#prompt: author of colour

[fingertipsmp3]

Okay I don’t know how this is going to work exactly but I’m not reading book synopses anymore, I’ve just decided

[writingunderneathawillow]

second base

part 1 here content warnings: angsty, undercover mission, mutual pining, bucky being the standard (chivalry is not dead as long as that man lives and he is immortal to me), canon typical violence (gunshots, BUT neither at Bucky nor you) word count: 1.9k a/n: due to popular demand (hehehe i’m so proud and grateful to say this) i’ve written a 2nd part :)

Bucky’s hand rested on your thigh, the velvet material of your dress keeping you from going fully insane at his touch. The warmth that spread from his fingers seeped through your skin straight into your veins and it was as if Bucky’s essence was transported to your heart. You didn’t dare shift, didn’t want to prompt him to move his hand in any way. His taste still lingered in your mouth, the fluttering sensation of his beard brushing up against you was practically printed into your memory as you held your breath, fearing that exhaling would take away the ghosts of the kiss you had shared. To say that your brain was wrecked after what had happened in your room was an understatement. There was not a single clear train of thought currently happening in your head and it killed you. What was that kiss? Did he do it do calm you down? To prepare you? To shut you up? Or, and you much preferred that version, did he do it because there was even the tiniest spark of affection for you in him?

Only seconds away from spiralling, you were glad when the car came to a halt in front of an incredibly boring building.

It was an art museum, specialising in glass and laser artworks, but it looked like some kind of futuristic blob of cement with strangely placed windows.

Bucky also evaluated the place where the gala, that you were going to attend as Mr and Mrs Alderton, was held with a displeased look. Unlike you however, it wasn’t the architecture style that he was scrutinizing but much rather the lack of emergency exits – just in case the two of you would have to make a quick getaway in the course of the evening.

Still he smiled at you, and opened his door, making sure to reach your side of the car within milliseconds to extend a hand to you.

Now, Bucky was born a gentleman. Opening doors came to him like second nature, same as offering up his seat for anyone in need and just general good manners.

While you were well aware that it was mainly due to his upbringing a couple decades ago, you still basked in his chivalry.

With a grateful smile your hand met his and he helped you out of the car, hovering in front of you as you fixed your dress quickly.

When you were finished with readjusting the fabric, he held out his arm and you took a deep breath before you accepted. Despite the heavy material of his suit jacket and pressed shirt, you still felt his muscles flex as he guided you towards the entry way of the museum where a young man with a tablet stood.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted Bucky and nodded to you, “Ma’am.”

The doorman’s gaze wandered over both of you expectantly and Bucky seemed to spring to action.

“Thomas and Gabriela Alderton,” he introduced your made-up personalities with a stern voice, one that was so similar to his own but somehow still differentiated.

It gave you light goosebumps, the words stricken with authority. He played his part of the wealthy, borderline aristocratic, man very well.

“Ah, welcome Mr and Mrs Alderton,” the doorman continued after quickly checking the guest list.

“Do enjoy yourselves,” he said and stepped aside to let the two of you pass with a subservient smile.

The inside of the building was objectively speaking even uglier than the outside. Thick, grey walls that swallowed the last bits of natural light from outside, imposed and cornered you in.

The lack of windows was incredibly unnerving, along with the fluorescent lighting that was just a tinge too bright.

With long strides, which you found hard to match, Bucky led you towards the sound of people. Bustling crowds, ostentatious conversations and flashy coloured dresses drenched your senses in overstimulation as two guards opened the door to the main area for the two of you.

The abrupt onslaught on your eyes and ears was countered by Bucky’s warmth at your side. Something about the way you could feel his chest expand every single time he breathed out seemed to ground you.

He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a server who walked by and passed you one. The cold crystal calmed your nerves just as much as the first sip of the bubbling liquid.

“Don’t quit breathin’ on me, yeah?” Bucky murmured into your ear. To an outsider, it might have looked like a husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, but his words buried themselves supportively into your heart and you nodded.

You didn’t know how else to answer him. The concern was palpable despite the quietness of his tone, and it melted your heart.

