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lil-bumbum · 24 days ago

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In The King's Embrace Top Male King Oc x Bttm Servant Male Reader

First of all woah- what the fuck. I don't know who or what possessed me to write this in the beginning- but I need more of it because it fueled me to write my longest piece yet. ngl kinda had in mind to make it a foursome but kinda backed out of it, maybe if I do part two MDNI, what you consume is not my problem in the end tho. content/warnings: does it count as cheating?, smut, p in v at the start, submissive reader, overstimulation, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, anal, first time anal, vanilla, fluff at the end, reader gay or bi awakening idk maybe just a hoe I hope I got all contents and possible warnings down, if not I'm sry. 3.6k words

Pathetic whimpers of pleasure came from your throat, while your teeth were harshly digging into your bottom lip. Your hips rutted mindlessly, as the tight heat clenched around your cock, soft sultry moans spilled from the woman’s lips. Not any woman though, she was the queen, the same woman married to the man you served.

Sprawled beneath you on the same bed she shared with her husband, her legs were wrapped tightly around your hips, keeping you close as you fucked mindlessly into her pussy that was already filled with your load from previous rounds. Unshed tears were in your eyes, not only from the overstimulation you had to endure, but also because you feared for your life.

“Come on– fuck give me your b-bastard child– ahh,” her words made your stomach churn, one hand moved up to knead her soft bosom, while the other went down to rub on her puffy clit. You felt how another orgasm built up in your groin, picking up the speed of your thrust and the rubbing on the queen’s clit. Just as you were about to bust another load in her wet pussy, the doors to the large bed chamber were pushed open and in came the king, his brother and a guard.

Shocked by the sudden intrusion, by the exact person you didn’t want to get caught by, made your hips come to a shuddering stop. Yet the queen seemed thrilled by the sudden interruption by her husband, as her cunt clenched tightly around your sensitive cock, pushing you over the edge. A pathetic moan rippled from your throat in shame and pleasure, your eyes closed in bliss and fear before your body slumped.

Your shoulders shaking and your legs twitching, you didn’t dare to open your eyes, not even when the queen spoke up, “You always have to ruin my fun do you, Raymond?” Her voice was challenging, as if she didn’t care that she cheated on her husband with a common servant.

A scoff left the king, “A bastard daughter, sleeping with a mere servant– I would’ve said I was surprised, but I’m certainly not,” you slowly opened your eyes, only to see the flushed furious face of the queen. You wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, not only were you caught and probably getting one of the worst punishments. Gulping you were frozen in place, until a pair of footsteps stalking closer to the bed, until a hand fisted your hair and pulled your head back, far enough to come face to face with the king.

Raymond was by far an old king, he inherited the throne in his late teen years, now he’s in his late twenties as far as you remember. Swallowing you looked up at the man with wet eyes, a scoff left the king, as he pulled more on your hair, enlightening a breathy moan from you, “Pathetic, aren’t you,” it wasn’t a question, he spoke it as a fact.

You watched as he licked over his lips, a fleeting glint formed in his eyes, but as quick as it was there, as quick it was gone. Raymond’s green eyes wandered over the state not only you were in but also the queen, pussy stuffed not only with your cock but also cum oozing out at the sides dirtying the sheets.

Suddenly you were completely pulled off of the queen by your hair, it was rather rough, but in a pleasant way which made a small amount of cum spurt out of your slit, accompanied by a whimper. “I’ll be taking your.. plaything with me, goodnight Alesia,” Raymond said in a husky and mocking voice, before without even sparing a glance at the woman, dragging your naked form out of the bedchamber with the audience, the king's brother and the guard, who watched all of it unfold in silence before them, following behind.

Your nerves went through the roof, as you were dragged through the moonlit hallways. First you thought you would’ve been escorted to the dungeons as soon as you left the chamber, yet you were simply led to another wing of the castle.

As Raymond stopped in front of a large closed door, you had to stop yourself before you bumped into the king’s back. With a single push the doors opened, giving you the time to look inside another bedchamber. Your eyebrows raised in surprise, before you were simply pulled inside by Raymond.

In the middle of the room, the king came to a halt, turning to you. “Well now that we’re far away, I can say that for the first time, this– woman had at least a good looking plaything,” the king mused, as one of his large hands grabbed onto your chin, making you look up at the green eyes that were darkened by the lust swirling inside. “Now that you seem to have experience in warming the bed of a royal– it’s time you show me exactly what you can do,” Raymond said, as he let go of your chin and stalked around you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your body. Like a predator observing its prey, which in this case was you, while the king seemed to be the predator ready to pounce and devour you.

Your head turned to the side, only realizing then that you were alone with the king, as said man pressed himself against your back. A gasp stuck in your throat by the sudden closeness, while your eyes took in the large bed which was standing only a few feet away from you.

A gentle push from behind you, made you swallow hard, as you slowly walked over to the bed, a look over your shoulder– a look into the lust filled eyes, had your legs trembling, biting your lip you tried to calm down your racing heart. “Who–?” your voice was barely audible, yet the question made a smirk tug at Raymond’s lips, “Who’s fucking who?” he finished the question that lingered in your mind, half spoken. Slowly you nod, enlightening a chuckle from the king as he stepped closer.

“Well even though I think it doesn’t have anything to do with it, but your pathetic look while you fucked Alesia, definitely made me want to have you come undone on my cock, even though your performance in fucking her seemed rather.. strong,” Raymond spoke, his large hand placed on your lower back, rubbing circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

You gulped, as your body moved on its own, slowly bending over the bed. “Get on the bed and turn to me, we’ll have enough time and.. opportunities to test other places, but right now I want to see your face when I take you,” Raymond spoke, quickly following his order, you moved onto the bed soon finding you in the same position as the queen before, missionary.

Movement caught your eye, and you saw first hand how the king slipped off his robes in a smooth motion, yet his hungry eyes simply laid on you, the intensity made your cock twitch. As soon as the robes were discarded on the ground Raymond came closer to the bed, before stopping in front of you. With his fingertips he brushed over your exposed thighs making them quiver in response.

It was slow and agonizing, not pushy and fast like you were used to by the queen. Raymond played it slow, taking in the way you reacted to the little touches, how your cock twitched. He pushed your thighs open, taking place between them as his fingers moved further up, until it wasn’t just his fingertips touching, but his entire hands, large warm hands that ran over your bare skin.

From your thighs to your stomach, up to your chest and back down to finally settle on your hips. “Pretty..” the word surprised you, but his next word caught you off guard, “Did you ever have a man as a bed partner?” Raymond’s focus laid on you, as he waited for an answer.

You slowly shook your head, no. Biting your lip nervously as a smirk formed on the taller man’s lips, “Then I’ll make sure it’s the best sex you ever had,” shivers ran down your spine, while one of Raymond’s hands moved down, past your cock to your untouched entrance, which soon won't be untouched anymore.

A gentle, almost ticklish feeling suddenly came from your hole. Your eyes widened as you watched how Raymond lubed his fingers with spit, yet as he lowered his hand back to your hole, you grabbed onto his arm, your short nails slightly digging into his arm, your nervousness palatable. “What–” the rest of your words are unspoken, yet clear.

The king rubbed his thumb from the hand holding your hip, over your skin in a soothing manner, “Don’t worry, it’s so it won’t hurt or damage you when I push in,” Raymond said. You slowly nodded with more understanding of his actions, yet your hand still held onto him, as he lowered his fingers to your entrance. A sharp inhale from your side, as he pushed past the rim. You felt yourself clenching around the digit, the intrusion feeling alien to you.

“Relax as best as you can,” it sounded easier than it was, which the other noticed as he leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. Successfully distracting you with the most unexpected thing to happen, a kiss. The king kissing a mere servant, you would hang if a word came out. Even though it was letting the alarm ring in your head, it felt so good. Your eyes closed as you leaned in, letting the other guide you.

Small whines left you, as Raymond pushed his finger in further, testing the waters until another digit intruded, your arm was around the king's shoulder, holding onto him, while your other let loose from the grip around the man’s arm. Raymond worked your hole, adding a third finger as he prodded against the mushy walls. The little sounds that spilled from your lips were like a reward, stirring him on.

The pleasure you received was not really helping with the overstimulation you experienced not too long ago, your already hard cock twitched and leaked precum accompanied by breathy moans and tears at the corner of your eyes. As Raymond’s finger pushed knuckle deep inside, prodding against your inner walls as if searching for something, until he pressed into a spot that had your back arching in pleasure and a louder moan slipping from your lips.

You obviously didn’t notice the way Raymond stared at you, fascinated and aroused. He pushed you over the edge by the small bundle of nerves, Raymond gulped at the things swarming his mind, all of them had you included just bend in different positions. The thought alone had his already hard cock leaking and twitching, but he knew he had to be patient as this was your first time.

A gentle caress on your spread and twitching thighs had you looking at the man, your attention was brought to the erect cock of the king, making you clench around Raymond’s fingers while you licked over your lip nervously. Your head was shrouded in the pleasured aftermath of your last orgasm, but also curiosity lingered inside of you, the curiosity to explore more than you usually had.

You pushed yourself up, holding your torso up while you leaned on your elbows, “What about you, your highness?” your hand pointed to the throbbing cock of said man, who glanced at his own arousal before focusing back on you, “Thoughtful of you, but I can guarantee that we have enough time ahead of us, that you can help me out another time,” his words were spoken in a pleased and teasing way.

He pulled his digits out of you, you watched as he slowly licked his fingers while keeping eye contact with you. As his pinky left his lips, Raymond walked over to a dresser, yet the word he uttered was making you flush, “Delicious.”

When Raymond walked back over to the bed, he held a bottle with almost completely translucent liquid inside, oil that worked as a lubricant. A shuddering breath left you as Raymond stopped in his original place, his eyebrows slightly raised, “I assume you already know what this is, the question simply is– are you willing to go further?” there was a moment of silence, before you nodded followed by an audible “Yes,” and you meant it.

The bottle was popped open, and your focus laid on the man in front of you, the way he used the oil on his entire length, before smearing some on and slightly in your hole, before the bottle was closed and disregarded. Raymond slowly kneeled between your legs, lifting them up to wrap around his hips, “Hold onto me if necessary,” were his last words as he gave his cock a few pumps, before he aligned the cock head at your entrance. Without any more teasing, he pushed in his bulbous tip stretching you further, a slightly pained yet aroused moan left you while a grunt came from Raymond.

His figure leaned over your smaller form, as he held onto your waist with one hand and held himself over your with the other, slowly as he pushed his hips closer to you, whiny moans left your throat and deep grunts and groans left Raymond as his cock went deeper into your tight heat, “Fuck, you’re tight”

In this moment he didn’t want to do anything more than just bottom out inside of you with a swift thrust, but he did enjoy the way your hole clenched repeatedly around his cock, while your face was contoured into one of utmost pleasure and overstimulation, how your blunt nails digged into his shoulders. And when he finally buried his length inside of you, brushing against the same spot that had you seeing stars just a few minutes ago.

Raymond licked his lips, trying to stay focused as your hole clenched tightly around him, and your thighs shaking around his waist. He watched as a small spurt of watery cum came from your tip, dirtying your stomach. You let out barely audible mutters from your mouth, expression already showing how fucked out of pleasure you were, when the two of you barely even start.

The cock that was sheathed snug in your hole, made you feel full, something you never experienced before during sex. It felt so right, hell even perfect. Your eyes found the green ones of Raymond, a small smirk tugged on the other’s lips, “You’re taking it pretty well– you think you can take more?” you only nodded, unable to form words. You only felt how Raymond pulled back, your arms dropping from his warm shoulders, while now both hands held onto your waist.

You felt how his cock pulled almost completely out, only his tip stayed inside before he thrusted his entire length back inside, making your back arch and a loud moan erupting from your throat, as Raymond set a rough pace, groans and grunts leaving him, as he pounded you into the large warm bed. His grip on your thighs was harsh, his nails leaving small crescent marks on your plush skin.

The sound of skin hitting skin and wet squelching accompanied by grunts and shameless loud moans reverberated around the bedchamber. Never did you feel so good during sex, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arching off of the bed and your legs even more of a shaking mess. Drool ran down at the side of your mouth, as you moaned and babbled, “More– fucking– give me more.” Raymond watched hungrily and in delight as you became even more of a mess beneath him, and because of him, so of course he wouldn’t deny your request of giving you more.

You didn’t know when it happened, maybe after the dry orgasm rippled out of you was were you faded out of consciousness for a few seconds, before hearing the deep voice of Raymond, “Fuck–” a hand was placed on your cheek and as your eyes cleared, you saw the concerned face of the king hovering over you. “Are you alright?” His concern was palatable, stirring warmth in your stomach. A smile hardly formed on your lips, it looked a bit more goofy in Raymond’s eyes yet he was simply glad you seemed to be okay, which you confirmed with a small nod.

“All good,” you mumbled, while pressing the warm palm more against your cheek, your eyes closed as even just for a few hours you wanted to rest in peace even if it was beside the king.

Raymond witnessed how you fell in a peaceful slumber, after the energy was drained out of you. He didn’t let you sleep in all the dirty sheets and not to talk about your body and the cum flowing out of your hole, as he pushed some strands from your forehead, he bit his lip uncertain on his next move, the lingering desire to follow what felt right. An internal battle was fought, but in the end he leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead, before he pulled away and started a bath to start your aftercare. He couldn’t help the lingering touches, not even in the freshly cleaned bed, in which the two of you laid.

Pulling your sleeping form closer, until your back was pressed against his chest. A kiss to your nape, before the king also fell asleep with you in his embrace. Which gave you a surprising shock the next morning, after you groggily woke up, only to find yourself not in your sleeping quarters, but also in the embrace of another.

As the events of the last night came crashing down on you, you couldn’t help the blush forming on your cheeks, it was the best feeling you ever had during sex even if it was rather short lived. Your legs felt numb and your lower half had a small sting as you moved, yet you turned around to look at the sleeping face of Raymond.

You didn’t know what to do, but any decision you could’ve made was taken from you as the man stirred, before he opened his eyes to look at you. There was a short moment of silence, as you didn’t know what to say, before you mumbled a quick “Good morning,” which he returned. But when you thought he would push you away, the opposite happened instead, he pulled you closer.

“How about– you become more than a servant?” Raymond asked you, making you frown, “Like.. a bed warmer?” you asked confused which enlightened an amused scoff from the king, “No– more than that,” he whispered.

This was the moment your relationship with the king started, days, weeks even months passed since that day. You found yourself a lot more in the presence of the other man, in his embrace. Until one day servants rushed around nervously, like they were walking on thin ice. You were confused until the shrill screams of none other than Alesia reverberated through the castle hallways.

You stood by a window on the first floor, as you watched how the former queen was kicked out of the castle. You heard from Raymond that the divorce papers were already signed a long while ago, yet they kept the facade of a marriage to not cause any uproar in the kingdom. A warm presence accompanied you by the window, as you glanced over you saw that it was Raymond, who placed a hand on your lower back, simply watching how his ex-wife made a scene with guards and servants around, with a certain cold dismissiveness as he watched everything unfold.

The furious eyes of Alesia wandered until they found not only you, but also Raymond by your side. She only glared, before swiftly turning around and entering the carriage, a few feet behind her, a servant you’ve seen a few times around while you worked, entering the carriage after her and closing the door. Your eyebrows furrowed at what happened, your focus quickly on the man beside you, “Why are you sending one of your servants off with her?” you were curious, as you glanced at the carriage that was pulled away from the entrance.

“Well you weren’t the first and definitely not the last man to warm her bed, so why not send her most recent plaything off with her,” Raymond said casually, as his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you closer. “Why didn’t you send her off with one of the others or me..?” you were obviously confused as you were not better than the servant.

A soft melodic chuckle left Raymond, his hand gently rubbing your waist, “You’re not just any plaything– not even a plaything anymore. You’re mine and I had my eyes on you first,” were Raymond’s words as he looked at you with a warmth in his eyes, which made your cheeks flush. As the other started to walk, you quickly fell into his steps, as you walked down the corridor, “So.. about what you said–” you stopped yourself as you looked up at him, Raymond only shook his head lightly while he smiled, “I’ll explain it to you– maybe during breakfast together?”

You nodded a smile tugging at your own lips, “You better,” you threatened lightheartedly, making Raymond place a kiss on the top of your head.

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lil-bumbum · 1 month ago

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Are you Sirius? -Prologue

A/N: transsexual was the historically correct term for transgender in the 1970s. I will try to be time accurate. Also, Im sorry british people. I am american, and a loser.

Prologue- Reader POV

I honestly didn’t expect things to turn out the way they did. But In retrospect, the irony of it is rather obvious, in a sense. Those who are shattered try to mend another. It’s an endless cycle and one that many authors view as great promise for an enticing story.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was my first year, and the journey from (T/N) to the middle of nowhere Scotland was rather tedious on my childhood self, but I’d grown rather accustomed to strain. But I think what did me in was the prospect of magic. And possibly the fact I got to be away from home for 9-10 months of the year.

It seemed like heaven, but the squeaky posh voices from the compartment next to me destroyed that musing rather quickly.

“Hey, Lookit here, another mudblood! They really just let anyone into Hogwarts these days, don’t they?” A posh young voice calls out. He has black hair that seemed to shine like the dark cosmos as the noontime sun lit his silhouette, his loose ringlet curls bouncing lightly as he gently jostled the blonde boy next to him, eyes gleaming for just a speckle of attention from the aforementioned.

The blonde slaps the elbow nudging him, and turns towards me, previously facing the window the boy with black hair was sitting next to. He seems a few years older than the other, maybe 2 or 3 or so. He looks rather disinterested, as his empty, piercing gaze scrutinizes me.

“They do, don’t they Sirius? Such a shame to taint the once-great palace with filth” The boy agrees, turning back to where he had his attention on the window. It wasn’t long before more of the blondes’ colleagues entered, kicked the boy with black hair out of the compartment, and whipped the door shut.

The rest of the train ride was rather uneventful, I never saw the blonde nor the black-haired boy, and didn’t seem to be bothered much.

I befriended a sweet young girl who sat with me in my compartment. Her name was Lily, and she was a sweet girl. Seemed very emotional. We both were of non-magic origin, and we both have an ornate curiosity about everything, as well as a love for books, comedy, and adventure.

And, as luck would find it, we got the same house.

Gryffindor, house of the lion. House of those with courage, bravery, and determination. House of those who also seem to lack impulse control as well, if the loudness and slightly bigger mess is any indicator. Me and Lily share a look.

I end up having a decent conversation with another quiet fellow, named Remus, as Lily makes friends with a few other first year girls who got Gryffindor.

After supper, the head of our house, Professor McGonagall, leads us down the winding halls and staircases. She leads us through and grandiose space, which she says is the “common rooms” to a stairwell split into two.

“-And here we have the entrances to the dormitories. The left side leads to the male dormitories, and the right is the female dormitories. The stairs on the female dormitory are charmed to not allow any one of the opposite sex in. “ She pauses, glancing around at the crowd before continuing her lecture,”Now, do be aware, there are instances where someone with one set of genitals does not align with the gender of their sex, and thus unable to enter the assigned dorms. In su-”

“So the stairs recognize trannies?” A student pipes up.

