open a really strong set of magnets. Finally, light spilled in, the world blurry and made up of a mass of odd shapes and colours. He would say it didn’t look like his room but it was hard to make out anything in this state. It certainly was lighter than he remembered his room being, but perhaps Roman had simply managed to convince the curtains to remain open. If he had been unconscious, he wouldn’t have been able to keep them closed on purpose.

Virgil blinked but the world remained out of focus. A shadow fell over him, a blend of red and black colours swirling together and it took him longer than he would have liked to realise that he was staring up - probably - at Roman. 

It wasn’t his usual colours. Why was... why was Roman wearing something else? For that matter, why was he in his room at all? It wasn’t safe for them to be in his room and Virgil was sure he would have dragged himself to the one place he felt truly safe the moment he realised he was hurt. 

Like an animal crawling into some dark corner to die. 

Something was wrong. His anxiety was finally kicking in, his mind screaming at him, that something was very wrong. Beyond his leg injury. 

“-ear me? Songbird, come on darling, I need to focus, just for a moment, please?” 

Songbird? What kind of nickname was that? Roman was really slipping in the whole insulting nicknames based on his looks and interests if all he could come up with was a songbird. That was nothing like Virgil. Anyway, what was with all the darling and pet nicknames in general? That wasn’t like Roman at all, and Virgil knew he was missing something important. Something that was hovering just out of reach, an elusive memory that he couldn’t quite latch onto. If only he could remember how he hurt his leg. Somehow, Virgil just knew that was the answer to all his questions. Roman started to talk again. 

“Going to let me take care of you? I’ll make it all better I promise. Just say yes. That’s all I need to hear sweetness. Yes and I’ll get you some water, I will get you fixed even better than before...” Roman sounded so sincere, so persuasive as he made his offer. It sounded wonderful, Virgil was already so sick of being sick. Of being weak and helpless. He wanted to be better, no he needed to be better. Who was going to look after Thomas and the rest if he was ill?

Virgil didn’t understand why Roman was asking instead of just helping, but maybe he was making a real effort with consent and stuff. He was pretty sure that kind of thing didn’t count when you were ill and needed to be looked after. It was... nice, to think that Roman wanted to look after him. Even nicer to think that he cared enough about Virgil and his issues to get permission when it wasn’t really needed at the moment. Roman was the best type of friend. 

Not to mention, water would be amazing right now. 

“Yes...” Virgil mumbled, forcing out the word, his throat protesting painfully against even that. He couldn’t see the smile on Roman’s face but despite that, Virgil couldn’t help but give a little shiver, as though someone had just walked over his grave. He closed his eyes as he felt another cool flannel pass over his forehead, trying to still the nagging doubts that were pressing in on him. 

Letting Roman help him was the right thing to do. 

So why did he feel as though he had just made a terrible mistake? 

tag list;

@jittery-glittery @applecannibal @cookiethedevil @i-will-physically-fight-you @jemthebookworm @4amanxiety @plaid-purple-patches @hikarisakurariver

[whimsical-ness]

Cataclysm | 06 (Final)

◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Baekhyun series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

◇ Genre: Soulmate! AU, End of the World AU, Angst

◇ Warnings: mentions of death

◇ Summary: It’s a race against time when there’s a month left until the end of the world and you have yet to find your soulmate.

◇ Word Count: 4.8k

◇ A/N: This chapter is twice the length of any of the previous ones, but since it’s the last one, I guess it’s okay. I hope you like it.

You hadn’t thought that leaving would hurt this much, but it did. 

It hurt when you had to say goodbye, it hurt to think that you were seeing these people for the last time, the people you’d become so close to in just the span of a week.

It especially hurt to look at aghast expressions on both Sehun and Jongin’s faces when you told them you were leaving.

“Why?” was the only broken whisper that left Sehun’s lips, and you had to hold back tears as you wrapped him in a hug, careful not to hurt his healing shoulder. “I want to be with him,” you said softly, and as you pulled away and looked into his eyes, you felt relief wash over you when you saw the understanding on his face. 