Part of you wished that he hadn’t kissed you. Maybe it would have made it easier to be in his proximity if you couldn’t distinguish the exact taste of his mouth, but that clearly wasn’t an option anymore.

You were not going to freak out.

To prove exactly that to both yourself and Bucky, you chuckled as if he had made a flirty joke, playing the part of his doting wife well.

He gave your arm a soft squeeze and led you further into the mass of people.

You spent the night doing exactly what you were here for: making connections and listening for traces of rumours about illegal weapon trafficking.

Reports of stolen guns and ammunition had made their way to your desks not too long ago. But not just any kind of guns and ammunition; it was alleged alien tech, originally stored by S.H.I.E.L.D. years ago at’ the Fridge’, and when it had been stolen, a whole lot of hell had broken loose. Which is why even the faintest of whispers about it possibly being sold and moved, had caught your attention and why you and Bucky were here in the first place.

At some point throughout the evening, the two of you attempted a new tactic: you separated.

Bucky made his way to a poker table that had been set up in the middle of the room; the seats were all occupied by men – rich men if you could trust their appearances. Your pretend husband melted into their ranks within seconds, and once again, you were surprised by how well he fit in with them.

Of course he was shamelessly good looking, but whenever you saw him, he was just Bucky. Bucky, who left his cups on the kitchen sink at the compound instead of putting them into the dishwasher; Bucky, who showered so hot that the air conditioning had to put up a fight; Bucky, who wore worn out jeans and second-hand hoodies.

But dressed in his expensive suit and surrounded by some of the richest men in the United States, he blended in like a chameleon.

Not that you were doing a poor job. You flashed bright smiles, gossiped with wives about your pretend horses and yachts, and recommended skin serums with genuine gold flakes (you had looked up the specific product to have something to talk about two days ago) to anybody who asked. In fact, you were so emersed in your role that you almost missed the shift in the air. The panicked whispers and the entrance of security guards might have slipped past you if you hadn’t felt a burning stare in your neck. When you moved your head, you locked eyes with Bucky and saw the way his jaw locked. He tipped his head ever so lightly towards the left, and you immediately understood the signal. With long but casual strides you made your way towards him, an easy smile plastered across your face. Every step towards him let your heart beat faster, every inch closer to him heightened your anxiety as it became easier to make out the hint of panic in his eyes. “Are we made?” You asked as you reached him, your voice so quiet that only he could hear you. He shook his head and another one of his fake laid-back smirks decorated his face as he looked at you. “They’re nervous,” he whispered and shifted slightly so that you could peer past his shoulder to the men he had conversed with just minutes ago. They were muttering among each other, their calm facades disrupted by the air of mistrust that hung above them like a cloud. “But they don’t know about us?” You demanded, making sure to keep your voice soft and smiled at him sweetly, just in case anyone was close enough to overhear. “Not as far as I can tell,” he clarified and ran a hand over your arm. You knew the gesture was to keep up appearances, but it was hard to remind yourself of that when it felt so good. However, the impending doom of potentially being figured out within the next few seconds kept your mind sharp. You were just about to ask Bucky what his plan was when chaos erupted. A woman, just a few feet away, screamed when the security guards made their way through the crowds, weapons loaded and pointed. At the sound of distress, you grabbed Bucky’s metal arm and pulled him forward. Farther, anywhere where both of you were out of danger, that is where you wanted him to be. You couldn’t even make out who the guards were heading for as people started fleeing. Someone ran into your side, almost knocking you out of your heels but Bucky steadied you and made sure you stayed at his side as he shoved you towards one of the doors. The empty hallway, that greeted you as Bucky pushed you through the door, was quiet and badly lit. There was no question that this area was off-limits for guests. But the first shot rang through the air, so whether you were allowed to be here or not was not your current concern. Bucky walked behind you, his large figure covering you, as his eyes darted around, looking for any way out of here. There was an inconspicuous door just a couple of feet away and he headed straight for it, keeping you in front of him. He grabbed the door handle, twisted and it gave in. With a last glance backwards, he put his hands on your hips and guided you into the room. Another gunshot sounded, and panic practically poured out of Bucky as he slammed the door shut behind him and only then did you realise that this was not an exit. This was a closet. A tiny one at that. Whether it was the alarm that Bucky felt or the adrenaline flushing his system, he lost his balance and tumbled right into you, hands stretched out to catch himself. But instead of stabilising himself on one of the shelves in the small room, he made contact with you. Or much rather, your breasts. His weight pushed you into the furthest wall as you somehow managed to catch both of your falls. Despite the dim lighting in the closet, you could make out Bucky’s eyes – wide with horror and embarrassment and even though you were quite literally in a life or death situation, you couldn’t bite back the comment that immediately came to you: “Guess you’re also going for second base tonight.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[kisakis-boyfriend]