McGonagall scowls a bit, but corrects the student with grace.

“‘Transsexual’ is the correct term. But yes, the charms recognize transsexuals as the gender of which they align most, and in most cases, this happens before the student realizes such. In these cases, I recommend the student use the dorm of the desired gender, but cases can be arranged. I ask if this occurs for the student to come and talk to me.”

McGonagall clears her throat, gesturing to the right side of the common room to the stack of luggage.

“Now, with this out of the way, please grab your luggage, and find a dorm on the first floor. As of right now, you are allowed to choose your dorm mates, but I can say right now there are going to be five of you to a dorm room. The first floor is reserved for first-year students, so you needn’t worry about going any higher.”

As she finishes her speech, most of the students go to crowd the luggage in search of their own. I decide to wait for the crowd to disperse, instead deciding to look around the vast common room. It seems like Lily and Remus had the same ideas as me. Lily comes and stands next to me.

“Do you think we should be in the same dorm? I’ve already agreed to dorm with some girls I chatted with at supper. There was I believe a Marlene, a Mary and then you and me, and then maybe one other person as well, I can't remember.”.

I hum lightly in agreement, and we wait a few more moments. Soon enough, almost everyone has gone and chosen a dorm. A girl with blonde hair calls down to us from halfway up the stairs telling us not to be late, and Lily turns to me telling me that’s Marlene.

We go together to get our luggage and are now at the beginning of the daunting steps. I look to the left of me, and see the same black-haired boy from earlier, being called by another young boy with glasses.

“Sirius, cmon mate, let's share a room!!”

He follows after him, but glances back at me warily. I start walking up the stairs to the girls' dorm before I’m suddenly at the bottom. I blink rapidly and watch as the stairs go from the slide it had turned to back to the steps they were.

Well.. to say I’m shocked is an understatement.

“Are you alright, dear?” McGonagall pipes up from behind me, lifting me by my armpits.

“Uhm.. Confused and slightly startled, but physically fine, I suppose.” I say, mind blank and blinking rapidly. Because at this point I think maybe if I blink enough the situation will have dissipated.

“It seems like-”

“F/N! Come-”

Lily and McGonagall seem to speak in unison, before being cut off.

“Oh, Uhm-” my head snaps to the boy who had spoken. It was the guy with glasses. The boy- Sirius- gently nudges him as if to get him to stop, a look of slight terror in his eyes.

“If you can’t use the girls, you’re free to dorm with me and Sirius, if you need”

Lily looks at me wide-eyed, going from me to McGonagall to glasses boy.

I look at McGonagall for approval, and she slightly nudges her head towards the boys, as if telling me to go on.

So, instead of processing I’m a trans-whatever, I decide under the rug it goes until tomorrow, and follow the duo. Luckily, this time around I don’t ungracefully take a slide to the bottom, but am still wary as I step through to the top.

Lily seems to understand what has happened and goes up to her room.

I’m quiet as I follow the boys, mind whirring. I follow them to the end of the hall, near another set of stairs that likely leads to the upper year’s dorms. We enter the door on the right, into a big room, which already bigger than the flat me and my family live in. There’s five twin-sized beds, each with canopies to close for privacy, as well as a small desk and dresser on each side of said bed.

“Are you sure you won’t be weirded out by sharing a room with someone who’s technically a girl?” I speak up, softly and hesitantly.

“I mean, it’s pretty straight forward innit? You're Basically, a guy, cuz the stairs said you were. I don’t got much of a problem with it unless you do” Glasses pipes up, taking the bed directly across from the door. It’s almost underneath the window in the room, but the desk next to it is directly under it.

“I mean, I don’t got a problem. Just worried you might,”

“Then it’s settled. No problem with me. I’m James, By the way. Do you got a boy's name picked out yet? Don’t think F/N will work all that well”

“Uhm…. Not yet, I suppose,” I look around, arms hugging my torso as I stand next to the entrance of the dorm, stressing my bottom lip. What I assume is the bathroom door is on the right of the shoewell I stand in. “Do you know what beds aren’t taken?”

“Well, that one next to the door isn’t, and then the one on the other side of Sirius’s. Remus has the bed next to the one that’s next to the door.” James points to the two empty beds. “Pete hasn’t picked his yet.”

“Shouldn’t we see if the other three are fine with me here?”

“I’m down,” Remus says, exiting the bathroom. “Good to see ya again, I had a good chat with you at supper”

“And the blacked-haired boy? Sirius, you said? Is he ok with it?” At the mention of his name, his head perks up from the paper he had been folding. An origami swan, or a bird or something. He has the bed next to James.

“Sure.” His answer is short and avoids my gaze, a guilty look on his face. “Sorry about the train.” Is added swiftly after, quiet and timid.

“Don’t know what's wrong with what happened there, so forgiven I guess.” At this sentence, he winces lightly, as if he knows something I don’t.

“What happened on the train?” A blonde boy chimes up, stepping into the shoe well next to me, on my left. “ ‘M Peter, by the way.” He holds his hand out, and I shake it.

“Nothing of importance, I guess. I’m F/N, and have yet to decide on a ‘Boy’s name’ Which, are you fine with me being here? I-”

“I don’t mind, I’ve got friends like you”

“Right on. Which bed do you prefer, then? Since I’m the last to join this motley crew, I’m guessing you should pick first. James said the one next to the door and the one on the left of Sirius are the two that’s open.”

I’m praying he doesn’t pick the one next to the door. Despite knowing what I want I don’t want them to think I’m annoying or bossy or picky. I’m not sure if Peter catches my longing glance to the bed next to the shoe well, or if god himself finally heard my prayers, but he picks the bed next to Sirius, and we both go to put our trunks in front of the respective beds.

After I set down my luggage, I quickly open my trunk and grab some sweatpants and my jumper, before beelining to the bathroom. I quickly change out of the uniform I was in, and get into my other clothes. After I change I put my uniform on my bed, and assume it best to go back downstairs and talk to McGonagall.

…

It’s going to be a long school year.

End of prolongue!!! i wont start any chapters until i get the polls out of the way, so this was just a teaser. also, lmk if you wanna be @ for the story.

speaking of @ing people;

@cursednevermore

be fed, child.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

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Immortal Lovers: Lestat De Lioncourt x Male Reader x Louis Point Du Lac

This is for the IWTV show btw. I haven't finished season one as of writing this but I just know that I needed to write something for these two gay vampires.

Content includes: No warnings I can think of

New Orleans, 1923. You just came here from up north no more than five months ago, trying to escape what happened to you there, hoping and praying that being this far from home will grant you the ability to start life again. You got yourself an apartment, not a great one, but a livable one. Your previous work with making clothes afforded you a job with a tailor, making enough to start saving and live off of.

You’re by no means living it large and super rich, but you’re making it somewhat, which is better than what happened where you were before. So here you are, leaving your new job as a tailor at nine pm, the sun having set a little over an hour ago.

‘Let’s hope the rain isn’t too bad tonight. I can’t handle any more leaks in my ceiling.’ You think to yourself, locking up the shop and walking down the street, putting your hat on and your hands in your pockets. You hear the bustling nightlife of New Orleans, all the speakeasies hidden in the city muffling the sounds, but all other nightlife areas still bustling with everyone partying.

But all you want to do is get back to your apartment, get in bed, and sleep these past couple of days off. You pass by several people on your way home, so when you pass by a black man and a man with blonde hair, you don’t pay them much mind.

‘They look like a handsome pair.’ You think to yourself, glancing at them as you pass them by, not paying them much else mind. You hear them speak to each other, something you can’t quite make out, but it’s none of your business anyway. It’s a good idea to keep a low profile here. You don’t want the wrong kind of attention on yourself. If the wrong person finds you here and spreads the word around that you’re a homosexual, you’ll have to pack up and leave again.

You pass by that restaurant near your house before finally getting back to your apartment, not even bothering to turn on the lights. You take off your shoes and suit jacket. You strip yourself down to your boxers and just get into bed, too tired to anything but sleep.

Your alarm goes off the next day and you shut it off, rubbing your eyes and sitting up in bed. You get ready for the day and take your wallet out of your pants pockets from yesterday. You open your wallet and find your business card missing, strange. But maybe it slipped out last night, no big deal, you’ll pick up another one tomorrow when you work again.

After getting ready for the day you’re about to settle in to read a book when there’s a knock at your door, you open it up to find your boss, Mr. Westwood, outside waiting for you.

“Ah, I’m glad your home Y/N.” He says, pulling a cigarette out of his suit pocket and lighting it up. “I have a very wealthy client coming in late tonight to get fitted for a new suit. He’s the top paying client I have, so I’ll need some help. Can you make it around 10 pm or so?” He asks, taking a drag of his cigarette. You nod your head and smooth over your hair.

“Yes sir I can. You can count on me.” You give him a small smile and he smiles back at you.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He says, patting your shoulder. He takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Is this a client I have met before or do I have the pleasure of meeting another wonderful person here in New Orleans?” You ask, smiling softly at Mr. Westwood. He’s an older man, all of his hair gray and slightly thinning, but he’s still there, kicking it and making a living.

“He’s someone you have yet to meet. Lestat Lioncourt, a Frenchman. But I’m glad to have you on board. I’ll see you at ten.” And with that, he leaves.

You arrive at the tailor shop at 9:50, ten minutes early to meet your boss there. He’s getting his supplies ready when he notices you.

“Ah there you are me boy.” He says, patting your shoulder in a fatherly way. “I hope you’re ready to help me with this. Mr. Lioncourt isn’t a difficult customer, but I like to make him feel at home anyway.” You help Mr. Westwood prepare for this customer, and soon enough, when the clock strikes 10 pm, in walks Mr. Lioncourt.

To your surprise, he’s the blonde man you passed on the street yesterday. He gives you a smile and you smile back, but you don’t mention what happened earlier.

“Ah, wonderful to see you Mr. Lioncourt.” Mr. Westwood says, shaking his hand.

“Wonderful to see you too Mr. Westwood.” He says with a French accent lacing his words, shaking his hand back. “But you can call me Lestat.” He turns his attention towards you, something glimmering in his bright blue eyes.

“You must be Mr. Westwood’s new assistant.” Lestat says, shaking your hand. You nod your head and smile back at him.

“Yes I am Mr. Lioncourt. I’m Y/N L/N, I just started a couple weeks ago. I’m very happy to help him here.” Lestat smiles and looks you up and down before returning his attention to Mr. Westwood.

“Now, as for my new suit, I was hoping for something with a lighter color pallet, and brown buttons.” He says as Mr. Westwood takes off Lestat’s suit jacket.

Mr. Westwood hums and nods his head. You take Lestat’s suit jacket from him and carefully place it on a coat hanger.

“Yes I think that would work nicely with the upcoming season. Something light in color but still warm enough to be functional.” Mr. Westwood says. Lestat raises up his arms and Mr. Westwood starts to take his measurements, calling them out to you as you write them down quickly. “Very well built I must say Lestat. If only all of us could have your body type.”

‘He is quite handsome.’ You think to yourself. Lestat chuckles and lowers his arms.

“Yes, well I am a lucky man to have the right diet for this body.” He says, his accent peaking out a bit more.

You work with Mr. Westwood for an hour and a half, showing Lestat different fabric swatches and button styles. Showing him the different popular styles of suits coming straight from fashion designers themselves, going deep into the process with him.

“We have a lovely new swatch of a lining satin that would look wonderful on the inside of your suit. Give me just a moment to grab that.” Mr. Westwood says, leaving you and Lestat alone in the room together.

‘He’s even more handsome now that I’ve got a better look at him.’ You think to yourself, busying yourself with writing down the preferences for Lestat. He chuckles and looks over at you.

“I don’t believe you’re from around here.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. You look over at him, a little surprised, but you understand he just wants to make some kind of conversation with you.

“Oh yes I’m not from around here. I’m from up north in New England.” You explain, setting down the pen in your hand. Lestat hums and smooths his hands over his button up shirt.

“Why move here? Very far from home aren’t you?” He asks, that accent of his still there, making your stomach feel some kind of way.

“Oh yes it is. I didn’t have much going on for me up north and I had heard so many promising things about New Orleans that I had to come see it for myself. I guess I just got lucky.” You explain, keeping a smile on your face.

‘Even his voice is handsome. I envy the woman he’s married to.’ You think to yourself again, looking down at his hands, noticing he’s not wearing a wedding ring.

“Yes, well I understand wanting to leave home. I left France a while ago, but I quite enjoy it here. A great bustling nightlife, wonderful food, good people. I can see why you’d want to move here.” Lestat says, giving you a smile.

‘You’re quite handsome yourself mon cher’ You hear his voice say in your head. Your back straightens and you look around the room. But Lestat has turned away from you, focusing his attention back on the fabric swatches for his new suit. You know you heard his voice say that, it’s not like your inner monologue or some kind of memory of his voice. Maybe it’s just the late night you’re having. There's no need to worry at all.

Mr. Westwood soon returns and you get on with fitting Lestat for his new suit without a problem. At around 12:30 in the morning he leaves and so do you, letting Mr. Westwood close up shop for himself. You walk back home again, passing by that same restaurant, a couple of employees cleaning up after close.

You get back to your apartment and notice a letter taped to the front of it. You take it off and open your door, stepping inside and turning on the light. It’s too late for the mailman to be here. Maybe your landlord needed something from you. Opening it up you find the familiar hand writing of your friend Mary Ann. You sigh a breath of relief and read the letter as you take off your coat.

‘Hello Y/N. I know that it’s terribly late but I wanted to stop by and schedule a time for us to speak. I was around your apartment when I noticed a man already there, knocking on your door. He looked somewhat like you, I assume he’s the brother you’ve mentioned before.

Because of how you described your relationship with your family I’m not sure what he was doing there, but I bet it wasn’t very good. Now if you’ll meet me for dinner tomorrow at that restaurant near here, Autumn dreams I think it’s called, at around seven I’d greatly appreciate that. I do miss you dearly.

-Much love, Mary Ann’

After letting her words sink in you find your chest tightening, your heart beating faster than before. Your brother, coming here to look for you. After the words your parents exchanged with you after they caught what you were doing with your friend William, you know that it can’t be a good reason that he’s there.

But you’re not going to let this anxiety consume you tonight, you’re going to go to bed, get some important things done tomorrow, and go have dinner with Marry Ann. So that’s what you do, you get ready for bed, and try to fall asleep. But that nagging feeling in the back of your mind won’t leave you alone about your brother and what he could have wanted with you. Or maybe it was someone else. After all, your family is all the way up in New England.

Your family isn’t rich enough to hire some kind of private investigator either. You shouldn’t worry about a thing, you shouldn’t worry at all. If something happens, you have a gun in your apartment. You’ll be safe. And with those consoling thoughts in your head, you drift off into sleep.

The next day, around four in the afternoon you’re busy washing up the dishes you’ve piled up in your sink when you hear a knock at your door, then a voice calls out.

“Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Y/N do I have a story to tell you!” Mary Ann shouts. You dry off your hands and let her in. She quickly walks inside, holding a small traveling case in her hand, no doubt full of things to get ready with for your dinner tonight. “So I was standing on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, and waiting for the right time to cross the street when a man in a motor car comes up and parks in front of me.” She says, her creole accent poking through her words.

“So he starts telling me about how this motor car is far better than any horse carriage that money can buy and he wants to take me for a ride.” She sets down her traveling case and slides off her long coat. “So I tell him to go kick rocks because I’m not interested in taking a ride with him. But he doesn’t want to take no for an answer. So as soon as I see a clearing I toss my cigarette at him and say ‘catcalling gets you nowhere!’ and I leave. He shouted something at me but I didn’t care to listen.” She walks over to you and gives you a French kiss on each cheek, you doing the same to her.

“You’re over here early.” You say, giving her a smile. “And you did something with your hair.” She nods her head and gives you a spin, showing off her new, shorter hairdo.

“Oh yes. I went to the salon the other day and the woman who worked with me gave me a permanent wave hairdo. Now all I have to do is wear a silk cap at night and go back to the salon every month or so for upkeep. But I tell you I look like one of those beautiful performers on stage.” She says, setting her coat down on your kitchen table.

“You’re already beautiful as it is Mary Ann.” You compliment, taking in her hairstyle again. It really was something wonderful. You’ve seen it become more and more popular over time, but now it’s really starting to take off.

“Did you find out anything about the man I saw at your apartment yesterday?” She asks, pulling a cigarette out of her cardigan pocket. You shake your head and walk back over to your sink.

“Nothing. I’m sure it was some kind of door to door salesman. Trying to sell me some kind of motor car or insurance.” You say, drying off some of your dishes.

“Well if anyone gives you any trouble I’m here to help you. Now, I’m getting ready here, I hope you don’t mind.” She says, opening up her traveling case. You shake your head and set down the plate you just dried.

“Not at all. Always happy to entertain a friend.” So as Mary Ann got ready, you did too. Both of you struggling to use your bathroom mirror. You trying to shave and her trying to apply her makeup. It’s a little hard keeping up with all these new trends for women, but Mary Ann is always happy to explain.

“What happened to corsets?” You ask, buttoning up your shirt.

“Girdles are more popular now. They’re like corsets but they don’t use steel. They’re new and exciting. Besides, dresses today are so loose you couldn’t see the work of a corset if you tried.” She says, tightening up her girdle and adjusting the slip dress underneath that.

You put on your cufflinks and smile at her.

“I don’t know how I’d keep up with the world without you Mary Ann.” You say putting on your suspenders. She grabs her dress and slides it on. It’s a beautiful loose dress, ending just above her ankles. You also notice how the waist of the dress is very low, but that’s just the style nowadays.

You two spend another 20 minutes getting ready before you put on your coats and leave for the restaurant. You two get a table outside, the night not being too cold and chat once you’re there, the sun having already set by the time you’ve gotten your food. You’re in the middle of sipping your drink when you hear a French accent cut through all the noise.

“Monsieur L/N?” You look over to the sound and see Lestat standing next to your table with another man at his side. You smile and stand up, holding out your hand for him to shake.

“Oh, Mr. Lioncourt. How wonderful to see you again. I’m just having dinner here with a friend.” You say, looking over at Mary Ann who’s now standing up too, holding out her hand for him to shake.

“Oh I’m out with a friend too.” Lestat says, shaking your hand, his cold skin making the hair on your arm stand up. The man next to him holds out his hand for you to shake.

“Louis Pointe Du Lac.” He introduces himself. You take his hand and notice how cold his skin is, just like Lestat’s.

“Y/N L/N. I met Mr. Lioncourt recently at my job. Your suit will be ready soon.” You say looking back over at Lestat. He chuckles and nods his head.

“You can call me Lestat Y/N, and thank you.” He says, Louis looks between you and Mary Ann in a casual manner. You’re able to get a closer look at the two of them now.

‘They really are a handsome pair. If only.’ You think to yourself. Lestat and Louis give each other a look for a moment.

“Are you French, Mr. Lioncourt?” Mary Ann asks, moving a hand to fix one of her earrings. He chuckles again and nods his head.

“Yes I am. J'espère que tu ne sors pas avec lui. Parce que nous le voulons pour nous.” He says, clearly showing off his knowledge in front of you two.