“Don’t forget me, Y/N,” he said with a sad smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, shaking your head. Baekhyun chuckled. “You’re not very forgettable, Oh Sehun,” he said. “Take care of yourself, okay? And you too, Jongin. Don’t get yourselves in any trouble before—”

“Before it’s over,” cut Jongin, nodding. “We’ll try. Stay safe, both of you.”

What else do you say to someone you’re never going to see again, someone who’s going to die, just like you are, in less than a week?

And so with another round of tight hugs and whispered goodbyes, it was time to go. Your chest felt heavy as you glanced around the convention, one last time, before getting onto the motorcycle behind Baekhyun and holding onto him tightly. “I’m ready,” you whispered. 

“Don’t let go of me,” he said, and the roar of the engine seemed to reverberate through your veins as he kicked off, leaving behind the place and people that would now only be in your memories.

The highway was in stark contrast to how it had been just a week ago when you’d first arrived. When previously, there’d been no place to even move, what with vehicles bottlenecked and stuck in traffic, now, it was almost barren.

There were still cars around, but deserted ones, lying on the side of the road, some of their windows shattered. There was an odd sort of eerie silence, with only the sound of the rustling breeze in the air, lifting your hair out of place as Baekhyun rode on.

Baekhyun’s house was a few hours away, and you were worried about how long he was going to be able to last without becoming quickly exhausted. And so it wasn’t a surprise to you when an hour and a half later, he parked onto the side, getting off and stretching his arms. 

But his next suggestion made your eyes widen.

“It’s your turn to have a go,” he said with a grin. “My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.”

You gaped at him. “M-me? But I’ve never ridden a motorcycle in my life—”

“There’s a first time for everything,” he interjected, poking you in the side. “Go on, scoot forward.” You reluctantly shifted ahead on the seat, looking down to see where to place your feet. “Baek, I really—”

“Babe,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Unless you want a boyfriend whose arms are paralyzed...”

You groaned, giving in. “How do I even start this thing?” He grinned. “That, I can help with.”

He crouched down, guiding your foot towards what you guessed was the gear shift. “First, pull in the clutch,” he instructed, and you looked at him stupidly. He burst out laughing at your complete cluelessness. 

“Ookay then, we’re really going to have to start from the basics,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. He stood back up and took your hand, making you squeeze in one of the handlebars. Then he crouched down again and put the kickstand up. You nearly lost your balance.

“Easy there. Now kick down the gear a little,” he said, and you did, still feeling extremely unsure about the entire thing. “Alright. We’re all set. The right hand is the throttle, okay? When you twist it a little it gives the thing more gas and makes it go faster.”

You bit your lip. “Here’s to not dying today.”

Baekhyun grinned. “You’ll be fine.” And then he was swinging onto the seat behind you, firmly putting his arms around your waist and holding you close to him. You laughed in surprise as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder. “You got this baby. Now go.”

Despite yourself, you went red at his newly adopted nickname for you, and with a deep breath, you let your feet off the ground and let the motorcycle move, slowly at first. Baekhyun’s hand circled yours and squeezed to make you twist the throttle, and a surprised scream left your lips as the motorcycle thundered forward, speeding up and making the wind roar at your ears.

Baekhyun laughed behind you, encouraging you to go faster, and your fear slowly melted away as adrenaline kicked in instead. Every thought left you as you laughed in awe with him, occasionally screaming as you hurtled along the highway, your knuckles white from holding onto the handlebars too tight.

It felt like a dream. Never in your life had you thought of yourself to be brave enough to even sit on a motorcycle, let alone actually ride one. You loved it; the uncertainty and danger you’d associated previously now all drowned out by your heightened senses, and the impossible feeling of being able to do anything, everything. 

With Baekhyun by your side.

“Your hair is getting in my mouth!” yelled Baekhyun, and you laughed. “Too bad,” you yelled back. “I can’t exactly tie it right now!”

You heard Baekhyun groan, and you couldn’t keep the grin off your face. “Sorry Baek, I’m having too much fun on this thing now. It was your idea to let me ride it.”

“And I’m proud of you,” he said loudly over the howling wind. “But we need to stop and fill up the gas.”

You pouted, but took the next exit off the highway, following signs for the station. You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but seeing the place desolate and void of a single soul sent chills down your spine. You braked with a jerk, so suddenly that it sent Baekhyun ramming into you, yelping in surprise. 