A Taste of Pleasure

Author's Note: Mydei…Mydeimos, my darling — he deserves to have his holes wrecked and a belly full of cum~ I finished this just in time for his banner, good luck to everyone pulling for our pretty prince 👍

Pairings: Mydei x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Mydei, anal, rough sex, (self) cum eating, semi public sex

Once — that was enough to change the course for the rest of the night.

He teased you once, in the middle of the bathhouse, and you took that personally. Mydei's teasing sounded more like a provocation than playful banter, anyways, but when you knew him so intimately, nothing could fly over your head.

The calm surface of the water was interrupted by ripples as you and Mydei stood up, dripping water onto the bathhouse tiles as you walked down the hallway towards your private bath chamber. The halls are bathed in a mellow orange glow, creating a comfortably warm atmosphere for the guests. Flames dance every time you pass them by, flickering against the cream coloured walls.

The door opens smoothly, and you step inside, with Mydei following suit. The complementary bathrobes that the bathhouse provides still drip with water, though, at this point, it's much cooler than the lukewarm bath that's a part of your room. Mydei has stepped farther into the room than you have, and his muscles flex from the stretches he's doing, showcasing his back muscles beautifully.

“Here, let's get you out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold, hm?” you say with a smile, prompting your lover to turn around and eyeball you curiously. He likes to say that you dote on him too much — that he doesn't need someone to baby him, or invest so much time and effort into doing anything for him — but Mydei makes no effort of his own to truly stop it. He may grumble like a cheeky lion cub, but your lover allows you to undress him in that same careful manner that you always do.

And when your hands linger on his arms, tracing the veins and curves of Mydei's muscles, his expression softens just the slightest bit. Relaxing into your warm touch, Mydei hums, almost silently, as his bathrobe drops to the floor below. The, rather loud, wet plap it makes as it hits the tile certainly doesn't fit the mood…but you don't let that throw the moment off track.

“Much, much better~” you comment. Letting your eyes drift wherever they so please on your lover's body. Small water droplets slide down Mydei's solid abs, enchantingly working their way towards his–

“My eyes are up here.” His words draw your attention up to his face, where Mydei has narrowed his golden eyes in mild annoyance. “Watch it.” he warns — though you easily deduce that there isn't an ounce of malice, nor true anger in those two words.

You gingerly place your hands on his cheeks, squishing them ever so slightly. “What? Am I not allowed to admire my prince's handsomeness?” You tilt your head, brushing the pads of your thumbs along Mydei's soft cheeks. “Don't tell me you're getting shy now…?”

Mydei scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Whatever. Shouldn't you take your clothes off too? Or do you want to be the one who gets sick?”

“Then…” his breath hitches as you move one of your hands to the nape of his neck, scratching the smaller hairs that grow at the hairline. You lean in a bit, whispering a simple; “will you take them off for me?”

At this, Mydei gulps, searching your features for anything: a sign of trickery, a hint of playfulness, a little bit of bashfulness, even. He finds none of this, and concludes that your request is sincere. So, your lover uncrosses his arms, and hooks a finger underneath the thin sleeve on your shoulder, helping you pull your arm through the hole until it's free. Then, he mirrors the way you undressed him earlier; sliding the wet garment down your torso and hips, and letting it (once again…loudly) drop to the floor.