“S'il vous plaît soyez prudent. Vous savez que beaucoup de gens ici parlent français.” Louis says in French back at Lestat. You and Mary Ann look at each other, both enjoying the sight.

“Notre ami ici ne parle pas français, je vous l'assure.” Lestat says back, patting Louis on the shoulder.

“Would you two like to come over to our home later in the week. We always enjoy entertaining guests.” Louis says, paying careful attention to you.

‘I need to tell her.’ You think to yourself. ‘Maybe I can get lucky’. Lestat smiles a little wider.

“We’d love to. How about tomorrow evening, that works for you, right Y/N?” Mary Ann asks, looking over at you. You look back at her and nod your head.

“Yes, tomorrow night is great.”

“Then tomorrow night it is.” Lestat says, something sparkling in his eyes.

‘You will enjoy yourself. I assure you.’ You hear Lestat’s voice say in your head. You smile despite your confusion, just another case of your mind playing tricks on you.

81 notes · View notes

lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

Text

ALL YOURS

• DEREK HALE x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Derek's love for you is fierce, unrelenting, and deeply passionate, even when his heat takes control. While his primal instincts may amplify his need for you, his love and care remain constant. In these moments, you see every side of him—the lover, the protector, the alpha, and the vulnerable man who trusts you completely. His passion burns with intensity, but it's rooted in tenderness and trust, making you his anchor and the one he loves unconditionally. Despite his raw, wild instincts, Derek's love always shines through, grounding both of you in an unbreakable bond.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 11.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Hi! Just wanted to say the lack of Derek Hale fics is criminal, the man is so goddamn fineeee and such an fucking alpha…ughhhh. Anywho —happy reading😉✨

Being the boyfriend of Derek Hale is anything but simple—it's a challenge, a test of patience, loyalty, and resilience. Derek isn't just your average guy; he's a brooding, fiercely protective werewolf with a past heavy enough to weigh down even the strongest of hearts. Being with him means you've faced your fair share of danger, heartbreak, and intense moments that have pushed you to your limits, both emotionally and physically. It's not just about enduring the supernatural chaos that seems to follow him like a shadow; it's also about navigating his deeply rooted possessive instincts—a part of him that can be as intimidating as it is endearing.

Derek's possessiveness isn't something to be taken lightly. It's a primal, instinctive part of him, born from years of loss and betrayal, making him hyperaware of anything that threatens his loved ones. You've seen that fiery gleam in his eyes when someone so much as looks at you the wrong way or steps too close for his comfort. His protectiveness borders on territorial at times, as though his wolf senses are constantly on high alert, ensuring you're safe, no matter the cost. He's not afraid to stake his claim—not in a controlling way, but in a way that lets the world know that you are his, and no one else's.

Being with Derek means navigating these intense emotions. You've had to learn how to reassure him, to remind him that you're not going anywhere, even when his insecurities surface. It means being patient when his past haunts him, and understanding when his walls go up, knowing that beneath that tough exterior lies a heart that loves fiercely, but has been hurt too many times to count. His loyalty to you is unwavering, but it's a loyalty that demands the same in return.

And yet, despite the challenges, being Derek Hale's partner comes with its own kind of magic. His love may be intense, but it's also genuine, powerful, and raw. He loves with his entire being, protecting you as if you're the most precious thing in his world. You've endured the trials that come with loving a man like him, but you've also been rewarded with moments of vulnerability and tenderness that only you get to see—the way he softens when he looks at you, or the rare, small smile that lights up his face when he feels at peace.

Yes, being Derek Hale's boyfriend is no easy task, but it's a journey you've embraced wholeheartedly, knowing that the love he offers is as wild, untamed, and enduring as the wolf inside him.

Though there are two distinct sides to Derek's possessiveness, this moment reveals the softer, sweeter version of it—the one that makes your heart flutter and reminds you how deeply he cherishes you. It happens during a pack meeting at the newly restored Hale House, a gathering that feels more like a family dinner than a formal strategy session. The house, once a ruin, now stands tall again, filled with laughter, chatter, and the comforting scent of home. You've taken it upon yourself to help serve food to the pack members, moving gracefully around the room, offering plates and making sure everyone is settled.

Derek is at the head of the long dining table, his usual brooding demeanor softened just slightly by the warmth of the atmosphere. He watches you like a hawk as you move from one person to the next, his gaze unwavering. You can feel the weight of his attention, a mix of pride and something undeniably territorial. No one says a word about it, but the rest of the pack knows better than to comment—this is just Derek being Derek.

Finally, when everything is in place and everyone has been served, you grab a plate for yourself and look for an open seat. Before you can take a single step toward a chair, a strong hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back gently but firmly. You glance down and meet Derek's intense gaze as he tugs you closer without a word. Before you know it, he has you settled in his lap, one arm snaking around your waist to keep you in place, as if daring anyone to suggest you belong anywhere else.

"Derek," you murmur, leaning in close so only he can hear. Your tone is a mix of amusement and exasperation. "This is your meeting. You're supposed to be leading it, not—"

"I don't care," he interrupts, his voice low and gravelly, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays the intensity of his words. His hold on you tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he isn't letting go. "Stay here."

The pack continues their discussions, wisely ignoring the alpha's clear claim on you. You can feel his warmth radiating through his shirt, his hand resting protectively on your hip as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Despite the slight flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, you can't help but relax against him. Derek, for all his gruffness, has a way of making you feel like the center of his world in moments like this.

You sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You're impossible."

"And you're mine," he replies, his tone quiet but filled with conviction, his lips brushing lightly against the side of your temple.

Though it's a little distracting for the rest of the pack, no one dares to question it. This softer, possessive side of Derek might be less intimidating than his fiercer moments, but it's no less powerful. It's his way of showing the world—and you—that you're not just someone he loves. You're someone he can't bear to let go of, even for a moment.

Then there's the other side of Derek's possessiveness—the version that's intense, commanding, and impossible to miss. It's the side that comes out when someone steps over a line they should've never approached in the first place. Tonight, that line is crossed while you're working your shift at the bar, doing the job you insisted on keeping despite Derek's protests.

"Let me take care of you," he's said countless times, his low, gruff voice almost pleading. But as much as you love him, you're too independent to let him shoulder your financial responsibilities. Bartending may not be glamorous, but it's your job, and you're proud of the work you do. Derek respects that—most of the time. But tonight, his patience is about to be tested.

It's a busy evening. Music hums through the air, mingling with the chatter of customers and the clinking of glasses as you pour drinks and banter with the regulars. Most of the people here know exactly who you're dating. They've seen the mark on your neck—Derek's love bite, dark and unmistakable, a territorial claim he left with purpose. The regulars don't bother you; they know better than to risk Derek Hale's wrath.

But tonight, trouble doesn't come from a regular. It comes from someone new—a man sitting at the bar, nursing a drink and watching you with a cocky smirk that instantly sets you on edge. At first, you try to brush off his attention. You're polite, professional, and quick to redirect the conversation, but he doesn't take the hint.

"Come on," he says, leaning across the bar, his voice dripping with confidence. "You can't tell me you're not single. A guy like you? Working here? Bet you get all kinds of offers."

You force a tight smile. "I'm not available," you say, your tone firm but not aggressive.

He doesn't back down. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're waiting around for some guy who isn't even here. What kind of boyfriend lets you work a place like this anyway?"

You feel a flicker of irritation, but before you can respond, the air in the room shifts. It's subtle at first—a strange hush that falls over the nearby patrons, followed by a wave of tension that seems to ripple through the bar. You don't have to look to know what's causing it. Derek is here.

You glance toward the entrance just as Derek steps through the door, his presence commanding attention even in the crowded room. He's dressed simply, but there's an edge to his movements, a barely restrained energy that makes everyone instinctively give him space. His sharp green eyes lock onto you immediately, scanning the scene and landing on the man leaning too close to your side of the bar.

Derek doesn't break stride as he approaches, his gaze narrowing. The man notices him too late, straightening up but not yet realizing the mistake he's made.

"Something wrong here?" Derek's voice is calm, low, and steady, but it carries a weight that silences the nearby conversation.

The guy tries to play it off, oblivious to the storm he's just invited. "No problem. Just talking to your... friend here."

Derek's lips twitch into a faint, humorless smirk as he steps closer, resting his hands on the bar. "He's not just my friend," Derek says, his voice dropping into a tone so cold it could freeze the room. "He's mine."

The guy blinks, clearly caught off guard but still trying to save face. "Hey, no offense. I didn't know—"

"You do now." Derek cuts him off, his gaze never leaving the man's. The unspoken threat lingers heavy in the air, and the guy shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if searching for an escape. Derek doesn't move, doesn't need to. His sheer presence is enough to make the man mumble a quick apology before slinking away, disappearing into the crowd.

Once the intruder is gone, Derek's attention shifts to you. The tension in his jaw softens as he reaches across the bar, his large hand sliding against your wrist, pulling you closer. His eyes flick briefly to the mark on your neck as if to reassure himself it's still there.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, his tone softer now but still laced with that protective edge.

"I had it under control," you say, though the slight smirk on your lips betrays the rush of affection you feel in the moment.

Derek raises an eyebrow, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "Sure you did."

You shake your head, leaning in just enough so only he can hear you. "You know I can have claws?"

"I know, but you don't have to use them when I'm around," he replies without hesitation, his voice steady and full of conviction. It's not a declaration for the room—it's a reminder for you, a promise that no matter what, Derek will always be there to protect you, to claim you, and to remind anyone foolish enough to cross him exactly where you stand.

For better or worse, this is the other side of Derek's possessiveness—intense, overwhelming, and unapologetically fierce. It's not always easy to handle, but it's part of who he is, and part of the way he loves you with everything he has. And in moments like this, you can't help but love him just as fiercely in return.

Then there are moments of intimacy and passion—moments that remind you of just how deeply Derek Hale loves and needs you. Tonight, one of those moments begins quietly, in the safe haven of your shared bedroom. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm light across the room as you sit comfortably on the bed, your back against the headboard, a book resting in your lap. It's not just any book, though—it's about being Luna to a pack.

You've never officially been given the title, but you've taken on the responsibilities in your own way. You care for Derek's pack—both the older members and the newer ones—like they're your own family. Whether it's listening to their problems, giving advice, training alongside them to sharpen their skills, or cooking meals that bring everyone together, you've seamlessly become their rock, their guiding presence. Even if Derek hasn't formally acknowledged it, the pack already sees you as their Luna, and you want to understand the role better—to be even more for them, and for Derek.

You're deep in thought as you read, turning a page when the sound of the bathroom door opening pulls your attention. You glance up just as Derek steps into the room, and for a moment, the air seems to shift. His hair is damp, water droplets still clinging to the ends and glistening under the soft light. A towel is wrapped low around his waist, leaving his broad chest and sculpted torso fully exposed, muscles flexing with every step he takes. The faint scent of his soap lingers in the air—a clean, woodsy scent that's distinctly his—and it makes your heart skip a beat.

Derek doesn't say anything at first. His piercing green eyes meet yours, and there's a flicker of something in his gaze—something raw and unspoken. It's a look that's equal parts admiration and desire, like he's seeing you for the first time all over again. You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you hold his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

"What are you reading?" he finally asks, his voice low and slightly rough, still thick from the heat of the shower. He moves closer, his bare feet silent against the floor as he stops at the edge of the bed.

You hold up the book slightly, showing him the cover. "Something about being a Luna," you reply softly, your voice steady but tinged with a hint of shyness. "I just... thought it might help. You know, since I've kind of been acting like one already."

Derek's expression softens, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, almost imperceptible smile. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your knee through the blanket you have draped over your legs. "You don't need a book to tell you how to be a Luna," he says, his tone warm and laced with pride. "You're already everything they need."

His words send a warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he moves onto the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He settles beside you, leaning back on one arm as his free hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The closeness of him—the heat of his skin, the faint scent of him still lingering from his shower—makes your pulse quicken.

"You take care of everyone," Derek murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reverent. His fingers trail lightly along your jawline, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "You've made this pack stronger, more connected. And you've done the same for me."

You swallow hard, feeling the intensity of his gaze as it locks onto yours. "I just want to make things easier for you—for all of you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be someone you can depend on."

"You already are," Derek says firmly, his hand sliding down to rest against your shoulder. He leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. "You're my anchor. My strength. My Luna."

The last word comes out with a weight that makes your breath hitch. He's never said it out loud before, never made it official. But hearing it now, spoken with such conviction, sends a rush of emotions through you. Before you can respond, Derek's lips capture yours in a kiss that's both tender and demanding, pouring every ounce of his love and passion into the moment. His hand cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing closer to yours.

The book slips from your lap, forgotten, as you lose yourself in him. His warmth, his touch, the way he whispers your name like it's the only thing that matters—it's all-consuming. In this moment, there's no pack, no responsibilities, no worries. There's only Derek, and the unbreakable bond you share with him.

When you finally pull back, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your neck. "You don't have to prove anything," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "You're already everything I need. Everything we need."

The words settle deep in your chest, filling you with a sense of belonging you didn't realize you were missing. In Derek's arms, with his love surrounding you, you realize that being his Luna isn't about titles or duties—it's about being the person who stands beside him, through everything, just as he stands beside you.

Derek can be such a lover boy when he wants to be—a side of him that's soft, affectionate, and, at times, beautifully vulnerable. It's a part of him he doesn't show to many people, but with you, he lets down his walls, revealing the man behind the strong, stoic alpha exterior. In those moments, he's all tender touches and quiet words, the kind of man who holds you close like you're the most precious thing in his world. He's the Derek who gently brushes your hair out of your face, who kisses you like you're his lifeline, and who lets you see the raw, unguarded emotions that he keeps locked away from everyone else.

But that tenderness can shift in an instant—because when Derek feels his heat coming on, that lover boy softness is quickly replaced by something much more primal and consuming. It starts subtly at first: a faint tension in his muscles, a sharper edge to his movements, and a look in his eyes that burns with an intensity that makes your heart race. You've learned to recognize the signs, the way his breathing grows heavier, his gaze locks onto you, and his usually steady control begins to fray at the edges.

In the beginning, Derek tries to fight it. He does everything in his power to keep that vulnerability intact, to hold onto the tender way he speaks to you and the soft, reverent way he touches you. He doesn't want to lose control, doesn't want the heat to strip away the affection he shows so carefully. But his heat is a force beyond his will—a deep, primal instinct that coils inside him, pushing harder and harder until it demands release. It's not something he can suppress, and as much as he tries to resist it, it takes over, leaving him with only one overwhelming need: you.

The signs are subtle at first—his hands lingering a little longer when he touches you, his gaze trailing after you with a sharp intensity, and the way his breathing changes whenever you're near. But when his heat fully takes over, it's no longer subtle. It's raw, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore. His hands become more insistent, his grip firmer as though he's afraid you might slip through his fingers. His voice, once so soft and measured, grows rough, urgent, every word heavy with a hunger that makes it clear just how deeply he craves you.

For example, there was that one night when the house was quiet, everyone in the pack fast asleep. You were tidying up the living room, moving quietly as you folded a blanket and straightened up the mess left from the day. The only sound was the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. You didn't notice the way the air had shifted at first, the way the temperature seemed to rise just slightly. But then you felt it—the unmistakable pull of his presence.

You turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway. Derek's chest rose and fell heavily, his hair still damp from the shower he must've taken not long ago. His eyes—those piercing green eyes—were locked on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. There was something different about him, something primal and wild simmering just beneath the surface. His muscles were tense, his hands curling into fists at his sides as though he was fighting to hold himself back.

"Derek?" you asked softly, your voice breaking the heavy silence. You set the blanket down, instinctively stepping toward him, but as soon as you moved, he was already closing the distance between you.

"I can't—" His voice was rough, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands came up, gripping your arms gently but firmly, his touch burning hot against your skin. "I can't wait anymore."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling slightly as he fought to maintain even a shred of control. "I've been trying," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I've been trying to hold back, to give you space. But I can't—I need you now."

His words hit you like a wave, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his body coiled so tightly it felt like it might snap. Derek's vulnerability was still there, flickering in the way his hands shook slightly as they slid down your arms, but it was swallowed up by the primal need overtaking him. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he inhaled deeply, his grip tightening as though grounding himself in your presence.

"Tell me you're mine," he rasped, his voice thick with urgency, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "Please."

You could feel his desperation, the way his entire being seemed to hinge on your response. And in that moment, with his heat burning between you and his love for you so evident in every touch, you realized just how much Derek needed you—not just physically, but emotionally, completely. You were his anchor, his safe harbor in the storm of his heat, and you would give him everything he needed.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to meet your gaze. "I'm yours, Derek," you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart pounded.

The words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. With a low growl, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss so fierce and consuming it left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, his touch firm and possessive, as if he couldn't get enough of you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable connection that bound you together.

In that moment, there was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. Derek's heat had taken over, but it wasn't just instinct—it was his love for you, raw and unfiltered, driving every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. And you gave yourself to him completely, knowing that this was what he needed, and that you would always be there to hold him through it all.

Without a word, his strong arms wrap securely around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet as though you weigh nothing. The sheer strength in his embrace sends a shiver through you, your hands instinctively finding their place on his broad shoulders for balance. His body radiates warmth, the tension in his muscles palpable as he carries you across the room with purpose.

He reaches the couch in just a few steps and lowers himself into it, pulling you down with him. His firm grip never falters, guiding you to straddle his lap with ease. The position is intimate, your knees bracketing his hips as your bodies align perfectly. You can feel the solid expanse of his chest pressing against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you even as your pulse quickens.

Derek's hands settle on your waist at first, his fingers curling slightly as they find their hold. But they don't stay there for long. His touch becomes more deliberate, sliding down to rest on your hips before moving lower, his palms finding their place on the curve of your ass. He grips you firmly, his fingers pressing into the flesh with just enough force to send a jolt of heat through you. There's no hesitation in his actions, only a possessive intensity that makes it clear he's in control of the moment.

His green eyes meet yours, and the look in them takes your breath away. It's a mix of desire, adoration, and something more primal—something that makes it impossible to look away. His hands squeeze again, a low, almost inaudible growl rumbling in his chest as he leans in closer. The movement presses you tighter against him, and the sensation leaves no doubt about how much he wants you.

"You feel perfect like this," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hands don't stop moving, alternating between firm squeezes and slow, deliberate caresses, as though he's memorizing every inch of you. The way his fingers dig into your skin is possessive, grounding, and completely overwhelming all at once.

You can't help but let your hands roam as well, sliding over the strong planes of his shoulders and down his arms. Every inch of him feels solid, unyielding, and the heat between you grows with every passing second. Derek's gaze never wavers, and the intensity of his attention makes you feel like the center of his entire world.

"You're mine," he says, his voice barely more than a growl, but there's an undeniable softness beneath the possessiveness. It's not just a claim—it's a promise, one that makes your chest tighten with emotion. And with the way he's holding you, touching you, you know it's a promise he'll keep.