But he was seemingly indifferent to the emptiness of the gas station, and he got off and pumped in the gas himself, shaking the hair out of his eyes. When he noticed you looking around the station with a stricken look on your face, he frowned. 

“Hey,” he said. “No more of that, okay? No more looking like you’re going to burst into tears. We have 5 days left. And we’re not going to cry.”

You bit your lip. “I can’t promise you that. But I’ll try.”

Baekhyun sighed loudly. “Let me help you get your mind off it.” He removed the nozzle from the motorcycle once the gas was full, and without warning, got onto the seat, sitting so that he was facing you instead of ahead.

You blinked at him as he smirked, his hands snaking down to your legs and pulling you closer, making them rest over his thighs. “Baek—”

You were cut off from speaking further when his lips crashed into yours, his fingers entangled in your hair. You felt the air knocked out of your lungs as he kissed you, his lips urgent and seeking more. 

You broke away suddenly, realization sparking your veins.

You went scarlet. “We’re in public.”

“But no one’s here,” he pointed out, and then he was kissing you again, impossibly fiercer this time, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. You didn’t even realize when you nearly climbed onto his lap completely, and didn’t try to stop him when his lips painted kisses down your neck.

It wasn’t until his Baekhyun slipped against the handlebars and yelled that you realized what you were doing. Your eyes widened as he flailed, and you grabbed onto his jacket to keep him falling. But alas, it was too late, and he fell off unceremoniously, dragging you with him. You ended up in a heap on the ground, breathless and in uncontrollable peals of laughter, disbelieving what had just happened.

“You are amazing, you know that?” sputtered Baekhyun, shaking his head. “You make me feel like I’m constantly floating in the air, and I swear to you, I never want to come back down.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “Well, looks like you had to fall back down to the ground though,” you said, untangling yourself from him. He laughed, and then he was pecking your cheek, his lips warm against your skin. “Let’s go. We’re nearly there.”

An hour or so later, you were finally off the highway, and Baekhyun was turning onto a quaint little street, the houses all painted white with their roofs framed with pale blue tiles.

You were surprised when along the highway, you caught a glimpse of the sea, realizing that you had travelled towards the coast. The sun was setting and the air was filled with the cool breeze you’d always associated with the sea, the scent of salt and moisture rampant around you.

“You didn’t tell me you lived near the sea,” you said in wonder, and Baekhyun smiled, helping you off the motorcycle. “Born and raised. I’m practically a merman.”

You laughed. Baekhyun’s house was the one right at the end of the street, a mere short walk away from the picturesque beach, the sand glittering under the night’s stars. He was quiet when he took your hand, and you noticed his fingers shaking slightly as he fumbled with the front door, the key slipping before he managed to wedge it in.

You held a breath as you walked in, squeezing his hand in reassurance. All was dark, and you could just make out the shadowy shapes of the furniture in the living room. When Baekhyun didn’t move, you felt for the switch on the wall, and when you found it, flicked it on. 

He let out a breath when light flooded the room, his eyes taking in his childhood surroundings. “Hey,” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed, nodding, and shut the door behind him. “It’s just...it’s been so long since I’ve come back home. I stopped completely a few years ago. It hurt too much. The memories of them being here. I couldn’t stay here alone.”

You squeezed his hand again. “You’re not alone this time. I’m here with you, okay? Always.”

He smiled faintly. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He led you through every room of the relatively small house, speaking in earnest, though you couldn’t miss the sadness in his voice. “The kitchen has always been my favourite part,” he said, and you smiled, seeing why. It was charming, the counter tops made of rock, the tiles aqua blue. It looked like something out of a fairytale.

“My mom would make us all sit at the table every night for dinner,” he said, his eyes filled with memories. “Even when I would whine because my favourite cartoon was on TV, even when my dad complained because he wanted to watch the football match. She made sure we ate together as a family every single day. At the time, I never understood it. But now, I’m so thankful. Every moment I spent with them, every hug, every kiss. I didn’t realize how much I would miss the little things.”

His voice broke. Your heart felt heavy. “Where’s your room?” you asked softly, attempting to ease his mind off the sorrow. He took you there, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw it. 