His gaze drifts down, taking note of how the sunlight reveals the light sheen of water still clinging to your stomach from the wet clothing. Drifting down further, Mydei's gaze lands on your–

“Hey, my eyes are up here.” Mydei quickly snaps his attention towards your face, his lips parted in disbelief. He frowns, huffing as his usual expression returns. “Not so easy to keep your eyes off of someone you really love, is it, De?” you wink at him, smiling so smugly it makes Mydei sick. No matter how much he hardens his demeanor, or creates a barrier between himself and everything and everyone else, you find a way to see through it, and tease him for his true feelings any chance you get.

“We should dry off now, love.” you say, leaning in for a kiss before you search for some dry towels. ......Except that one kiss turns into a couple kisses, then a couple more… and another one for good luck… and another kiss because Mydei's hands are guiding you closer… and just one more kiss, because his lips taste so damn good.

“Ah… mmm… y/n–” your beloved softly moans every time your lips part ways. He's almost breathless, getting a bit dizzy as your mouth sneaks away to leave a few kisses on his jawline and neck, before slinking back up to devour his lips once more. Mydei's attention shifts fully towards you, heightening his senses so that the slightest touch sends a tingle down the back of his neck.

You're not too different right now either — the only thing that your eyes are able to focus on is your darling, Mydei, blushing like a beautiful rose petal, and one well-timed, precise touch away from letting you have your way with him. And, right on cue, you trace Mydei's v-line, dragging your finger down lower, but stopping just at the base of his cock. You repeat this a couple more times, and that's all you needed to do to break through that final barrier of his.

“Enough– just…touch it already!” He barks, gripping your hips a little more desperately than he'd admit. You oblige him, and finally wrap your fingers around your beloved's cock; now standing fully erect and ready to be used. Although, he's in for a surprise, if he expects to find relief so easily.

Using that sweet tone that your darling secretly adores, you ask Mydeimos to turn around for you, and he complies like it's nothing. With his back now resting against your chest, your equally-as-erect dick brushes against Mydei's hole, rubbing in between his cheeks while you subtly hold his pecs. “Is this ok?” you confirm. And Mydei answers with a pitiful strain in his voice — evidence of how much you've made your lover crave this spontaneous fun. It's all too easy to knead his chest whilst sucking on his neck, earning the prettiest noises from your muscular boyfriend.

Your hands soon work their way downward, holding Mydei's hips while you pull back so that you can work your cock inside of him. Mydei groans as you push inside, acutely aware of how his body has a tight grip around your length. Still, even the shallow thrusting, and the head of your cock brushing against his walls gets your darling's heart rate up. He reaches up, behind his arm, grabbing at your bicep as he pleads; “Don't go easy on me, y/n — not after you wound me up so much–”

“nngh! Mm yeah… that's it…” Mydei drawls, tilting his head back while your hips move at a more fulfilling pace. Those firm, yet squishy pecs draw you in again, enticing you to squeeze Mydei's chest and play with his nipples until he's bucking his hips — chasing a touch that isn't there because his cock is the only thing not being stimulated.

So, you take that as a cue to give little Mydei some much needed attention. Stroking his length at a painfully slow pace, all while your own cock feels like it's about to explode. A single string of translucent fluid drips from your beloved's slit, dangling there while you jerk him off until you're creating squishy wet sounds with every stroke. But, you refuse to let him cum.

At this, Mydeimos growls, gritting his teeth as he attempts to hold in his release obediently. A task that's not exactly easy when his lover is pounding into him with great strength, at the moment. “Haah… harder! Harder! ah-aAAHH!!” With a moan so loud it almost hurts your ears, Mydei shivers as a warm stream of cum flows into his ass.

Panting is all that he can muster at the moment, seeing as his dick is now red and throbbing wildly in your grasp. You're still denying his orgasm, yet you won't stop stroking his length–

After what feels like an eternity of standing here while you tease his cock, Mydei's thighs begin to shake, and standing upright becomes harder and harder to do. You can see your beloved leaning forward, gradually buckling under your excruciating, torturous touch, until he's sunk to his knees, taking you down with him. Though, you can work with this just fine too~

“Fffuck! You're…relentless– gnngh!” He rasps, biting his bottom lip when you push right back inside, and begin slamming into him once more. His nails scrape against the tile while his entire body jerks forward with your every move, and Mydei can't even form a full sentence with you fucking into him so hungrily. Sweat begins to gather on Mydei's forehead, causing his bangs to cling to his skin, while the rest of his hair covers the lewd expression painted onto his face — features twisted into a picture perfect image of what pleasure must feel like.