Derek's lips find the curve of your neck with a hunger that makes your breath hitch. His movements are deliberate yet fevered, the softness of his mouth contrasting with the growing intensity of his desire. The first kiss he presses to your skin is warm and lingering, but it quickly deepens, his lips parting to let his teeth graze against your sensitive flesh. You can feel the heat of his breath as he starts to work his way down, his focus entirely on leaving his mark on you.

The first hickey blooms under his lips as he sucks at the delicate skin just below your jawline, his hand tightening on your waist as if to keep you steady. But you're anything but steady. Your body reacts instinctively to the sensation, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his mouth continues its work. His tongue flicks over the spot he's just claimed, soothing it for a brief moment before he moves on to another area, determined to make sure everyone knows you're his.

As his kisses grow more intense, your body seems to take on a mind of its own. Without realizing it, you begin to shift in his lap, the movement subtle at first—a slight roll of your hips, a faint press of your weight against his hands. Derek notices immediately. His hands, already gripping your ass, tighten their hold, his fingers digging into the flesh as if anchoring you to him.

The friction from your movements sends a spark through both of you, and you hear Derek's breath hitch against your skin. He pulls back for just a moment, his green eyes blazing with a mix of surprise and raw desire as he looks at you. "You don't even know what you're doing to me," he growls, his voice low and rough, every word dripping with need.

But instead of stopping, your body moves again, a subconscious rhythm taking over as you grind against him. The heat between you is undeniable, and every shift of your hips fans the flames of Derek's growing need. His hands guide your movements now, pulling you closer, pressing you tighter against him. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as if he's afraid you might stop.

"You're making this impossible," he murmurs, his lips finding your neck once more. This time, his kisses are rougher, more desperate, each one leaving a deeper mark than the last. The combination of his mouth on your neck and the way his hands control your movements has you utterly overwhelmed, your mind clouded with nothing but the feel of him.

Derek groans softly against your skin, his voice filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger that only spurs you on. Every small movement, every sound you make seems to push him further, his desire for you quickly spiraling out of control. You can feel it in the way his lips move against you, the way his hands grip you like he never wants to let go, and the way his body reacts to every subtle shift of your own.

There's no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the all-consuming pull of desire, the undeniable connection between you both as Derek claims you with every touch, every kiss, every whispered growl.

Derek's hands were everywhere—firm, strong, and utterly insistent. His grip on your waist tightened as his lips found yours again, rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. It wasn't long before his hands slid lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants and boxers. With one swift motion, he began pulling them down, exposing the bare skin of your ass to the cool air. The heat radiating off his body only made the contrast sharper, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake as his hands moved over your newly exposed flesh.

The way his palms kneaded the curve of your ass made it clear he was ready to take things further, his movements growing more urgent with every second. Derek's breathing was heavy, his lips hovering just over your jaw as he whispered, "I need you." His voice was gravelly, raw with desire, and it sent a shiver through you. You could feel just how ready he was, the evidence of his arousal pressing firmly against you as he gripped your hips and pulled you even closer.

But as much as the intensity of the moment consumed you, a sliver of reason managed to push through the haze. You glanced around the room, the familiar surroundings of the living room suddenly feeling far too exposed. You placed a hand on Derek's chest, pushing lightly to create a small bit of space between you. "Derek," you said, your voice breathless but firm. "We're in the living room."

Derek paused for the briefest of moments, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours. For a second, you thought he might reconsider, but instead, a crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "I don't care," he replied, his tone low and filled with determination. His hands slid back to your ass, squeezing possessively as he pulled you tighter against him, his lips brushing against your neck as he added, "Let them see. Let them know you're mine."

You let out a soft groan, your resolve wavering under the intensity of his words and the heat of his touch. But still, the logical part of you persisted, refusing to let him completely ignore the reality of your surroundings. "You would care," you countered, your voice steadying, "if someone walked in and interrupted us."

That gave him pause. Derek let out a low growl, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder as his grip on you tightened. You could feel the tension in his body, the conflict between his desire and his instinct to protect you—not just from danger, but from the inevitable embarrassment of someone catching you both in such a compromising position.

After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, his lips grazing your skin as he murmured, "Fine." His hands lingered on you for a moment longer, his thumbs brushing over your skin as if committing the sensation to memory before he finally pulled back, his eyes still dark with unfulfilled need.

Suddenly, he slid his hands to your waist and gently lifted you off his lap, setting you aside on the couch. The loss of his warmth, even for a moment, made you ache with anticipation, but your eyes stayed fixed on him, drawn to the commanding presence that always seemed to radiate from him in moments like this.

Standing tall in front of you, Derek's green eyes burned with desire, his gaze locking onto yours as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. He tugged it upward in one smooth motion, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen, each movement accentuating the strength you knew so well. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his skin flushed slightly as the fire between you both built.

Your mouth went dry as he kicked off his shoes and reached for the waistband of his pants. The sound of the zipper echoed faintly in the room, a soft but tantalizing promise of what was to come. Derek's pants slid down his legs, and he stepped out of them with effortless grace, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The thin fabric did little to hide the evidence of his arousal, and your heart raced at the sight.

Finally, Derek's hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow enough to drive you mad with anticipation but fast enough to show he couldn't wait much longer. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and pushed them down, letting the boxers fall to the floor. As he stood before you, completely bare, your eyes were instantly drawn to him—his swollen dick, thick and hard, standing proudly, a sight that never failed to captivate you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took him in, your pulse quickening as heat pooled in your stomach. Derek's body was a masterpiece, but it was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—that truly stole your breath. His dick twitched slightly under your gaze, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he could sense just how much you loved seeing him like this.

"You like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, the deep timbre sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking up to meet his as a smile of your own formed. "Every time," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity.

Derek stepped closer, his body radiating heat, and the intensity of his gaze made your pulse race even faster. "Good," he murmured, his tone laced with desire. "Because it's all for you."

In a matter of moments, Derek gently pulled you up from the couch to stand in front of him. His green eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw hunger that made your knees weak. Without saying a word, his fingers slid to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward in one smooth motion and tossing it aside. His touch was electric as his hands roamed over your exposed skin, pausing briefly at your chest before he moved lower, his gaze trailing behind every movement like a predator savoring his prey.

He crouched slightly to tug at your pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them with practiced ease before sliding them down your legs. The cool air of the room kissed your skin as your boxers followed, leaving you completely exposed before him. Derek stood tall again, his eyes raking over your body with a primal intensity that made your breath hitch. When his gaze landed on your hard dick, his lips parted, and a low, guttural growl escaped him—a sound so full of arousal it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Perfect," he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands didn't hesitate as they found your hips again, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin just above your pelvis before sliding lower to cup your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze, a smirk tugging at his lips when you gasped at the contact.

Before you could process what was happening, Derek bent down slightly and wrapped a strong arm around your waist, hoisting you up onto his shoulder with effortless ease. The sudden change in perspective made your heart race, your body pressing against his as his other hand gripped your thigh to keep you steady.

"Derek!" you exclaimed, though your voice came out breathless, a mix of surprise and excitement.

He chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down to your bare ass, giving it a sharp smack that echoed through the room. "I've been patient long enough," he growled, his voice low and dripping with need. The sting of his hand on your skin sent a jolt of heat through you, and you could feel the strength in his hold as he carried you with ease.

Each step he took toward your shared bedroom was purposeful, the sound of his bare feet against the floor muted by the thundering of your heartbeat. His grip on you was firm but possessive, and his other hand didn't stay idle. It slid along your thigh, occasionally squeezing or smacking your ass again, the sensation leaving you breathless and your arousal growing.

"Keep squirming, and I'll have to stop right here," Derek rumbled, his tone teasing but with a dangerous edge that sent a thrill through you. "And I don't think either of us wants that."

The promise in his words made your body still, though the anticipation building between you was almost unbearable. Derek's confidence, the sheer power in the way he carried you as if you were weightless, only made your desire for him burn hotter. By the time he reached the bedroom door, you were already aching for him, your body alive with anticipation for what was to come.

Derek kicked the door open with his foot, stepping inside with purpose. He lowered you just enough to brush his lips against your skin, his hot breath ghosting over your back as he whispered, "You're mine tonight." Then, with one last firm squeeze to your ass, he laid you down on the bed, his body following closely behind as his desire for you became all-consuming.

Derek's lips crashed against yours with a hunger that took your breath away. His kiss was deep, urgent, and all-consuming, as if he couldn't get enough of you. His hands cupped your face, his fingers rough yet gentle as they tilted your head slightly to deepen the connection. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest pressed firmly against yours, his breathing growing heavier with every second that passed.

Your hands roamed down his strong, sculpted body, your fingertips tracing the ridges of his muscles. Derek groaned softly into your mouth, his lips parting slightly as his tongue brushed against yours, igniting a fire that made your entire body hum with anticipation. The kiss was messy, desperate, and filled with all the pent-up desire he'd been holding back.

As your hand trailed lower, you felt the tension in his body shift, his muscles tensing slightly under your touch. Your fingers brushed against his length, already hard and hot, and a shudder ran through him. Derek growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating in his chest as your hand wrapped around him. The growl wasn't just a reaction—it was primal, a raw expression of his need for you.

You started to pump him slowly, your grip firm but teasing. Derek's head dropped forward, his forehead resting against yours as he let out a sharp exhale. His lips parted, his breathing growing heavier with each deliberate stroke of your hand. "You're going to drive me crazy," he murmured, his voice rough and strained, a hint of a growl still laced in his tone.

The way his body responded to your touch was intoxicating. His hips jerked slightly, instinctively chasing the friction you were providing. His hands slid down to your waist, his grip tightening as if he needed to ground himself, to keep from losing control entirely. Every time your hand moved, a low, guttural sound escaped him, his arousal clear in the way his body seemed to tremble under your touch.

"You know what you're doing to me," Derek growled, his voice rough and filled with barely restrained desire. His green eyes locked onto yours, darkened with lust, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart race. "You're not playing fair."

You smirked slightly, your strokes becoming just a little slower, more deliberate, as you watched him struggle to keep his composure. "I'm just giving you what you want," you replied, your voice soft but teasing, a playful edge to your tone.

Derek's growl deepened, his hands sliding up your sides before pulling you even closer. His lips found yours again, this time rougher, more demanding, as though trying to pour every ounce of his need for you into the kiss. The way his body responded to your touch, the way he growled and trembled beneath your hand, was utterly intoxicating. You knew he was holding back, but the raw intensity in his kisses and his touch made it clear he wouldn't be able to for much longer. And that thought sent a thrill through you that only made you want to tease him more.

Suddenly, Derek's hand gently closed around your wrist, pulling your hand away from his dick. The intense look in his green eyes made your breath hitch, a silent promise of what was to come. He leaned in, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that was both deep and commanding, his tongue brushing against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Slowly, his kisses began to trail downward, his lips and tongue leaving a fiery path across your jaw, then your neck, and lower still.

Each kiss was deliberate, his mouth pausing to savor the curve of your collarbone, the plane of your chest, and the dip of your stomach. His hands followed the journey, strong and sure as they mapped out your body, leaving no inch untouched. By the time he reached the edge of your hips, your pulse was racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Derek smirked against your skin, the heat of his breath a tantalizing tease as his hands gripped your thighs.

He looked up at you then, his gaze dark and filled with unrestrained desire. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your legs, lifting them effortlessly over his broad shoulders. The way he held you—strong, steady, and completely in control—sent a wave of anticipation coursing through you. Before you could say anything, you felt it: the first brush of his tongue, warm and wet, as it trailed along your hole.

A soft moan escaped your lips, unbidden, as the sensation overtook you. Derek growled low in response, the vibration against your skin only adding to the pleasure. His tongue worked with expert precision, circling, teasing, and pressing in ways that left you gripping the sheets beneath you. The heat of his mouth, combined with the pressure of his hands gripping your thighs, was overwhelming in the best way.

Your hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you held onto him for dear life. The small, involuntary tug you gave earned another growl from Derek, his lips curling into a smirk against your most sensitive skin. He didn't stop—if anything, he doubled down, his tongue moving more insistently as he sought every sound he could pull from you.

"Derek," you gasped, your voice trembling as your back arched slightly, pressing yourself closer to his mouth. The combination of his tongue and the strength of his hands holding you in place left you completely at his mercy. Each flick, each press of his tongue sent sparks of pleasure coursing through you, your entire body alight with sensation.

He paused just long enough to look up at you, his lips glistening, a smirk playing on his face. "I love the way you sound," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal before he dove back in, his tongue exploring you with even more intensity. The way his stubble brushed against your skin only heightened the sensation, the mix of roughness and warmth sending you spiraling.

Your grip on his hair tightened, a soft gasp escaping you as he found just the right rhythm. Derek's growls vibrated against you, letting you know just how much he enjoyed tasting you, savoring every moment. Time seemed to blur as he continued, his sole focus on your pleasure, making it impossible to think of anything else but the way his mouth felt against you. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue was a reminder of just how much Derek wanted you, needed you, and was willing to worship every part of you.

When your hole was glistening and wet from Derek's relentless attention, he finally pulled back, his lips and chin slick as he looked up at you with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. His hands gently squeezed your thighs, his touch grounding as he took a moment to drink in the sight of you—flushed, breathless, and completely undone beneath him.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the words dripping with sincerity and raw desire. His hands shifted, one sliding up to caress your hip while the other found his own dick, thick and pulsing with need. Slowly, he stroked himself, his eyes never leaving yours, the sight of you clearly spurring him on.

Derek positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his swollen dick brushing against your slick hole. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your breath hitched as you felt the heat of him press against your sensitive skin. He moved deliberately, sliding his length along your hole, teasing you with the friction. Each slow, deliberate stroke left you gasping, your body instinctively shifting to chase the sensation.

"Derek," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation as your hands reached out to grip his broad shoulders. He smirked slightly at your reaction, the faintest curve of his lips a sign of his confidence, his control.

"Patience," he said, his voice rough yet soothing, his free hand sliding up to intertwine with yours. "I want to feel every second of this."

Finally, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his dick pressing just slightly inside. His green eyes met yours, searching for any hint of hesitation, but all he saw was your trust, your desire for him. With a steady hand, he began to push forward, his hips moving slowly, giving you time to adjust as he stretched you inch by inch. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pressure and pleasure that left you gripping his shoulders tighter.

Derek let out a low groan, his voice deep and guttural, as he sank further into you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his words shaky as his control wavered. His hands returned to your hips, gripping you firmly as he continued his slow, deliberate pace, every movement sending waves of heat coursing through your body.

Your body arched beneath him, your breath hitching as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, but the way Derek moved—steady, patient, and utterly focused on your comfort—made it impossible to feel anything but pleasure. He paused for a moment when he was fully seated inside you, his chest heaving as he gave you a chance to adjust, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, his concern shining through the haze of his desire.

You nodded, your hands sliding up to cup his face, your lips brushing against his. "I'm perfect," you whispered, your voice filled with both reassurance and longing. "Please, Derek. I need you."

Hearing those words seemed to break whatever restraint he had left. Derek's hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust pushing deeper, making you feel every inch of him. His hands held you firmly, guiding your body against his as he set a rhythm that quickly had you melting beneath him. Every movement, every touch, every breath between you was filled with passion, a connection so deep it left you utterly consumed by him.

Then his strong hands moved to guide your legs, lifting them effortlessly and wrapping them around his waist. The new position brought him even closer, allowing him to sink deeper into you with every movement, making your breath hitch with each thrust. His body radiated heat, his skin damp with exertion, and the steady grind of his hips made it clear he was completely consumed by you.

Leaning forward, Derek brought his face closer to yours, his green eyes darkened with lust but softened by the depth of emotion they held. His lips captured yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched the rhythm of his body. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, and you opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, your hands tangling in his damp hair as you pulled him closer. The kiss was intense, raw, yet there was a tenderness to it—a reminder that even in this moment of unrelenting desire, Derek was still yours, and you were his.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled slightly as he worked to hold back the primal instincts simmering just beneath the surface. Derek's heat was there, smoldering like an untamed wildfire, and every thrust, every growl rumbling in his chest, hinted at how much he was restraining himself. He wanted to lose himself in you, to let his heat take over completely, but he fought to maintain control, to ensure your pleasure and comfort came first.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and strained, a testament to just how much effort he was putting into holding back. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as his thrusts continued at the same steady pace, each one deliberate and measured. "I'm trying," he added, his voice breaking slightly, a growl slipping out as his hands gripped your hips tighter. "I don't want to hurt you."

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his stubbled jaw as you gazed up at him. "Derek," you said softly, your voice trembling but steady, "I trust you. I'm here. Let go."

His eyes searched yours, his resolve flickering for a moment before he groaned, his lips claiming yours again in a kiss so fierce it made your heart race. His grip on your hips tightened, and his movements became just a fraction deeper, more purposeful, though still careful not to overwhelm you. The simmering heat inside him was building, and you could feel the tension rising with every thrust, every breathless kiss.

Derek held back, but barely. The restraint in his movements was palpable, his body vibrating with the effort it took to stay in control. Yet, through it all, his focus remained on you—your reactions, your pleasure, the soft moans and gasps he pulled from your lips as he pushed you closer to the edge. And in that moment, you knew that even as his heat threatened to consume him, Derek would never let it burn you. Instead, he would use every ounce of his strength to channel it into something passionate, raw, and undeniably yours.

You sat up slowly, the movement making Derek's breath hitch as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His eyes met yours, dark with desire and barely restrained passion, as your lips found his in a kiss that was hungry, deep, and filled with the raw emotion simmering between you. The warmth of his skin pressed against yours, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you as you moved.

Your body pressed against his chest, your heart pounding as you began to lift yourself, only to sink back down onto his length. The sensation drew a low growl from Derek's throat, his hands gripping your hips to guide your movements, his strength supporting you effortlessly. Each time you moved, a wave of pleasure rippled through both of you, the rhythm you created together growing steadily more intense.

Derek's lips moved with yours, his kisses desperate and consuming, as though he couldn't get enough of you. His tongue brushed against yours, his breath hot and ragged as you continued to rock up and down his length, taking him fully with every motion. The feeling of him filling you completely sent shivers down your spine, and the sounds escaping both of you only added to the fire between you.

"Ugh," Derek murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low, a tremor of restraint still present beneath the overwhelming desire in his tone. His hands slid down your back, gripping you more firmly, his fingertips digging into your skin as he fought to maintain his control.

You pulled back slightly, resting your forehead against his, your fingers tangling in his hair as you looked into his eyes. "Derek," you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. "I want you—completely. Don't hold back."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, the conflict in his expression clear. But as you moved again, your body pressing against him and taking him deeper, the last threads of his restraint began to fray. A deep, guttural growl escaped his chest as his grip on you tightened, his hands guiding your movements with more insistence.

The words, "Don't hold back," was all Derek needed to finally let go. His body stilled for just a moment, his chest rising and falling as he processed what you'd said, the last remnants of his restraint hanging by a thread. Then, like a dam breaking, something primal and unstoppable surged forward. His eyes snapped open, glowing a brilliant, fiery red—a vivid sign that his heat had fully taken over. The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver through you, but it wasn't fear you felt. It was exhilaration, knowing he trusted you enough to let his instincts take control.