Posters of his favourite superheroes were still stuck on the walls, albeit a little faded and worn. His bedspread was covered in rockets and stars and moons, and your heart warmed at the thought of a young Baekhyun sleeping there, clutching the slightly ragged looking teddy bear that was still lying there.

You ran your fingers over the faded pencil scribbles on the wall, your eyes lighting up when you saw the height measurements scrawled there. Baekhyun smiled sheepishly. “My dad made me stand there every two months. He always said I’d grown taller but I swear he lied half the time. Just to make me feel better.”

“You haven’t grown that much taller since the last time you recorded it,” you teased, and Baekhyun pouted. “Meanie. I’m still taller than you.”

You stood very upright. “Nuh-uh. We’re the same height.” He snorted. “No way. Look, I’ll prove it.” 

He came very close then, and you blinked in surprise, biting your lip when you realized you had to look up into his eyes instead of looking straight at them. He was a little taller after all.

Baekhyun smirked, lowering his head, his mouth nearing yours. “Still have doubts?” You shrugged. “It’s the shoes,” you replied, and slipped away before he could steal your lips again. 

“Let’s go get something to eat, hm?”

Dinner was a quiet affair in a small restaurant nearby. You were surprised to find one open, and run by an enthusiastic old lady who seemed unbothered that the world was going to end in the next few days. 

“It’s on the house,” she said warmly, and though both you and Baekhyun protested and tried to pay her, she refused to take the money. “You’re welcome to come here everyday. I’m glad to see a few of you youngsters still living life. No point moping about the end, eh? Rather enjoy the time we’ve got left.”

Her optimism was contagious. You wished you’d met her sooner.

Baekhyun’s mood was also considerably lifted when you got back to the house after, and seeing him happier made your heart swell. He surprised you when he picked you up without warning, and only grinned when you squealed at him to put you down. He carried you up the stairs like that and into the master bedroom, your arms linked around his neck, his eyes shining. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was.

It was your noses bumping into each other as you kissed, it was Baekhyun not being able to get his jeans off, it was the bed creaking dangerously as you toppled onto it, your bodies tangled and your hearts racing.

It was the feeling of his hands, it was tasting strawberry ice cream on his tongue, it was the whispered I love you’s he breathed into your skin, and the marks you left on his.

It was laying in a comfortable silence after, your legs intertwined within the sheets, your fingers tracing the words on Baekhyun’s wrist as he placed lazy kisses on your shoulder. It was drifting off to sleep like that, his arms around your waist holding you snug against his bare chest, his breath ruffling your hair.

It was the feeling of contentment, of being loved, of being safe. 

Even if it was only going to last a little while longer.

You slept incredibly well that night, a peaceful, dreamless sleep you’d been deprived of ever since everything had come crashing down. You slept so deeply that you didn’t realize when Baekhyun slipped out of bed, and you awoke with a start when you shifted and didn’t find his warm presence beside you.

You sat up groggily, blinking when you realized it was still dark outside. Where was he?

You pulled on your clothes and left, first checking his room to see if he was there, panicking when you saw that he wasn’t. A quick look around the rest of the house told you he wasn’t home, and your heart hammered as you pulled open the front door, trying to calm down and telling yourself that he was okay.

The sky was dark blue, and completely clear, void of clouds and allowing you an unobstructed view of the stars. They were fading though, slowly but surely, and as you gazed up at them, you suddenly realized where he was.

You all but jogged towards the pier and down to the beach, letting out a breath in relief when you saw a figure sitting on the sand, staring out at the waves. The sea breeze had tousled his hair, his features illuminated by the lightening sky, and as you walked towards him, you thought you’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

You settled down into the sand beside him and he blinked in surprise. “Leave me a note or something the next time you decide to sneak away in the middle of the night, hm?”

He smiled. “I was going to be back before you were up. You were fast asleep, I didn’t think you would realize.”

He put an arm around you and you shifted closer, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder and shutting your eyes. He tilted his head down, resting it against your head. “I came out here to watch the sunrise,” he said quietly. “After today, there’ll be three more.”

Three more sunrises signalling three more days. 