Your expression isn't too different either, as you find yourself lost in the moment, connected to your lover in the most intimate, and literal, sense. His body is almost hypnotic in the ways it responds to your actions: Bouncing back on your cock even though Mydei's thighs wiggle like jelly. Back muscles flexing as his body arches whenever you hit that special button inside of him. Shoulders hunching when you lean over to kiss Mydei's pretty neck or back. Your darling's head flying back when you cum once again, hissing at the feeling of your warmth coating his insides — all as Mydei's cock weeps from the lack of attention and release.

As breathless and pliant as your beloved is at the moment, you're easily able to flip him onto his back, taking note of how his chest rises and falls with every deep breath. You swipe some wet hair away from his mouth, and cup his reddened cheek as you say; “How are you holdin' up, De?”

Mydei groans, arms going limp against the floor and retorting, “Haaah…just warmin' up…haha.” His body folds over with ease, feeling like a featherlight doll that you can maneuver however you so wish. In this new position, Mydei's knees are tucked right next to his head, and his cock hovers over his open mouth. The reddened tip of his length brushes against his reddened lips as you once again roll your hips into him, hitting his sweet spot each time.

With what little strength your beloved has left, he braces his hands against the ground, keeping himself planted in this spot and allowing his head to remain in place. Your grip on his legs tightens, and Mydei can tell that you're about to cum again.

You notice the glimmer in his eyes when he realizes that, and decide to give him what you know he craves the most in this moment. “Stick your tongue out for me?” you ask sweetly. Mydei obliges instantly, resembling a dog in the summer heat as he exhales visibly hot puffs of air. You push down on the back of his legs, and Mydei's wet tip brushes along his tongue, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut momentarily as the salty notes of his precum cover his tongue.

“Fuck! Cum for me, m-my love…” You blurt out. Mydeimos sucks on his own tip mindlessly, taking every deep thrust of your cock until you spill inside of him one last time. His mouth immediately floods with every drop of pent up lust that had been building inside. Eventually, his dick pops out, and Mydei continues cumming on his own face and cum-covered tongue. It's possibly the most obscene thing you've ever gotten your partner to do — and neither one of you wants this special moment to end.

Unfortunately, you don't have unlimited stamina, and it would seem that you reached your limit for today. As has Mydei, judging by his glassy, unfocused eyes. You gently unfurl his body, allowing him to lie there and gather his surroundings. Mydei had swallowed his cum almost immediately, but the rest of it remained on his pretty face, sticking to his cheeks, lips, eyelashes, and even in his bangs. You can't help thinking that this is the prettiest sight you've ever laid your eyes upon. It's definitely something you'd like to see again in the future, if your darling is up for it, of course.

[thevillainswhore]

A Balm To The Heart

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: After a long day at the woodyard, Bucky finds peace in his best girl’s arms.

Warnings: Pure unfiltered fluff, like the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed, Bucky’s POV, driving while sleepy (don’t do it!!), pet names, established relationship, oh and did I mention fluff?

Author’s Note: Divider by @saradika-graphics. Proofread by @buckys-wintersoldier thank you so much my darling, you’re my rock 🧡 This is part of @elixirfromthestars cafe writing challenge!! Using the prompt 🍞 “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” My first ever challenge I’ve been apart of and I had the most fun with it!! Thank you, my sweet Mel! 🥰

The Love In The Woods Collection ❄️

The sun began to lay on the precipice of the day, the light slowly fading out to make way for the dark of the night. Bucky fought the tiredness claiming his eyes, tempting him to fall asleep at the wheel. If you knew he was driving in his state, you’d throw a fit. 

But he had to make it home to his baby. 

Exhaustion weighed Bucky down from a long day at the woodyard. Hauling timber all day to prepare the town for the harsh winter coming up was enough to make his old joints ache with pain. However, with the lack of staff due to the storm blocking most of the roads, he had to do it all himself. 