With a low, guttural growl that reverberated through the room, Derek's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force that left no doubt: you were his. His thrusts increased, the steady pace giving way to something far more raw, more urgent. Each powerful motion sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching to meet him as he moved with an almost unstoppable intensity.

"God, you're mine," he growled, his voice rough and deep, a mix of desire and possession. The words sent a thrill through you, and you tightened your hold around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him as his thrusts drove deeper, faster. The heat radiating off his body felt like it might consume you, the primal energy pouring out of him filling the room as his focus remained entirely on you.

His glowing red eyes never left yours, even as his lips found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Each kiss felt like a brand, a mark of his uncontrollable need for you. The mix of his rough, animalistic growls and the whispered praises against your skin left you trembling in his arms, completely lost in the storm of his heat.

"You feel so damn good," Derek muttered, his voice breaking slightly as his pace continued to build. His hands moved from your hips, sliding up your back, pulling you flush against his chest as if he couldn't get you close enough. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure through your body, your moans mingling with his growls as he pushed you both closer to the edge.

Every thrust, every motion, every sound Derek made was a testament to how much he'd been holding back, and now that he'd given in, there was no stopping him. His heat had fully taken over, his need for you driving him to claim you in every possible way. And as the overwhelming sensations built to a crescendo, you realized there was nothing else in the world but this—Derek, his love, his heat, and the unshakable bond between you.

Soon Derek's thrusts became relentless, his dick driving into you with a force and precision that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Each motion was deep, powerful, and perfectly aimed, hitting that sensitive spot inside you with the accuracy of someone who knew your body intimately. It was overwhelming, the way he moved—like every thrust was deliberate, designed to claim you completely and leave you trembling in his grasp.

Your hands clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscles as he kept up his intense rhythm. Derek's growls filled the air, low and primal, reverberating through your chest as he poured every ounce of his strength and need into you. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, the fiery gaze a reminder of the heat driving him, the primal instincts that he had finally let loose.

"Derek," you gasped, your voice breaking as another perfectly angled thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you. The way he moved felt almost otherworldly, each motion deliberate yet raw, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. It was like he was determined in his mission to push you further, to make sure you felt every inch of him.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Every part of you belongs to me." His voice was rough, strained, but filled with conviction, his words punctuated by the unyielding rhythm of his hips. The sheer dominance in his tone, paired with the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you, sent shivers racing down your spine.

Your body reacted instinctively, arching into him as your legs tightened around his waist. Derek's hands gripped your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive force as he adjusted his angle slightly, making each thrust even more devastatingly precise. The sensation was almost too much, a perfect mix of intensity and pleasure that left you gasping for air.

Derek was completely lost in you, the heat of his need driving him to claim you fully, completely. And with each thrust, each powerful motion, it felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, making sure you'd never forget exactly who you belonged to.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, building higher and higher until you couldn't hold back any longer. With a strangled gasp, your body tensed, and a rush of ecstasy surged through you. Your release came in powerful waves, your dick pulsing as streams of cum spilled between your bodies, coating your stomach and his. The intensity of it left you trembling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

But Derek didn't stop. If anything, the sight and feel of your climax seemed to fuel him further, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as he maintained his relentless pace. His glowing red eyes locked onto yours, the raw hunger in them making it clear that your pleasure had only pushed him closer to the edge of his control.

"You think we're done?" Derek murmured, his voice rough and dripping with desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as his hips thrust deeper, harder, drawing out every ounce of sensitivity from your overstimulated body. "I'm not stopping until I've had all of you."

The overstimulation sent sparks of sensation through your nerves, your body jerking slightly at the relentless friction. Every thrust was a mix of pleasure and intensity that bordered on too much, yet you couldn't bring yourself to tell him to stop. The way he filled you, the way his hands gripped your hips to pull you tighter against him, left you utterly helpless under his control.

"Derek," you moaned, your voice trembling as your hands gripped his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The combination of your own sensitivity and his unwavering pace was overwhelming, leaving you caught in a haze of pleasure that felt like it might consume you entirely.

He growled low, a sound so primal it made your toes curl, and his lips found your neck, biting and sucking at your skin as he thrust into you with a ferocity that left you breathless. "I'm not done with you yet," he rumbled, his tone possessive, his movements a clear reminder that he wasn't holding anything back anymore.

Even as your body trembled from the overstimulation, you couldn't deny the heat building again deep inside you. Derek's intensity was undeniable, his need for you all-consuming, and the way he moved made it clear he wouldn't stop until you were completely undone beneath him—again and again.

Suddenly, Derek's movements grew even more primal, his glowing red eyes blazing with unrestrained heat. With a growl that vibrated deep in his chest, he pulled out of you briefly, he gripped your thighs as he stood up effortlessly, lifting you with him. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the cool surface of the nearest wall, the sharp contrast of heat and cold sending a shiver through your already sensitive body.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as Derek held you there, his strength making it seem like you weighed nothing. One of his hands braced against the wall beside your head, while the other gripped your thigh tightly, keeping you secure as he aligned himself once more. Without hesitation, he thrust back into you, the sudden fullness pulling a loud, uncontrollable moan from your lips.

The new angle made every movement more intense, Derek's hips snapping against you with a force that left you gasping for air. Each thrust drove you harder against the wall, your body pinned completely under his control. His growls filled the room, low and guttural, as he poured every ounce of his heat-fueled need into you.

"I can't get enough of you," Derek muttered, his voice rough and breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. "I can't stop—I don't want to stop."

The intensity of his words, combined with the unrelenting rhythm of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body. Your hands tangled in his hair, your fingers gripping tightly as you pulled him closer, capturing his lips in a desperate, heated kiss. His tongue tangled with yours as his thrusts became harder, faster, each one leaving you trembling in his arms.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with the labored breaths and groans that escaped both of you. Derek's hand slid from your thigh to grip your ass, pulling you closer to him as his hips drove even deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur. The wall behind you groaned slightly under the force of his movements, but Derek didn't seem to care—his focus was entirely on you, on the way your body responded to his.

"Fuck," he growled against your lips, his voice dripping with possession as his thrusts became almost brutal in their intensity. His heat burned through him, his need for you all-consuming, and he was determined to claim every part of you, to make sure you felt just how much he wanted you.

Every movement, every growl, every heated kiss pushed you closer to the edge again, your body completely overwhelmed by the force of Derek's passion. Pinned against the wall, utterly at his mercy, you surrendered to him completely, knowing he wouldn't stop until you were both completely undone.

With one final, deep thrust, Derek's body tensed against yours, his growl reverberating through the room as he reached his peak. You felt the warmth of his release flood into you, the heat of it spreading through your body like wildfire. His hands gripped you tightly, almost possessively, his nails pressing into your skin as he held you flush against him, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.

The tension in his body slowly began to ebb as his growls softened into heavy, ragged breaths. Derek's forehead rested against yours for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as the remnants of his heat coursed through him. His lips found yours instantly, the kiss a mix of passion and tenderness, as if he needed to ground himself in you after the intensity of what you'd shared.

The desperation in his kisses began to fade, replaced by something gentler, more intimate. His hands slid up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he deepened the kiss, his body still trembling slightly against yours. It was as if he was pouring every ounce of affection and gratitude into that moment, letting you know without words how much he loved and needed you.

Gradually, as the heat left his system, the fiery red glow in his eyes began to fade. You watched as they softened, returning to the familiar, piercing green you loved so much. His gaze met yours, the intensity in his eyes replaced by a look of pure adoration and vulnerability. The primal edge of his heat had given way to the man you knew—the Derek who cherished you with every fiber of his being.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse from the growls and moans of moments before. His forehead pressed gently to yours, his hands cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort.

You smiled, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as you leaned into his touch. "I'm more than okay," you replied, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "That was... everything."

A faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at Derek's lips, his eyes flicking between yours. "I didn't hurt you?" he asked again, his tone softer now, the protective side of him surfacing even after everything.

You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and reassuring. "You were perfect, Derek."

Relief washed over his features, and he let out a soft breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. He held you there for a long moment, his heart beating steadily against yours as his body finally relaxed completely. Even as the intensity of his heat faded, his love for you burned just as brightly, evident in the way he held you as if you were his entire world.

Derek's love for you shines through, even in the midst of his heat—a love so deep and unwavering that no primal instinct could ever overshadow it. When his heat takes control, his movements may be raw, his growls guttural, and his need overwhelming, but beneath it all, it's still him. It's still the man who cherishes you with every fiber of his being, who would do anything to protect you, and who trusts you enough to let you see him at his most vulnerable.

It's in those moments that you see Derek completely unguarded, stripped of all the walls he's built to shield himself from the pain of his past. You see the man who loves you fiercely and unapologetically, who worships every inch of you with an intensity that feels like it could consume the air around you. His heat amplifies that love, turning it into a force that's almost too powerful to contain, but even as his instincts drive him, he never loses sight of you—your needs, your comfort, your pleasure.

Each touch, each kiss, each growl is filled with unspoken promises: that you are his, that he will always protect you, and that no matter what, he will never let anything harm you. It's a love that feels almost untamed, wild and primal, yet at the same time, it's rooted in tenderness and trust. Even in his most unrestrained moments, Derek never forgets who you are to him—the one person who sees every side of him and loves him for all of it.

And in those moments, you see all the pieces that make Derek who he is. The lover, whose touch can be both gentle and possessive, worshiping you as if you're the only thing that matters in his world. The protector, whose instincts drive him to keep you safe at all costs, even from his own untamed power. The alpha, strong and commanding, yet willing to yield to you in ways he never would for anyone else. And finally, the man—the one who belongs to you as much as you belong to him, the one who lets himself be vulnerable and open because he trusts you with all that he is.

Derek's passion may burn hot enough to scorch everything in its path, but with you, it's never destructive. It's a love that warms you, strengthens you, and reminds you that no matter what happens, you are his anchor, his solace, and the one person he'll always come back to. And as he holds you close, as his red eyes fade back to green and his heat slowly ebbs away, you know without a doubt that his love for you will always burn brighter than anything else.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

Text

The Devil’s embrace is warmer than fire.

Warning ⚠️; Depiction of PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks, trauma.

Pairing; Nogitsune!Stiles/Male!Creature/Reader

Summary; You meet Stiles at the University as your roommate. A very traumatized roommate that you quickly grew fond of and soon became protective of. And Stiles welcomed your embrace in his nightmarish nights.

Note: I got that idea after seeing a post saying something like “What if Stiles was left with powers after his possession or transformed into a Nogitsune and so Incame up with this!

Credit @cafekitsune

Starting University was a stressful period for anyone, but for someone like you, inhuman? It was worse. Not knowing who would be your roommate or even if you'll be compatible. Your biggest fear was being paired with another creature and fighting for the room. You didn't have the resources to get your own place nor the possibility to explain why you would need to change room.

But you were lucky and ended up with a human.

Stiles was one hell of a phenomenon. Full of energy, extraverts and as bright as a sun, but you saw through his act and quickly realized he was wearing a mask. His eyes, his smiles never reached them and the dark circles under them immediately told you your roommate experienced sleepless nights. And he was so reactive. The simplest sound was enough to make him flinch and tense like a deer caught in headlights. Stiles had been through some bad shits, it was obvious the moment the two of you met. Yet, he was still so welcoming of you and so happy to have a roommate. He spoke of movies and cinemas nights, going out for pizza and beer or even gaming together.

He won your heart just like that.

You thought your years of University would be easy, comforted you were to share your room with a nice guy like Stiles. Someone you could grow close to and call a friend. It would be nice to have someone with who going out and having fun. Someone who wouldn't judge you for what you were.

You were wrong and the first night proved it without a doubt.

You were woken up by the sounds of painful whimpers and hushed begging. You groaned, opening your eyes and searching for the source. In the dim moonlight coming from the window, you saw Stiles trashing around in his beds. All his blankets were in the ground, but he still fought like the devil was after him.

- “Please no… Derek!” Stiles whined and flinched in his sleep.

- “Ow, Stiles, wake up man. You dreaming.” You groaned, burying your face in your pillow as to dim the sounds.

But he didn't wake up.

So you got up and leaned down above him, gripping Stiles’s shoulder and shaking him. He woke up, scared and before you could react, punched you in the face. You fell on your ass, holding your chin, shocked. As for Stiles, you heard him panting and whispering how sorry he was. In his voice, you heard little sobs.

You said nothing, just sat next to him and held him until dawn. Until he finally calmed down.

But each night was the same thing; nightmares and impossible to wake Stiles up without him trying to defend himself. He never spoke about what happened to him and you understood. Who want to share their trauma to anyone? Especially when it was clearly still fresh. But it wasn't long before you learned he had encountered creatures like you and fought them. How in hell was Stiles still alive, you didn't know, didn't ask. How were you supposed to explain he talked in his sleep? How he cowered and begged Derek or others to help?

Stiles was pathetic and you pitied him. No human should have to go through whatever he did and be left alone after.

And as days passed, you began to notice little changes in Stiles. The way he smelled was changing just like the world around him. Things began to happen, chaotic almost like fighting in the corridors, students insulting the teachers and so on. You saw Stiles’ skin becoming paler and he had a harder time feeding. But then, he would get better after touching certain people while helping them.

But the nightmares didn't get better, in the contrary.

So one night, you made a bold move.

As Stiles trashed around, you woke him up by throwing a tennis ball at him to avoid being hit. Poor Stiles screamed and sat, shielding his face with his arms and panting like a dog. It broke your heart. You grew fond of Stiles and became close friends with the eccentric young man. But as Stiles looked at you, you joined him in his bed.

- “H-hey! What are you…” Stiles began, but you shushed him and wrapped your arms around his torso.

As you lay down, you pulled Stiles against your naked chest and shivered as you felt how cold his skin was. Ice cold and he was shivering like a leaf. You pulled the blankets over you two and grunted as you ordered dered him to go back to sleep. Of course, Stiles argued, tried to make it seem like he was fine, but you just wrapped your arms tighter around him. After a few minutes of rent, Stiles relaxed and even snuggled closer. His breath against your neck made you shiver and you closed your eyes.

- “I know what you are.” Stiles whispered, shivering lips brushing against your warm skin.

- “I swear if you are quoting Twilight, I will carry you to the nearest lake and throw you in it.” You groaned, trying to play it off, but your heart raced in your chest.

It wasn't possible, right? You were careful and never let anything show. So how? How could Stiles know and show no fear? Anyone with more than two brain cells would run away from you, not let you hold them like that.

- “It’s fine, I am not scared. I know you won't hurt me and I won't tell anyone.” Stiles added with a sigh. “Not the first one I meet.”

And with that, your roommate fell asleep in your arms, leaving you confused as fuck. You didn't know how to react or what to do. Should you abandon the university and run away? Should things stay the same? You didn't want to go and leave, you had made friends and Stiles had become important to you. You were protective of the little human for reasons unknown, but his admission scared you.

Raising a hand, you brushed Stiles’s hair and smiled weakly as you felt how soft it was. You closed your eyes once more, burying your nose in it. You couldn't leave, couldn't abandon Stiles. So you would stay and see where things went.

And so began a new habit. Each night you would join Stiles in his bed or he would you in yours and you would keep an eye out in case he had a new nightmare. Funny enough, Stiles never had one as long as he was by your side and you didn't know how to feel about that. It was proof he felt safe next to you, but you weren't used to it. You were a monster, something humans usually called the Devil, so why did Stiles feel safe with you?

It didn't make sense, until it did.

Alone in your shared room and bed, Stiles began sharing memories of the past years. You learned who was Derek and his pack and all the adventures Stiles went through. May they be happy or painful, Stiles shared them with you. You were horrified upon learning Stiles was possessed by a Nogitsune. You never met one but knew what they were capable off.

It explained the nightmares.

It explained everything.

Why his scent changed, why everything weird and chaotic happened around Stiles. The Nogitsune had left its traces on your friend, slowly transforming him. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Stiles wouldn't be human for long and no one had told him, leaving you to announce the bad new, but how?

To thank Stiles for his trust, you shared with him facts about your nature and answered all his questions. God did he have an endless list of them! His questions kept coming and you even wondered if you had made a mistake, but each time you looked down and saw the twinkle of joy and curiosity in his eyes, you knew you made the right choice.

You softened by his side, for once not feeling disgusted by what you were. Stiles took care of you as much as you took care of him. He helped you study, and was there for you when instinct became too strong and overpowered you. You never hurt him, on the contrary. You grew more protective of Stiles as days and weeks passed and before you realized it, you began seeing him as your mate.

Mate.

A simple word that carried so much weight and duty. Like telling him the truth about his transformation.

It was a hard conversation filled with denial and screaming and tears from both of you. You hated being the one to announce the news and seeing the hurt in Stiles’ eyes. Each tear he shed broke your heart even more. But in the end, Stiles couldn't deny the truth and you promised him it changed nothing between you two. You didn't fear nor was disgusted by him. That night, Stiles cried himself to sleep in your arms.

You didn't say anything about your feelings, didn't act different by fear of breaking the friendship you had with Stiles. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him just because of something out of your control. But Stiles proved to you he was more observant than you ever thought. You came back to your room one day only to find both bed pressed against one another and Stiles sitting there on the phone. He was speaking to his father while taking notes in one of his school books.

- “Of course, I am coming back home for Christmas, but I already told you I wasn't going to be alone.” Stiles said as he rolled his eyes. “I want you to meet my boyfriend. Yeah, boyfriend! I told you years ago, but you said I wasn't gay because of how I dressed!”

Stiles laughed, a soft snort, as his smile grew upon seeing you. He waved his hand, signalling you to come closer. And you did, not in control of your body. You slowly got onto the bed and lay down next to Stiles before his hand fond your hair and stroked it. All tension left your body and you were able to breathe again. You closed your eyes, snuggling closer and wrapping your body around Stiles. You heard him chuckle and he gently scratched your neck, sending little shivers down your spine.

- “What can I say? I found a diamond and I am not going to lose it.” Stiles replied to something his father said. “He’s keeping me safe, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

You smiled, face buried against his tight.

He had noticed the way you acted, the way you always put yourself between him and any other creatures you might encounter. You didn't thought he would realize what you were doing, but that was underestimating Stiles.

Your boyfriend…

Such a strange but welcomed realization.

The travel to Beacon Hills, California, was a nice one but you weren’t impatient to do it again. You were growing nervous with each passing hour, not knowing how Stiles’ father would be toward you. You barely heard anything about the man except from the stories Stiles shared and you were conflicted about how to feel toward him. Then there was Derek’s pack. You were going to walk on their territory without warning.

Would they smell how Stiles’ scent had changed?

Naturally, your boyfriend picked on your nervousity and tried to help calm you down. Listening to him rambling about everything and anything was a nice distraction, but a short one.

It wasn't long before your mind turned back toward the future and what could go wrong. An angry pack of werewolves weren't easy to deal with and maybe Stiles wouldn't be enough to keep the peace. Worse, maybe he would get hurt trying to or they would turn against him because of his transformation. But you wouldn't let anything happen to him, never.

All those worries in the end were useless.

Everything went more than fine. Noah Stilinski of course gave you the talk, but it was expected. Not only was he a sheriff, but Stiles was all he had left. It was only natural he would want to protect his son. Besides that, you enjoyed meeting him. He didn't ask questions about your nature, but you knew he knew you weren't human with just the way he had looked you up and down. Maybe he had expected it too. Stiles didn't seem to surround himself with normal people after all.