“Look,” he whispered. You opened your eyes, just as the first orange hues began to paint the sky. You’d never seen a sunrise before. 

Bit by bit, the shimmering sun rose up over the water, bathing the horizon in a brilliant golden light. You didn’t have to look at Baekhyun to know that his lips were parted in awe just as yours were, amazed at the sheer beauty of nature that was unfolding in front of your eyes.

Except, you couldn’t ignore the sudden prick that burned your chest, reminding you of every terrible thought you were desperately trying to push down. That there was an unstoppable timer on the world, that you were going to die, you were going to die, you were going to die.

You bit your lip, wincing when you drew blood. Baekhyun frowned, dabbing at the redness with his thumb. “I don’t understand why you ruin those pretty lips like that,” he murmured.

You looked away. “Come on. I’ll make you breakfast. I picked up some stuff from the shop,” he said, taking your hand and pulling you up off the sand. “And after, we can go swimming.”

You let him lead you back to the house, focusing on your intertwined fingers instead of the way your heart was splitting open into two.

That day and the ones that followed were all nothing short of what you’d always imagined bliss to be like. 

You swam in the sea for the first time, with Baekhyun laughing and pulling you into the waves with him, ambushing you with underwater kisses that had the two of you coughing up salty water.

You were surprised to see families arrive over the course of the day, little kids in tow, all still so innocent and unknowing. They giggled and ran around and made castles in the sand, certainly not understanding the sadness in their parents eyes as they watched. 

You spent the night watching movie after movie, switching from superhero films to chick flicks to R-rated comedies that had you rolling in laughter. You ended up falling asleep on the couch together, which in hindsight was a bad idea since the next day you could barely move your neck because of how stiff it was.

It was noon when you woke up on the third-to-last day, and Baekhyun decided to pull out old photo albums from his closet to show you.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling as you flipped through pictures of baby Baekhyun, seeing his life play out as he grew up, little by little. From an absolutely adorable baby in diapers to his first day at school, to his 10th birthday party with him grinning wide, cake smeared over his slightly chubby face. 

But your favourite was a picture with his parents, clicked at the very same beach. You blinked back sudden tears when you looked at it, at the beautiful smiling family, your heart wrenching as you thought of your own parents.

You missed them so much.

That night, there was a bonfire down at the beach, and it turned out to be surprisingly fun. There were all sorts of people there, young and old, families and people who’d come alone. Everyone seeking one last bit of enjoyment.

You ate until it felt as if your stomach would burst, sang until your throat was sore, and danced until your feet ached. You also got incredibly, stupidly drunk. And this time, Baekhyun got drunk with you. 

The two of you lost count of how many drinks you’d consumed, simply gulping down whatever was being handed to you by enthusiastic strangers. You ended up sneaking off to a relatively quiet part of the beach, giggling and flushed, falling onto the sand with your lips pressed to Baekhyun’s warm ones, shivering as you tasted the alcohol on his tongue.

You very nearly ended up having sex right there on the beach, until an alarm went off in your head reminding you that you were still very much in public. And so you haphazardly put your clothes back on and squealed as Baekhyun hoisted you on his back for a piggy back ride, stumbling back to the house to finish what you’d started...in the privacy of your bedroom.

On the morning of the second to last day, you woke up impossibly tangled together, with raging headaches and swollen lips. Still, everything was alright, and the day was calm.

Until Baekhyun broke down.

You were talking about something silly, mentioning that ever since you were little you’d always wanted to travel to Iceland because you’d thought everything there was made of ice, something completely meaningless and just as a part of a conversation. You were laughing about how innocent and foolish you’d been, but you stopped abruptly when you saw how dark Baekhyun’s eyes had become.

“It’s fucked up,” he said slowly, his voice low. “It’s fucked up that you have a dream that’s never going to come true, how every single one of us has ambitions, desires, hopes for the future that we’re never going to reach. Because we’re all going to be dead. We’re all going to die tomorrow.”

“Baek—”

“It’s not fair,” he said bitterly, running a hand through his hair roughly. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. You’re my soulmate, and I finally found you, and there are so many things I want to do with you. I want to travel the world with you, I want to get down on my knee and ask you to marry me someday, I want to raise a family and live here in this stupid house with you, waking up next to you and telling you how much I love you every single day. But none of that is going to happen. I’m so angry. And I’m s-scared.”