No, the only rough meeting you had was with Derek and his pack. You had expected it, but it went smoother than you thought. They all gave you threats of course, as if you had the intention of hurting Stiles or breaking his heart. The worse had been Derek and the way he had looked at you, his eyes turning red at some point.

It had been Stiles who had calmed him, but for once he didn't see what you did.

Possession, jealousy… guilt. So many emotions in Derek’s eyes and you knew why. He had his chance,lost it and now you had what he desired but couldn't have.

You had Stiles’ heart.

Knowing it, you felt a sense of pride. You were proud that Stiles had chosen you as his mate, even tho he wascould have found so much better. You stayed close to him, arms wrapped around him knowing damn well what you were doing. Not just putting your scent on him, but showing off. And trying to cover his true scent, wanting to protect your boyfriend’s secret.

Derek caught on it, but not Stiles and your poor boyfriend kept wondering what the fuck was going on.

And the day passed slowly for you, but not for Stiles. You watched as he enjoyed every second of the reunion, as if he was back home. Yet, you could tell something was wrong about the interactions. It was as if Stiles didn't belong among them anymore and you wondered if they had caught on about Stiles. But bless his heart, your mate never realized anything and didn't had his heart broken. And a part of you hoped it was you who was the problem and not Stiles, but every fiber of your body screamed for you to stay close to Stiles, you couldn't leave him alone.

That night, as you laid in bed with Stiles, you tried to be a comforting presence to him. While he was clueless about what was going on, your mate still was worried about what was happening to him. He wasn't fully human anymore and yet not a Nogitsune yet. He was trapped between two natures, two worlds and it scared him. You shared his feelings, but tried to make him feel better.

- “Whatever the future hold, we are going to face it together. I promise.” You swore, face buried in his hair.

Stiles nodded, his face buried against your naked chest while his fingers grabbed onto you for dear life.

- “Maybe it would be better to not come back here… or rarely.” Stiles whispered and you shivered, knowing he was abandoning his home.

- “I will keep you safe, even if its mean fighting your friends.” You replied and Stiles shook his head.

- “I don’t want you too. Besides, I’m going to join the F.B.I, I told you. I won't have time to come back here often, so better start now and let Derek and everyone get use to it.” Stiles sounded determined, but you heard the small hesitation in it.

You wrapped your arms tightly around him and kissed his head, smiling as you saw how courageous he was being. You could imagine the pain the decision put him through, but also understood you couldn't change his mind.

- “And I’ll be by your side every steps you'll take. We’re in it together, forever, no matter what.” You said and you felt Stiles’ smiling against your skin.

It was a promise, an oath and you were going to keep it. You knew the future was going to be complicated and painful, but it was worth it. A life time with Stiles was more than worth it.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

Text

STORM OUTSIDE

aegon targaryen & father!reader (platonic!)

warnings: none

“kepa?” a little voice spoke quietly, although it was hard to hear because of the storm raging on outside. the king and his queen’s shared bedchamber was dark, but sometimes lit up by lightning striking outside, and the silence was broken by thunder.

aegon looked at the sleeping form of his father, who wasn’t showing any signs of waking up.

“kepa?” he spoke again, but this time a bit louder. yet, the king did not stir, neither did the queen. the young prince winced as a particularly loud boom was heard from outside. it was a wonder how his parents managed to sleep through it, really.

“kepa,” he cried, his small body trying to climb onto the bed. the little boy had been woken up by the loud weather and, in his fearful moment, climbed out of his bed, managed to open the door, and found his way to his parents’ chamber.

“what are you doing, aegon?” the king asked his 2-year-old son, who, in his attempt to get onto the bed, had stepped on his hand.

“kepa!” he sobbed, and the king was suddenly wide awake. his once-closed eyes were now fully open as he saw the tears on the little prince’s cheeks. he sat up in the bed, concern filling his eyes.

“what are you crying for?” he asked softly, pulling his son closer. aegon was his first son, his heir, and seeing him in distress caused the grown man’s heart to clench.

“no like the loud noises,” he cried as he curled into his father. his small fists went to cling onto his father’s shoulder. he rested his small head on his father’s bare chest, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“don’t like the noises, no?” he asked. “it’s only a storm, aegon, it cannot hurt you.” he tried to soothe his clearly scared son.

“too loud,” aegon whimpered, his voice muffled against his father’s chest. his little body trembled with each crack of thunder that rolled through the night sky.

“it’s loud, i know,” the king said gently, his big hand rubbing soothing circles on aegon’s little back. “but the walls of the red keep are strong, stronger than any storm. and as long as you’re in here, you’re as safe as one can be.”

aegon peeked up from his hiding place, his wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “promise?” his voice was small and uncertain.

“i promise,” the king replied firmly, pressing a kiss to the top of aegon’s silver hair. “i will not let anyone harm you. not now, not ever,” he whispered.

aegon sniffled again, wiping his tiny fist across his damp cheek as he peered up at his father. “you fight storm?” he asked, his voice quivering but curious.

the king chuckled quietly. “if i must,” he said with a small smile. “now, how about you and i go to sleep, hm?”

aegon shook his tiny head, his grip tightening on his father’s shoulder. “no sleep,” he mumbled stubbornly, his cheek pressed against the king’s bare chest. “storm still dere.”

his father sighed softly as he shifted to rest his back against the headboard, cradling the prince close. “yes, the storm is still there, but it cannot hurt you. and i’ll be right here, holding you, even while you sleep.”

aegon looked up at him with wide, tired eyes, his bottom lip jutting out in a small pout. “no leave?”

“never,” the king promised firmly, brushing a gentle hand over aegon’s soft hair. “i’ll stay right here until the storm is over and you’re fast asleep.”

aegon nodded, and his father laid down, holding the little boy close. eventually, the two fell asleep.

and when alicent awakened the next morning to see the usually stern and cold king sleeping with their son in his arms, she knew that she wished for nothing more than for their family to always stay together. and as her hand rested on her swollen stomach, she knew the child, who was not yet born, would be loved dearly.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

Text

Imagine:

Comforting Prince Aemond

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mentions of Luke's death, Aemond being vulnerable

~~~

Aemond's strides were quick and long, covering the distance across hallways with a swiftness that implied he had somewhere important to be. His eye remained trained forward and his hands remained balled fists at his side, posture erect and poised; everything his mind wasn't.

Lucerys was dead. One minute they'd both been soaring the skies in an albeit cruel game of chase and then the next Aemond watched in horror as bits and pieces of Arrax descended into the bay below.

His stomach churned. He'd never killed anyone before, much less thought his first 'victory' would include spilling the blood of his own kin. He knew with the prospect of war the time for him to face his childhood bullies would arise but he'd never intended to do it so soon, much less during such a crucial time.

"Mother have mercy on us all." His mother had whispered in horror when he delivered the news, still dripping wet from the storm and suppressing shivers.

"You only lost one eye," His grandsire went next, nearly seething with rage and disappointment. "How could you be so blind?

His older brother's glee had fully cemented he'd only caused further stride, further issues for their house and his brother's reign. No amount of promises of a great feast to celebrate his actions soothed his mind.

Sharply turning onto one hallway, he noted the lack of guards and felt a semblance of relief. He'd debated taking the secret passageways he'd studied about during his lessons but his legs had automatically taken him in the direction of (Y/N)'s room the moment he stepped out of the Small Council room.

He cracked the door open and stepped inside the bedchambers, quietly closing the door behind him before silently approaching the bed on the opposite side of the room. Dawn began making its presence known, the sky outside brightening in color as the sun began rising.

His eye remained trained on the slumbering figure, studying the young man's features as if he were a book with all the answers. Aemond reached out to him, fingertips grazing his cheek with a light touch.

"(Y/N)," Aemond murmured, the ache in his chest subsiding when (Y/N) stirred. "(Y/N)."

"Mm..." (Y/N)'s features scrunched up, his body briefly curling into itself before stretching out on the bed. His hand appeared from underneath the covers to rub at his eye, the start of a pout forming on his lips. "What?" He exhaled, still half-asleep.

"It's me." Aemond responded, shedding the cold leather of his riding coat and draping it over the nearest chair.

The bed creaked softly when (Y/N) propped himself up onto his elbows, his brows remaining knitted together but bleary eyes softening. "Has something happened?" He asked, voice hoarse.

Aemond tugged on the laces of his riding boots, dragging them off his feet and setting them beside the chair. His lips pressed together into a taut line before he spoke, "Prince Lucerys is.. dead."

(Y/N) stared at him, his brows slowly softening with realization. "I see." He muttered and reached out toward him, warm hand wrapping around his wrist and tugging him toward the bed.

Immediately, Aemond complied, slipping beneath the warm covers and savoring the feeling against his cold skin. (Y/N) tugged the covers up to their shoulders and reached for him, delicately tugging the eye patch off and setting it aside.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, his thumb dragging lightly over the scar embedded in his skin.

"I lost control of Vhagar." Aemond felt foolish. Vhagar was his dragon, his to command; yet at the same time, it all felt so complicated. Vhagar had proven she was willing to do whatever it took to protect them both. She still had some fight in her despite her age.

(Y/N) hummed softly and treaded his fingers through Aemond's silky strands, bringing his head to his chest and scraping his fingertips against his scalp. Aemond melted against him with ease, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms around him. He released a heavy breath.

"Mother wouldn't look at me." He mumbled into the fabric of (Y/N)'s shirt, inhaling the faint smell of soap clinging to him. "It was an accident. I only wished to frighten him."

"I know." (Y/N) cooed reassuringly, his lips pressing against Aemond's hair. "She will come to terms with it in time."

"I-"

"Rest, Aemond.. you are shivering and exhausted. We may speak later." (Y/N) spoke gently, the heel of his hand pressing into Aemond's temple and tilting his head upward. Aemond's eyes fluttered shut and he savored (Y/N)'s lips pressing into his.

Tightening his hold, Aemond buried his face in the crook of his neck. "Thank you." He sighed and allowed slumber to overcome him.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures

AEGON II TARGARYEN X SERVANT!GN READER

Summary: Aegon II Targaryen seeks out his servant in the most desperately pathetic of times.

Content Warnings: Implicitly explicit sexual speech/themes, drunkeness, established relationships, complicated dynamics, may come off as reminiscent of non-con at some points(?) but was written without intent of such nature, friends (not really) with benefits (also not really), aegon ii targaryen, touch starved (reader and aegon)

Other Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x GN! Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Is this brainrot?

------------------------------------

"Please, please. "

You're not sure what about this situation perturbes you more.

The situation itself, which contains that of a drunken Prince Aegon clinging onto your red tunic in the midst of a dimly lit corridor as you attempt to carry dirtied dishes over to the others in the kitchen, falling over himself and pleading.

Or the fact that there is, inexplicably, no one around to witness this outrageous display of drunkenness occurring before the very eyes of the prince's subjects—not even the knights you'd passed on your way here, it seems, as the hall leading to the kitchen is practically empty.

There's almost a feeling of being stranded out at sea, out in a thick, harsh, uncaring, overpowering fog as you find yourself drifting aimlessly to and fro in the absence of a guiding beacon, desperate to return home; a sense that those who came down these halls are surely gone, or somewhere else altogether, but the general, indescribable loneliness this leaves one with still persists in clinging onto your skin, and it isn't a pleasant feeling.

You don't want to know how or why you're being required to look at this god-awful display, yet here you are, with the Prince himself, grabbing you and holding you closely.

You can smell his breath.

The Prince Aemond had advised you many times to stay clear of his brothers line of sight when he was like this, stupid with drunkness. It was always the same warning he'd pass quietly to your ear, gesturing from across the throne room, as if you couldn't see the wine become of him yourself.

His breath is a putrid mix of fruity, sweetened wine and rotting meat, the stench alone just about ready to have you empty your stomach right into the corridor—you want to move him off, or away, or something, but in the near darkness, he simply holds onto your clothes and lays against you, pathetically.

As you fidget to find a way to escape his steel vise grip without causing him offense, he clamps a hand to the side of your face, firmly, not a slap but rather a moment of stillness. His gaze snaps up, meeting yours and flashing his glazy, violet eyes.

You slowly come out of your squint, out of your hunch. He has only taken a very short few seconds to simply gaze through the dark at you before making a wet snort noise. A cough follows it.

A repulsive sound.

He giggles then, almost, or moans? It could be an admittance of his intoxication, as he rests his weight into your side, but the way his hands are tightening into a fist in the fabric of your tunic isn't very encouraging.

"My Prince..." You start, but he forbid you from continuing.

"Please. " He says again, swaying, sniffing, slurring. One of his hands gently traces up the material of your sleeve. "Please, Y/N. "

It is not particularly surprising that he calls your name. Despite yourself, you have come to know both princes more than you would have wished yourself to when you first came here, from Dorne. But somehow, hearing the sound of your name fall from his lips in this particular tone isn't as familiar as you'd hoped.

Nonetheless, its an otherwise strangely sober utterance from his mouth, except for the mild stumble over each syllable, and an oddly solemn cadence. You'd think by now there was not a shred of lucidity left in him, judging from his actions and words prior, but there's a certain formality to it that rings all too clear in the hazy atmosphere.

"Please. " He says again, in your silence.

And you're really not even sure what he's pleading for, anymore.

At first, you'd assumed his call had been one akin to assistance; to carry his belongings–or rather him–to his chambers and pull the covers over him, like you always did. But this has transpired into something far more...unfamiliar. And you're not certain that it should even be a possible interaction between the two of you, even if he had become thoroughly entrenched in a state of drunken obliviousness.

And you are not eager to determine the sincerity of his pleas.

"My Prince, you are much too given away. You do not know what you ask of me..." You say, gripping his wrist away from your face and furthering yourself backward as to give him space. "And I do not know what you request so vehemently from me. "

He stumbles forward and you do your best, with the dishes shifting to one arm, to catch him. The food falls from atop the pile and bounces twice and rolls to your feet as the dishes and cutlery clatter to the ground. Displeased sounds pass your lips.

"You need not worry for the plates. " He slurs, unbothered by the loud crash nor the glass crunching under his feet.

It's an awkward position; his arm locked around your neck, pulled up toward him and stumbling as if to drag you along as well. He can hardly support his own weight yet is unwilling to free himself from this strange embrace.

"My Prince. " You utter in exasperation, your arm curled around his waist. In hopes that he will be steady enough to lean on his own feet, you try to let go. But his grip only tightens. "Allow me to help you to your chambers and I can see you go undisturbed. "

"I don't want to walk. " He sniffs, bringing his face closer to yours. With your hand still wrapped around the crook of his elbow, you lean back. It was a routine situation you've found yourself in, but certainly not a pretty image that anyone would hope to stumble across.

As you lean back, so does he and his dead weight pushes you harshly into the wall. "Y/N, please. " He breathes out dramatically.

Perhaps if you remain quiet, he will tire and slip away just as he did the last dozen times.

He tries to rest his cheek on your chest, eyes growing misty and drooping, but unable to find a comfortable perch because of his drunken inclination to muss and disrupt the space he occupied.

Frustrated, you tap him lightly and try to roll out from under his weight.

He doesn't budge.

"My Prince, you burden upon me too heavily with such unseemly behavior..." And there was more you wished to say, but the burning at your cheeks and across the bridge of your nose has stifled your speech.

"I couldn't care. Less. If I tried. " The Prince mutters.

He adjusts his arm around your neck, a drunken repositioning of limbs, and tugs your head closer to his. Your skulls mingle there in the dark, cold air in the most unspeakable manner.

There is no way, no chance in all the heavens above, that your actions have been even a grain of worthy. And despite the temptation you feel for motion against the foolish, insolent, ridden of capacity to think man before you, you know nothing will come of it other than pain to be regretted for the rest of time, probably.

"You must remove yourself from me, My Prince. So that we may return to our respectable places. And not disgrace each other's positions before the palace. "

"Fuck the palace. Fuck my place. " He spits, swaying and throwing his other arm around your neck, pulling himself even closer.

It clicks then, as his body pushes fully against you.

"If you're asking for me to give you relief, My Prince, then there's nothing I can do for you–"

"Y/N. Please. It's getting painful. Please. "

"Is your hand insufficient?"

You swear, if there were light, his skin color would match perfectly with your crimson tunic.

It is such an inappropriate, improper conversation that you would scarcely wish to have. Least of all here. Where anyone could walk by.

"It would...not be the first..." His voice is weak and quiet. You can hardly hear him. "The first time you..." He doesn’t finish, too consumed by his indulgences.

"My Prince. " You reply sharply, though you wished to say so much more. "Your hand is sufficient. This is unspeakable. I have never sought you in such treacherous ways. "

And though you could not see his face, could not read the thoughts that crawled through his foggy, drunk-muddled mind, you could hear his sighs of displeasure. As if he were the one suffering through all this nonsense.

You take his silence as a plea for your goodwill and pry his hands off your neck, leaving him against the wall of the hallway while you crouch to collect the discarded tray and its broken contents.

"If that is all, My Prince, then will you not go to your chambers now?"

He stares up at you in utter defeat. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and uncertain, a stark contrast to the iron-willed royal who had dismissed you without a second glance no less than three moons ago.

He has that look in the irises, those violet pearls, that you recall seeing a handful of times in the other nobles of House Targaryen. A fleeting moment, a window into something far greater and more complex than a single second could reveal. A deeper and darker emotion that stirs within you pity. You believe the color would be similar to what is felt when someone is terribly remorseful, regretting what they said or did in a time that is long past.

"Please do not start crying, My Prince. " You say and the vexation has not left your tone. "You'll have forgotten the conversation within the hour, a tear will do you no good. "

Your tone was harsh, unkind, not quite vicious. But it is curt and strong enough, from a mere servant no less, to strike like a whip to his spirit. He blinks once, and looks away, not a sound leaves his throat as he stiffens, and waits.

And then his lips pull up, he goes rigid, and he sniffs and wipes his nose with the cuff of his blue shirt. And finally, without another word, his eyes well up and the tears burst forth and run down his face like twin waterfalls.

"My Prince. " You whisper. But he's not listening to you. He's red in the face and sobbing uncontrollably. "Stop. Why are you-please stop. "

"I've known it. " He manages out, his voice thick with mucus. "You-dislike me so much. I apologize. " His body is like a loose feather floating in the air and you know that he is soon to make it to the ground if you do not intervene.

It pains you, somewhat, to watch him unravel. It's like observing a bird unable to find its wing. Or the crumbling of a home, a castle that has stood for lifetimes but not strong enough to bear the weight that has piled upon it.

But nevertheless, you are used to such outbursts. Such grand feelings of pity.

You set the tray accompained by shards of glass down on the floor and wipe your hands off with a sigh. Wordlessly you maneuver yourself to the prince's side, scooping him gently with your arms around him and drag him toward the exit.

He whimpers at being jostled, but you suspect it's from surprise rather than true hurt. He doesn't do anything else for a long few seconds until his legs finally unlock and he manages to fumble into a somewhat coherent position beside you.

He is still crying.

"My Prince-" You say, worried, slightly alarmed, as you've heard no noises yet from the people of the palace, but the walls beg to wake them. "Please, I implore you. It would not behoove the both of us if the servants saw you like this. "

He sniffles and sniffles and lets out another trembling sob as his pace lurches a little closer to a stagger rather than a stand. "You didn't even deny it. "

"Deny what, My Prince?"

"That you hate me. "

Your frown deepens.

"My Prince, why would you presume such a thing?"

"You are so cruel. Cold, even. "

"I beg your pardon, My Prince. "

"And I cannot get it out of my head. The idea that..." He trails off and hiccups. You gently guide him away from the banister of the walkway to the stairs, pushing him softly to continue his disheveled wander.

"Shhh, " you say, "keep going, My Prince. "

"Please...can we-please ta–talk. " He stutters out.

You contemplate for a moment as his fingers dig into your arms.

"Yes, My Prince. But your chambers are more befitting this conversation. "

He seems content enough with this, for now, to shut his trap and allow you to escort him down the long, twisting path. You can feel his heart pound through his ribs against your arm. It stirs a deep, familiar, and unnerving feeling in you.

"Almost there, My Prince. "

He mumbles something under his breath, too quickly and too choked-up, to understand. You focus more on the wet sniffle his nose emits afterwards than the actual words that have passed his quivering lips.

As you guide him further in the direction of his chambers, the distance between the both of you stretching even farther, his eyes dim, and his lips curl down, and he releases a long, audible sigh. But there's no tear that follows with it; his sobbing is under control once again, even if just barely.

Thankfully, the chambers aren't as far now, it should take only a few minutes, five at most, to make it there. When you eventually see his door come into view, he stops you abruptly.

You pause momentarily and look back, taking notice of his expression as a troubled frown plagues his normally semi-collected features, giving him a more somber and saggy aura. Something in your chest feels hollowed out as he glares down at the ground, his purple eyes looking incredibly sad.

"Why...Are you forcing me to go in there...? " He mumbles, slightly dazed.

"My Prince, the night is late and all those around have gone to sleep. I am sure you are fatigued by the wine, and that is why your thoughts have become so out of order. "

He allows himself to be dragged closer to the room. You make fleeting eye contact with the knowing knight posed stiffly at Aegons doors before you release him, moving to open the oak yourself.

As he stumbles in, mumbling still under his breath, you turn to walk away but the hand that suddenly comes to snatch at the sleeve of your tunic causes you to take pause.

You glance back towards him, trying to convey a question through your unwavering eyes, but his entire attention is drawn to the floor.

"I am only closing the door, My Prince. " You say simply as the wood slides closed behind you with a loud click.

Silence.

A long silence, followed by a quick gulp, and then, at last. "Don't leave. "

But his eyes are shut, his head cast to the side as he slumps forward, barely managing to stay on his feet, leaning heavily on you for support.

"I won't leave, then. " You say and pat his shoulder sympathetically.

Still silence. Another swallow. "Good. "

"Very well, My Prince. "

You begin pulling him toward the bed; he lets you, swaying and stumbling and rubbing his eyes with his fists. As you maneuver him down onto his comfortable sheets, he lets out a weak giggle.

His eyes flutter open, cheeks rosy red and wet. He blinks twice.

"Goodnight, My Prince, " you say softly.

He is frowning.

You wipe the stray tear tracks off his face, careful not to scratch the delicate, wet skin, before bringing your hand away.

He reaches out and catches the sides of your palm.

His skin is soft and warm and slightly damp. He smiles hesitantly. His eyes slowly come up to meet yours; they're glazed and watery with tears and a deep sense of vulnerability and uncertainty as his lips quiver ever so slightly.

"You hate me, don't you?"

Your eyes close briefly as you sigh. "My Prince, this conversation can wait until you awaken with a clear mind. "

"But you hate me, " he accuses. "How can I let it be...if you hate me?" He grits through his teeth.

You remove your fingers from his, stroking his jaw instead, comfortingly. "I could never hate you, My Prince. " You say it, but it is only pleasantries and both of you know that.

"Please answer me. Please...don't..." His cheeks are wet again, fresh new lines of salty tears streaking down his red face and dripping into his collar. Your thumb catches one, halting its miserable descent.

"I must protest, " you say smoothly. "You will awaken without any recollection, any trace, any hint that I existed. We will both forget this conversation, as so much of our time has been forgotten. And my feelings will return to nothing of note, My Prince. "

"Please don't. " He shakes his head and scrunches his face, pouting. His cheeks flare darker with his pathetic frustration. "You can't...Can't tell me these things and-"

He hiccups.

You lay the hand on his cheek, tenderly, letting his face lean into it.

"Can't it just be that?" You ask him in a whisper.

He's nodding fervently, his legs quivering a little, still in a woozy state of mind; the warmth is radiating off his pale, drunk skin in strong, overwhelming waves and you bask in it while you're able. He hums after a few seconds.

"Y/N, please come closer. Please. " He pleads, quietly, urgently, his entire being seeming almost distraught at the request.

It is so hard, and yet somehow so easy, to deny him the thing he wants the most right now.

"What, My Prince?"

He doesn't speak or move.

"Will you try to kiss me again?" You wonder.

At your words, his breath hitches and he parts his lips. Though, if the flicker of violet within his gaze reveals anything, it is more a case of an impelling reluctance. His eyes dart away, anywhere else in the chamber.

"Would you permit me a kiss?"

You do not answer, and his whole body stiffens, his hand slipping to encircle your wrist. The grip itself is too tight to be truly pleasant, an unhappy emotion he can't quite reign in completely.

You think, to yourself, that it would be no use to try to speak reason to him now, even if you wanted to. It would fall upon his wine-heavy ears and make little sense.

You wrap your free hand against his back, feeling the subtle movement of muscles and the bone of his spine. His hair is soft and frizzy and nearly glossy when the two of you reach an emotional equilibrium with one another. You hold onto him, breathing slowly in tune with him, savoring the rise and fall of his chest under your touch.

Your heart beats in perfect unison with his, echoing his every breath and shiver. He's a heavy weight on your leg where he has apparently found rest, your clothes rustling against his equally silken shirt.

His arm, heavy with sleep and wine, hangs at his side as you quietly push the sleeve of your tunic over his shoulder, pressing your mouth against his forehead.

In moments, the air is silent and there is no sound except the soft breathing of the two of you. You withdraw your lips and look at him with the same, unabashed expression you always carry when he begs like this.

"A kiss for bedtime, if you'd like one. I doubt any more will stir a useful reaction from you. " You comment, amused, as the back of his skull falls against his pillows.

"Please. One more. " He requests weakly, sloppily pulling himself up against your side to meet your daunting gaze. His grip on your wrist eases a bit but it doesn't let go, nor do his eyes and only do they close briefly for a small but content sigh.

"No, I don't think so. You are beyond exhausted and drunken. A proper rest will do you well. I am not your mother, I will not sing you a song and rub your belly. " You laugh at his pout. "Though, you'd probably like that, My Prince. "

"Perhaps, if it's from you. " He stutters out a second too late.

He pushes against your wrist, and it is such a smooth, deliberate movement that you are thoroughly thrown off guard. His eyes flutter half open, a sliver of dark purple and a dash of white. His sclera, despite their usual pinkness, shine somehow brighter in the cold moonlight.

"One more. " He says. "A goodnight kiss. You're not leaving after just this. "

And how could you deny him what he was asking for? He still looked so fragile. So torn, not apart but not together, either.

He was waiting expectantly for your next move.

You press forward and push your lips to his, very gently, sliding your arm free of his grasp so that you can hold his face. His nose is cool and blunt where it presses into your cheek.

And before you can taste the strange mixture of his drink and his supper on your tongue, he pulls back and swoons.

Just before his body collapses back onto the mattress, though, you manage to nudge him with both hands. He goes willingly, letting you rearrange him onto his bed, the beddings around him, and covering him with a blanket or two.

He hums softly, smacking his lips as he gets comfortable, eyes already shut.

"Please close the curtains before you leave, Y/N. I sleep...better in the dark." He sighs out the last few words, exhaling loudly, like a long, relieved breath he'd been holding in for years.

"You ought to rest now, before you sober up and get me whipped. "

"Do not fret. " He whispers. "For you will always have a place at my side. " He lets out a puff of amusement.

"I thought I was cruel. Cold. Not fond of you in the slightest. "

"You had a..mo..men...tary lapse of poor judgment. " He says with a bit of struggle but he gets it out, nonetheless.

"Mmm. Rest now, My Prince. Your whims will be satiated tomorrow. "

He reaches out, an arm trying to cross the expanse between the two of you. An invitation, but you've never taken it, never dare to lie beneath the silk sheets beside him.

You pull away.

He lets his arm drop.

"Aegon. " He mumbles out to you.

It stops you in your tracks. Your expression smoothes. "...What did you say?"

"Aegon. You haven't called me that...long time. " His murmur is barely a coherent sentence.

You stare at him for a moment, a light sigh of resignation escaping you.

"Goodnight, Aegon. "

He watches you stride across the carpet with barely open eyes.

"Goodnight. " His voice goes soft and sweet. The mirth in it is quiet but genuine.

A smile washes away the frown he wears most days, and his eyes snap shut as soon as his head falls completely to the mattress.

Like a light being extinguished.

He'll awake just fine.

As will you.

Your duty to the family awaits, as does his.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

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Louis and Lestat's reaction to seeing their s/o covered in blood

I did this on Halloween last year for horror characters, which will be getting a part two soon, but I thought, why not do this for more vampires I'm in love with. I'm trying to get back into writing more often and I hope that this will help get the ball rolling. This is also for the 1995 movie, I haven't seen the show.

Warnings: Blood drinking, suggestive content (nothing explicit), reader is covered in blood, Lestat is a freak, not proof read

Lestat De Lioncourt

It's your first feed since being turned. Lestat found the perfect candidates for you and him to share on this lovely night. He soothed your hesitancy and promised it'll be ok. After all, you have to eat to live.

Lestat has been a vampire for centuries, so he knows how to get away mess free from his meals, you on the other hand, aren't quite as skilled at that yet. So as Lestat sucks the blood from his victim, he looks over at you and finds that you're drenched in blood, he can't help but smile to himself.

He finished his meal as you keep going, more blood gushing from your victims neck into your mouth and onto your clothes and face. Lestat has to gently pull your meal away from you, reminding you not to drink dead mans blood.

But good lord you're a sight to behold. Sitting on the ground, the lower half of your face smeared with blood, your clothes soaked in it too, Lestat can feel himself getting aroused just at the sight of you like this. Your hair messy, your clothes slightly opened, the look in your eyes, it's almost too much to handle.

But Lestat, being the gentleman that he is, has to help you clean up. It's not his fault that cleaning you up just so happens to mean making out with you so hard he almost breaks your nose while he licks the blood from your face. Oh and if any blood seeped through your clothes and onto your skin, you bet he's going to lick that off you too.

You blessed him with the sight of you covered in blood and you expect him to not immediately be a freak about it? You clearly don't know anything about Lestat.

Lestat is going to be himself and try to get you that messy every time you eat. He can get someone to wash out your clothes or he'll just get you new ones, it doesn't matter, he sees you covered in blood and he feels his undead heart come to life once again.

Louis De Pointe Du Lac

Louis didn't turn you, but he found you, out at night, crying with hunger, and he knew he had to help you. He's past the point of eating rats and feeling catholic levels of guilt about being a vampire. So he leads you to your first meal.

He has to verbally tell you to be careful as you drink from the person he found you. Because this is your first time drinking from someone, you're very messy with it, any blood that didn't make it into your mouth, made it's way all over your clothes and face.

If you have longer hair Louis will be a gentleman and hold it back for you as you feast. He stays silent the whole time, just letting you get your fill and adjust to this new found hunger being a vampire brings.

Once you're finished and you push your victim away from you, Louis sees just how covered in blood you are. He hates to admit it, but he's obsessed with your look. The red staining the lower half of your face and clothes, your hands covered in blood as you start to lick them clean, God damn you Y/N don't you know what you're doing to him?

Louis won't lick the blood off of you like Lestat did, he's not that big of a freak, but he will lead you into the bathroom and help you clean yourself up, that is until he has to step away because he knows what seeing you like this is doing to him.

If you strip in front of him he could care less, all he cares about in that moment is seeing you in your state of being drenched in blood, having it all over your face and body like that, it drives him mad. If only he could take a picture of you like that.

Unlike Lestat, Louis won't intentionally try and get you all covered in blood again, but he won't teach you how to be careful with drinking blood either. You can't blame a man for wanting to see someone as attractive as you covered in blood as much as possible.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

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Thinking of a dragon that's hoard is entirely made up of knights who came to slay him and were all fucked out of their minds instead. (male dragon X male reader)

Just imagine you're a knight sent to slay a dragon who has killed an unholy amount of your fellow knights. You're not feeling too great about your chances but you weren't given a choice by your king, who just wants the beast's horns mounted above his throne.

You found the cave easily, even getting in was a breeze, but instead of piles of jewels and other fineries you see a good chunk of half or fully naked men lounging casually.

You're almost too shocked to notice the unmistakable feeling of something looming behind you. But notice it you do.

Whirling around isn't an option. A large clawed hand curls around your torso as a single claw slips your helmet off. Hot breath hits your newly exposed neck.

"Hello little knight. Did the king send me another treasure for my hoard?"

The men in the cave turn at the voice, and with heavy shock you realize that you recognize several of them. A blonde man lounging nude next to a natural pool was the very knight sent out before you.

His knowing smile does nothing to ease your confusion.

The dragon lets out a low growl as he turns you around. "Look at me little one."

You brace your sword for an attack but the creature stuns all action from you. His emerald scales seem to glitter in the dappled light, massive curled horns framing the sharp face lowered to stare back at you. There's an elegant grace to his poised musculature; powerful but sleek.

His body is long and slender. It's nothing like the stocky build you were expecting to encounter. Lost in awe you almost miss the sound of your sword clattering upon the stones.

His amber eyes crinkle as if in amusement. There's an animalistic playfulness in them that holds you hostage. "Quite a lovely little trinket you are. Come, we'll get those awful chunks of metal from your body so I may see you properly."

Before you can object you're scooped up in those massive claws and taken to a smaller pocket in the cave out of view to the others. You were back to complete confusion.

Dragons were supposed to like treasure, gold and jewels and silver, not knights.

Your armor is removed with a delicate and practiced air. This was most definitely not the first time the dragon unclothed a human knight.

Stripped bare you suddenly feel self conscious. The way the dragon's gaze trails every curve, every scar and blemish, causes a fire to burn across your skin.

A low rumble fills the cavern. "Yes, you will make a fine addition to my hoard."

Movement draws your eyes to the dragon's lower legs. A spear tipped cock was unsheathing, already dripping to the stones. It was small for his size but still massive compared to yourself.

Was he expecting you to take that? You figured it would end up splitting you in two. Again before you can protest you are firmly pressed into the fur lined bed.

His long tongue trails down, the warmth giving you goosebumps as it travels over your sternum to your belly and even lower. A whine slips from your lips as your own cock hardens in response. The dragon lets out a rumble.

Something slides to your ass. For a moment you panic, thinking it to be the dragon's cock already, and twist to see. It's not his penis.

You realize it's a claw, worn down to a dull point for safety. As your entrance is teased you fight against you own thoughts. You shouldn't enjoy this! You should be slaying the beast!

But you can't deny the warm weight that settles in your lower stomach, the barely contained whimpers. Many knights have lovers but you chose not to. You wanted to be fully dedicated to your training. Unfortunately that didn't mean that you didn't feel the urges, it just meant you never acted on them before.

And now you are so desperate to feel it that your orders are slipping from your mind.

Your dragon licks and teases until you're shaking. Once you're a begging mess he pulls his claw back and positions his cock. You moan as it goes in.

It's so large it burns but not in a way that makes you want to stop. In, in in, until he bottoms out. You never thought you'd feel this full. Your dragon waits until your muscles ease to start a steady pace.

His rumbles combine with your groans. You scramble to grab ahold of him, finding his forearms, and arch your back. New sensations wipe the last of your concerns from your mind.

"Ple-please-!" Your breathy whisper causes your dragon to shudder. From the side of your vision you see his pupils blow out.

No longer gentle, you dragon's eyes roll up as his hips buck the thick penis into your hole over and over. The calm pace turns into a fever pitch. You squirm from the overwhelming pleasure rolling over you in thundering waves.

You feel a climax building and with a breathy gasp white ropes shoot out onto your dragon's scales and your own belly. That only encourages him more.

He takes quite a few more minutes, amazing minutes, to cum himself. A roar shakes the cavern.

Your dragon doesn't collapse on you so much as lays down but his weight still bears down strong. Both of you are breathing hard.

"The claiming process is long, trinket. I need to be sure it properly sticks." Your chest heaves in anticipation. A few hours, the rest of the day, you weren't sure how long long was but you find yourself too cock drunk to care. The dragon's tongue laps your chest again.

In the end, "long" is a three day haze of pleasure and climaxes. Being sent to slay the dragon, you decide, was the best thing to happen to you.

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lil-bumbum · 2 months ago

Text

Muses

Request: Yes or No

Summary: (Y/N) never expected his life to turn out the way it did.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Fellow Travelers warnings, brief sexual content, mentioned/implied homophobia, era typical bs, mention of the AIDS crisis, Hawk is lowkey a warning himself 💀, more of a concept

he is so babygirl. divider by cafekitsune

~~~

"Would you mind if I drew you?"

Those were the first words (Y/N) spoke to Tim Laughlin the day they met at Lafayette Park under the keen eyes of Hawkins, the words of the smooth-talking man still ringing in his ears. It's nothing, Hawk had muttered to him as they strolled through the park toward the man with his nose buried in a book, you owe me a favor, remember? Just tell me what he tells you about the senator.

Tim was an interesting fellow. He was fidgety, at times, and with a habit of rambling so quickly (Y/N) barely caught what he was saying before he finished. Something was endearing about him: he continued adjusting his light gray sweater vest and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his sleeves, the dark eyes hidden behind his round glasses bouncing around in a spout of nerves. He was so blatantly self-aware of himself, of every movement he made, likely hyper-aware of each breath he took. It was cute.

"Tim." (Y/N) called out softly, biting back a chuckle to avoid embarrassing the man as he lifted the tip of his pencil from the page. He'd only managed to begin a vague outline with Tim constantly moving between positions on the stool with an air of indecisiveness and awkwardness.

Tim perked up and turned his head toward him, his eyes wide and lips barely parted to show his teeth. He reminded (Y/N) of a fawn, a little creature making its way through the world unaware of the predators watching from the shadows. No wonder Hawk wasted no time sinking his teeth into him. He was the perfect prey.

"Y-Yes?" Tim pushed his glasses up with his index finger and straightened his back, carefully scooting around the stool to face him entirely. His palm ran over his sleeves again and his fingers curled around the cuffs, tugging on them lightly. "Should I do something different? Should- Should I take off my glasses?"

(Y/N) couldn't help the amused smile that stretched across his lips when Tim hurriedly took his glasses off, a giggle vibrating in his throat before he set aside his sketchbook and stood up to approach him. He leaned down toward him and gingerly pried the glasses from his fingers, the smile widening as he slid the glasses over Tim's nose. The back of his fingers brushed along Tim's cheek until they hooked under his chin and tilted his head up, those eyes of his widening even further.

"I like the glasses." (Y/N) told him softly and brushed his thumb over Tim's lip, briefly revealing the row of perfect white teeth, before he stepped away. "I like everything about you."

There was a silent dance to flirtation, or seduction as others viewed it. One had to be careful with the types like Tim; nervous, doe-eyed, eager yet pious and always ready to dart between the pews of their church and stutter through a rushed prayer when they grew overwhelmed. They were like dogs being trained dancing the line between order and instinct, their bodies vibrating with urges and nerves but their legs kept them glued to their spots.

Men like Tim were as dangerous as men like Hawk or the sleazy politicians Hawk surrounded himself with. Men like Hawk wore confidence and swagger like a coat; casually and without a care in the world. Until they were backed into a corner and they were quick to toss the coat from their shoulders, holding onto it with clammy, desperate hands while the cowardness beneath reared its head. Men like Hawk kept their enemies close and with downcast eyes tossed their friends to the wolves to cover their own asses.

Men like Tim, jumpy and alert yet somehow oblivious and naive, walked the thin line between fighting like hell to keep their morals to them and squawking at the first sight of trouble. When things grew hard or overwhelming or emotional, they raced to their priest and confessed to everything they'd done without a second thought to their safety. Most priests kept things to themselves, but they too pointed fingers when trouble came knocking.

Tim was easy enough to coax with a few gestures, evident in how his eyes followed (Y/N) around his office-turned-studio. Like a fish who didn't know any better, he'd taken the bait. He was sweet, too, and it was something Hawk had taken swift advantage of.

"Are you- I mean, you're-"

"Queer?" (Y/N) laughed and glanced at him over his shoulder, picking up his pencil and sharpening it. "Yes, I am."

"Have... have you and Hawk-"

"Once, twice... I didn't let there be a third time." He blew on the tip of the pencil and ran his fingertip over it to ensure it was smooth, a streak of dark gray rubbing against his finger. He tilted his body to peer at Tim. "You should be wary of Hawk and his charms."

Tim swallowed and rose, his hand shooting backward to stabilize the stool when it wobbled without his weight pinning it down. "Should I be wary of you?" He asked softly, strands of his combed-back hair falling over his forehead. His shoes clicked against the tile floors, each step small and cautious.

(Y/N) grinned and set the pencil down along the spine of his sketchbook, allowing Tim to draw closer. "Maybe."

Tim was full of indecisiveness, a constant dance between growing nervous and surging with confidence. He kissed with a familiar hunger, a familiar insistent need that left him pressing his lips hard against (Y/N)'s and knocking his glasses askew over his nose. His hands battled between pulling him closer until they were flush together and releasing his hold in fear of overstepping.

(Y/N) chuckled against his mouth, and chuckled again when they pulled apart and he took in the fog around the rim of Tim's glasses from the heat in his cheeks. For the sake of not damaging them, he plucked the glasses from Tim's face and set them aside after tucking the arms, mindful of where he placed them before returning his attention to Tim.

Tim reminded him of a teenager, all desire and no straight thinking. His lips pressed scattered kisses along (Y/N)'s jawline and cheekbones, his crinkling arms wrapping around him loosely and hands tugging at the hem of his button-up. Hawk must've left him high and dry; he always did love the ones desperate for attention, and then he'd complain when they grew clingy.

"Easy, Tim." (Y/N) smiled, his thumb pressing into Tim's chin to still his quick movements. His flushed cheeks and messy strands made (Y/N)'s heart seize uncomfortably. He was undeniably pretty. "I still have to do your portrait, don't I? Hawk's looking forward to seeing it."

"Hawk calls me Skippy." Tim sounded breathless. Did he want to make Hawk jealous? (Y/N) pitied him if he did. Emotional ties were never Hawk's thing.

"I'm not calling you that." (Y/N) snorted and his thumb moved so he could firmly grasp Tim's jaw in his hand while he reached for his sketchbook with the other. "I think I'll call you.. Muse."

His bedroom was more comfortable than the studio. While the smell of paints had become as familiar to him as cigarette smoke, he much preferred the cinnamon-scented candles he always kept lit in his bedroom, though he often had to keep his cat away from them. The aroma added to the warmth from the golden hue of the setting sun and the song playing on his radio, though his ears were more focused on the muffled noises and determined huffs from Tim.

(Y/N) gazed at the sketch, though it was still rough linework over something to be admired. He'd managed to get a vague outline of Tim's face and shoulders, his neat hair that slightly swooped over his hairline and his brows that were almost always in a concentrated or confused furrow. He grasped the underside of his sketchbook with one hand and pinched the pencil between two knuckles before moving the sketchbook out of view to peer down at Tim.

He'd settled nicely between (Y/N)'s legs, his bare arms hooked under (Y/N)'s thighs and palms pressed into his skin. A foamy ring had formed at the base of (Y/N)'s shaft, each bob from Tim's head leaving a glistening sheen behind. He raked his fingers through Tim's hair, scratching his scalp with his blunt nails and watching him shudder before he gave him a light tug. Tim's eyes flickered up to his face, water accumulated in them but not enough to slip down his reddened cheeks.

(Y/N) smiled. "You look pretty like this."

Tim gave a soft grunt in return, his hands keeping (Y/N)'s hips from bucking too much at the vibrations yet his own dug into the mattress feverishly. (Y/N) took a moment to sketch out his attentive eyes, including the way his pupils dilated, and then moved down to sketch the slope of his nose where he waited for Tim's nostril to stop flaring with each deep inhale.

Once satisfied, he tugged on Tim's head and listened to the soft pop! that followed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip at the sight of Tim's raw, spit-covered lips. Tim took a deep gulp of air and then gave a small cough, his hand raising to wipe at his mouth as he moved back onto his knees. His whole body was flushed, and a certain part of him begged for attention.

Pressing the sketchbook against Tim's chest, (Y/N) near effortlessly flipped them over and left the sketchbook on top of him as he adjusted Tim's legs to his liking. He reached toward his nightstand and rolled the volume dial on his radio so the sound of trumpets and the velvety voice of the singer filled the room more clearly, his lips quirking when Tim's chest rose and fell quicker with anticipation.

The sketchbook and pencil nearly slid off Tim's chest when his back arched, keens and garbled words falling from his lips as (Y/N) bullied his way past the tight ring of muscle that he'd already teased and explored with experienced fingers. Hawk was a pain to deal with and a walking heartbreak, but he'd taught (Y/N) plenty of things.

He took the pencil in his hand again and readjusted the sketchbook, amused at the way Tim fought to catch his breath again. His fingers trembled slightly but he managed to keep a steady hand sketching his neck, the adams apple that kept bobbing, and his shoulders before pining the pencil to the spine and shutting the sketchbook. He set it aside on the nightstand and focused his full attention on the wriggling man beneath him.

One of his hands found Tim's and he laced his fingers with his while the other gripped Tim's thigh hard enough to leave red imprints behind. He understood Hawk more than he liked to admit; there was something addicting to having control over someone else's body. He leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the cries and incoherent babbles he released when he began snapping his hips.

Their bodies melded and moved together, the hairs across Tim's chest tickling (Y/N)'s skin as they shared hot air and felt more sweat begin to accumulate. He pressed his forehead against Tim's and soaked in his scrunched-up features, grinning at his quivering lips and giving them a nip that elicited a throaty whine. Tim clung onto him as if his life depended on it, his name coming out in rushed huffs and nails digging half-moons into his shoulders and back.

(Y/N) kissed him again. He could get addicted to his new muse.

The sound of panting, skin slapping against skin, and mumbled pleas were nothing new to (Y/N), but he always enjoyed observing how others reacted to pleasure. He captured it occasionally in his work, always ensuring to turn masculine features more feminine in case anyone felt prompted to search his things for any hint of being a 'deviant'. Tim released a choked gasp and his back arched again, tightening deliciously before warm liquid coated their abdomens.

(Y/N)'s hand moved from his thigh and crept up to Tim's shoulder before wrapping carefully around his throat, a spark appearing in Tim's half-lidded eyes as he continued to spurt and twitch untouched. His fingers gave an experimental squeeze and Tim fluttered around him, nudging him closer to his own release.

"Am I-" Tim gasped. "-pretty now?"

(Y/N) laughed breathily. "The prettiest."

The steam in the bathroom oozed out into the bedroom, water droplets splattering on the carpet when (Y/N) followed the steam with the wet towel in hand. He scanned the room and found the familiar face who often enjoyed lingering around for another hour or two missing, though he could only assume Tim had more important duties in the morning after his promotion. He'd call and pout about it later and listen to Tim's chuckles about making it up to him.

Tossing the towel aside to be washed along with the rest of his laundry, (Y/N) slipped on some briefs and sleepwear before stepping out into the hallway. He'd picked the townhouse due to the history etched into its walls, the aged look it had fitting with the creations he spent days and weeks painting. Oil paintings of landscapes and portraits of people he met over the years, some fresh and others old. Paintings akin to works of the likes of Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, and Pierre Montezin.

He found serenity in nature, found it more comforting and nurturing than humans.

The stairs creaked as he descended them but before he could head toward the kitchen for a glass of water, a rapid succession of knocks came from his front door. His heart surged with anxiety and panic immediately, pure instinct after all the crackdowns on 'deviants' in workplaces and the club raids, but he forced his heart to calm itself.

It's probably Tim, he assured himself and approached the door, he probably forgot something.

(Y/N) spared a glance around the room for Circe and when he was confident she was nowhere near the door, he opened it, the teasing smile that'd worked its way onto his face disappearing at the sight of Hawk standing on his doorstep. He barely uttered a hello before stepping inside, lifting his fedora from his head and smoothing back any raven locks that went astray.

"No calls, no letters. I'm beginning to think you've deserted me." Hawk spoke, his clothes smelling like cigarette smoke and faintly of the whiskey he enjoyed drinking after work. His vibrant blue eyes looked over the small, cluttered living room. It irked him how comfortable Hawk looked as if he were right at home. "Or perhaps, replaced me."

Scoffing, (Y/N) shut the door before the idea of slipping out into the night crossed his cat's mind and folded his arms over his chest. He was like a damn virus, always appearing when you least expected it. "Why do you care, Hawk? You value keeping your ass out of trouble more than anything. I'm sure plenty of fools at the Cozy Corner are keeping you occupied, or the senator's daughter, at that. I hear there's a romance brewing."

"You know I have to be careful in my line of work. Haven't you heard?" Lines formed between Hawk's brows, annoyed and perhaps offended. He wondered what Lucy Smith would think of it all.

"Of course, I have." (Y/N) sighed, his fingers working on his temple to soothe away a headache. Hawk always affected him, whether it was giving him a migraine or making his heart flutter. He preferred the former. "Tim mentioned what happened to Mary. I can't imagine what she's going through, poor girl."

"Tim." Hawk echoed, his lips curling up in a false smile and his thumb rubbing over the edges of his hat. He wore confidence like a mask but (Y/N) could see the emotions slipping through the corners. He was more than acquainted with the look of harrowing loneliness, and it lay heavily in Hawk's eyes. "He hasn't been calling either. I never expected you two to get so close."

"You don't get to come in and pretend as if you're here for anything other than sex." (Y/N) gave a mocking, short laugh and his fingers dug tightly through the fabric covering his arms. Anger slammed into his chest like a kick and rippling bitterness followed its heels, leaving his body hot and twitching with contained emotion.

Hawk steeled his expression with practiced ease. "I'm the reason you can afford to live here, the reason you have buyers and commissions-"

"Don't act as if half of those buyers weren't sent my way so you could use me to get information out of them, Hawk. You think I wouldn't notice you only ever send men you know are interested in more than just a painting?" His brows raised, and much to his dismay, his voice trembled.

"You know you were never forced to do anything you didn't want." Hawk's voice softened, yet it sounded patronizing to his ears. (Y/N) knew him too well, seen his acts and smooth-talking charades far too often to feel anything other than bubbling irritation in his veins. There'd been a time when he might've allowed Hawk to talk him down, but those times were long gone.

"Fuck you." (Y/N) snapped and Hawk flinched. "If you're not here for sex, then why are you here?"

Hawk stared at him, the tension in his jaw slowly vanishing. He inhaled heavily and reached out toward him to touch his cheek but (Y/N) leaned away, leaving his fingers to curl and a soft sigh to leave him. "I wanted to see you. I.. I missed you. I missed your face, your voice, your touch. I miss watching you paint and laugh."

"Well, I don't want to see you anymore, Hawk. What we had was fun but..." The words halted in his throat, an admission he hadn't yet fully processed waiting to finally be acknowledged. But not in front of Hawk.

"But what? You prefer others- Tim? Are you even being careful? His job can fall into risk and you-"

"You think you're smarter than everyone else, Hawk, but I'm not an idiot. I know what's at risk. He knows what's at risk. You love to pretend you have so much more freedom than everyone else yet you constrict yourself in every way possible. You and I both know you'll end up marrying Lucy Smith to keep yourself out of the line of fire and in Senator Smith's safe arms. You'll end up knocking her up with who knows how many kids and you'll live the little American dream while rotting inside."

"Excuse me-"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Their attention snapped to Tim standing in the archway leading into the kitchen, a cup of milk in hand and wide eyes flickering between the two of them. A sense of relief swept through (Y/N)'s body, one that intensified when Tim addressed Hawk with one of his furrowed brow frowns. His eyes dropped down to Circe, watching the cat rub herself along Tim's legs yet turn her nose up at the sight of Hawk.

"I think you should go," Tim told him firmly, but with a cup of milk in hand and the hint of a milk mustache glistening over his top lip, he hardly looked intimidating. Still, (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to cozy up to his side and kiss the air right from his lungs. "You're not wanted here."

Hawk blinked. "Skippy-"

"Go, Mr. Fuller." Tim slotted himself between the two and motioned for the door, his fingers turning white from how tightly he gripped his cup.

A tense silence filled the air between the three, only broken by a quiet mew from Circe reminding him it was time for her second and last meal of the day. Hawk's eyes tore away from flickering between the two to drop onto the fuzzy cat, his lips twisting up when she continued nuzzling against Tim but pointedly avoided his legs. He'd tried once or twice to earn her trust, both times futile.

Uncharatiscally, Hawk gave up the battle and placed his hat over his head again. He turned toward the door, his hand wrapping around the knob. "Marcus mentioned you were thinking of going to San Francisco," He said suddenly, looking back at them but mostly at Tim to gauge his reaction. Tim's brows inched upward. Hawk offered a half-grin. "Good luck." The door rattled shut with his exit.

Bastard. He always had to leave a mark.

"You're going to San Francisco?" Tim asked softly, twisting around to face him while carefully avoiding stepping on Circe as the mass of fur dramatically draped herself over (Y/N)'s feet, another demanding meow leaving her. They both ignored her which only prompted another, much longer meow.

"It's just suffocating here, Tim." (Y/N) rubbed his shoulder, hoping to ease some of the tension that'd formed. "I tolerated it 'cause I had no real choice but I have more money now. I want to live by the beach and- and not have to worry about offending some politician. I thought Washington would have more to offer but it's... dull."

"What about me?" Tim looked like a child, feet shuffling and brows together with faint sadness.

(Y/N) smiled and leaned forward, kissing the corner of his lip. "You're perfect, Tim." Tim's cheeks flushed and he pressed his lips together to contain the bashful smile. "We can write to each other and we can try to visit. Things won't be the same but-"

"What if I went with you? Permanently- Like, we move together and live close to each other?" (Y/N) stared at him in surprise. "San Francisco has government jobs, too. I'm sure there'll be ties to Senator McCarthy-"

"I can't ask you to do that, Tim."

Tim shook his head and set his cup aside on the accent table by the stairs before taking (Y/N)'s hands into his. Circe made a noise of complaint beneath them but only stretched out further. "I want to. I want to be with you. I-I want to keep waking up at your side and- and I want to keep eating breakfast with you. I want to keep dancing to romance songs and getting lunch. I'll never find someone who treats me like you do, who makes me feel what I feel for you."

A heat crept up (Y/N)'s shoulders and neck, covering his face and ears. His heart hammered in his chest and his hands suddenly felt clammy and sweaty, fidgeting in Tim's hold. Was this the love poets always wrote about?

"I..." (Y/N) gave a small chuckle, feeling delirious. "I want that, too."

Light assaulted his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut, half-contemplating rolling over and burying his face into the pillow. He did just that, rolled over and tossed his arm out, but instead of feeling a sleeping body, he felt the mattress. His mouth formed a pouty frown and he squinted through blurry vision, blinking a few times until he was gazing at an empty bed. His eyes slid to the wall.

Tim was so stubborn.

With a heavy sigh, he forced himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rising. His weary body groaned in protest, reminding him he was no longer in his twenties or thirties when his back ached, but he ignored it in favor of stretching before making his way to the bathroom. No sign of Tim either. He spared the army of pill bottles a glance before relieving himself in the toilet and brushing his teeth.

Sticking his feet into his slippers, he journeyed out of their bedroom and into the living room yet found no sign of his insistent partner. He brought two fingers to his lips and then down to Circe's box, muttering a soft greeting to his late feline friend as he passed by the drawer and peeked into the kitchen. There, standing in front of the coffeemaker, was Tim who leaned most of his weight on his cane and stared distantly at the coffee brewing.

He took a moment to watch him, to drink in his floppy brown strands with streaks of silver and the wrinkles that formed with age across his skin. His eyes crinkled at the sight of the big round glasses perched on his nose before they dropped down to the slightly trembling hand clutching the cane. An accident in the bathroom. Even simple falls now impacted them more than they would've when they were in their twenties.

"I should drag you back to bed." (Y/N) clicked his tongue and rubbed leftover sleep from his eye, unable to stop himself from smiling when Tim rolled his eyes at his words yet tilted his head for a kiss on the cheek. (Y/N) gave him one, hard just to let him know he hadn't appreciated waking up alone but Tim only smiled.

"I'm making coffee."

"Yeah?" (Y/N) teasingly grinned. "I hadn't noticed."

Tim rolled his eyes again, affection in his tender gaze as he watched him shuffle around their small kitchen. "My sister's coming by in the evening to drop off some groceries. I thought we could take a stroll around town. Maybe visit some friends? I know you can't bear to see them while they're- they're sick but they need us."

"I know." (Y/N) exhaled deeply through his nose and pulled a box of cereal free from their pantry. The epidemic ran rampant in their community and their government turned a blind eye to the suffering, as cold and uncaring as they'd been in his younger years. "I'll mention it to Marcus. It's been a while since the three of us went somewhere together."

Tim turned to him and approached with the hint of a limp, his head coming to rest on (Y/N)'s shoulder. He smiled tenderly and (Y/N) melted against him, inhaling the smell of mint toothpaste and soap still clinging to him. "We can go to the beach, too. It's a beautiful day to paint the waves." He murmured and pushed his glasses further up his nose, head tilting to the array of drawings (Y/N) had done of him throughout the years.

"Sounds wonderful, sweetheart."

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