Your hands shook as you cupped his cheek, trying to make him look at you even when he pulled away, his breathing uneven. “I don’t want to die,” he said, his voice breaking, and your heart shattered into a million pieces, the shards cutting into every cell of your body. 

When he looked back at you, his eyes shining with tears, you hung on desperately to the thin string of calm that was barely there, and pulled him close to you, letting him cry into your shoulder as you bit back sobs of your own. 

Your brave, cheerful Baekhyun. In the end, he’d been unable to hold back his fear. You felt weak, broken as he clung to you like a frightened child clings to his mother, and your own cheeks were stained with tears when he finally tired himself out and drifted off to sleep, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

On the last day, the sun didn’t come up.

You awoke to complete darkness, still holding Baekhyun tight, and the two of you exchanged wordless glances as the reality sunk in.

The end was near.

With shaking hands, you dialed your mother’s mobile, praying that it would connect and that she would pick up. You nearly fell to your knees in relief when she did, unable to hold back tears when you heard her voice. They were okay. 

You spoke for almost an hour, not wanting to say the final goodbye. But fate was cruel, and you had to, even though hearing your parents’ voices for the very last time made you feel as if every organ in your body was giving out, leaving you hollow and soulless.

You weren’t sure how long you sobbed for when you finally hung up. But Baekhyun’s arms were around you the entire time, and you cried and cried and cried until you had no more tears to shed. You felt barren, empty, lifeless.

Dead.

You watched in silence as the news anchor made his final broadcast on television, and then Baekhyun wordlessly took your hand and led you to the bedroom. 

You curled up next to each other, not speaking. You let yourself focus on the beating of his heart, trying to drown out the screams and cries of despair and you could now hear outside on the street. But you shivered, even with his warmth beside you, and you helplessly held onto him as the invisible timer ticked to the end.

A sudden clash thundered in the distance, and you stopped breathing, staring into his eyes as they widened inexplicably in fear. “I-I thought we would find a way out of this,” you whispered, and Baekhyun hushed you, clutching you impossibly closer to him. “I thought I could save you, that we wouldn’t die. But it’s really happening.”

He still said nothing, his lips pressed to your forehead. “I thought I could save you,” you said again, fresh tears springing to your eyes. Baekhyun shook his head, smiling sadly, and when he brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss, you tasted salt from both your tears.

“You did save me,” he said quietly, and you trembled as a second booming noise sounded in the sky. “I’m not scared anymore. I’m happy. Here, with you. You did save me. We saved each other.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as the realization hit both of you at the same time. Baekhyun smiled in triumph as fingers circled your wrist, ghosting over the words there. His final words. 

We saved each other.

“But it wasn’t enough,” you whispered, as a deafening clap filled the air, making the walls of the house reverberate. You gazed into his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and when tears spilled onto his cheeks, you kissed them away gently, your heart feeling strangely full. Complete. 

“I love you, Baekhyun,” you said. And then you hesitated, knowing the next words that were about to come out of your mouth. He knew them too, and he smiled sadly, clutching you tighter.

“And I...I wanted to love you for longer.”

A strange glow erupted outside, casting a blinding light over the room, and as you looked at him, and he looked at you, you both knew that it was the end.

But somehow, you were at peace.

Baekhyun didn’t say another word, but his lips mouthed I love you. And your gaze said it back.

You shared one last smile before you let the white light engulf your senses, and even as you felt life slipping away, you held onto the peaceful feeling you’d felt with him, moments before.

The peaceful feeling of knowing Baekhyun truly was your soulmate, and that despite everything, and against the odds, you had found him. 

You held onto that, and to the feeling of just being happy, as the invisible timer finally came to a stop, and the world ended.

A cataclysm.

But one that had impossibly, but undoubtedly made the last days of your life worth living.

A/N: And it’s over...and I’m sad. I want to thank everyone who’s left me sweet messages throughout, and stuck with this story until the very end. This is the first real ‘series’ I’ve ever completed, and it’s been quite the journey. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it, and once again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart ❤️️