Bucky just wanted to sink into you. 

All day, he was tormented by the prettiest image of you snuggled into your shared bed, pouty lips and pleading eyes begging him to call in sick, to stay home with you. 

And even though his sanity was tested, Bucky regretfully declined. All the old folks needed wood to keep their homes heated in the cold season and his mind wouldn’t have settled knowing a full day would be lost to his own selfishness. 

Though as he drove back to his cabin, rivers of golden beams shining into his truck, Bucky wished he had taken your offer.  

Although, his sourness sweetened into a warm affection as he caught the glint of his wedding ring in the dying sunlight. 

You love sunsets, Bucky smiled to himself. He had to take you to the top of the mountains to watch another one soon.

He could imagine you at home, watching the remnants of the day with its beautiful colours reflecting into your eyes. 

Sunsets mean the end of the day, fresh starts and hope that tomorrow will bring us more peace than today. Remember that, Bear. 

Your voice instantly calmed the mess in his mind, the stress that had wound his muscles tight. With a heavy sigh, Bucky let go of the toll the day had taken on him and instead focused on where the path ahead would lead him — you. 

The truck grumbled to a stop in the driveway and Bucky didn’t bother stopping to grab his tools or his bags. The pink painted door called to him, called your name, his home. 

Throwing the door open, Bucky quickly shook off his coat and boots. His steps didn’t falter as he made his way to the bedroom. Not when he began peeling his clothes off one by one on the way. Not when emotion clogged up his eyes at the smell of your sweet scent lingering around the house. 

And there you were as he entered his bedroom. Once crafted by his bare hands as part of his first home after he left college, now his safe space in which he was lucky enough to share with his wife. His haven. 

It looked like you hadn’t moved from the morning. Still tangled in the sheets, your hair was messy from your tossing and turning, though your skin glowed beautifully in the golden sunlight that shimmered through the window. The orange tones that tattooed your body almost gave you a vintage look and the sight was enough to render Bucky speechless. 

Just like the day you showed up on his doorstep after years apart. 

Your smile was blinding as you looked up at him, tearing yourself away from your fantasy book he knew you loved so much and placing it on the nightstand. “Hey, baby. I missed you.” 

If that didn’t do things to Bucky’s heart. 

“Dolly,” he gasped, a slight whine to his voice. 

Instantly, because you’re so well in tune with him, your arms opened wide — an invitation to join you. “Come here, you big lug.” 

Bucky didn't waste another second. Clad in only his underwear, he all but jumped onto the bed, the pristinely crafted wood of the frame creaking from old age. 

You shifted the duvet to swaddle around his frame once he reached you, cocooning him in your accumulated warmth over the day. Feeling your bare skin against his after hours away from you was liberating, like he had ascended to heaven. Even after years of wedded bliss, Bucky still got tingles whenever the two of you touched. 

You were pure magic wrapped in a bottle. 

“Can I lay my head on you?” Bucky asked quietly, relishing in the serenity you so easily provided him. 

You laughed, the sound mesmerising to his ears. “Like you even have to ask. Tell me about your day, Bear.” 

Needing no other permission, Bucky laid in your arms. Positioning his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your stomach and his legs intertwined with yours. He was so much bigger than you, comically so. But Bucky needed to lose himself in your softness from time to time. 

He groaned as the muscles in his joints finally had a chance to relax. “I would much rather hear about your day, sweetheart. Lemme hear your voice for a while, will ya?” 

Bucky looked up to find your cheeks tightened from the large, bashful smile on your face, one that he knew you had tried to smother but failed to do so. They were his favourite. 

You shook your head fondly and squeezed him before beginning to recall your day. It wasn’t filled with much — mostly with bathroom breaks when you could rip yourself out of bed, a trip to the home library down the hall to pick the next book of your series, and lastly an hour of baking. Even so, Bucky listened to you intently, his soul replenishing more with each activity you listed off. 

Because that was his goal in life. His vow to you in marriage. To make your life as easy and simple as possible. To bring you peace when the world threatened to dull your sparkle. 

And boy was he satisfied to know he had achieved that. 

Bucky’s eyes began to grow heavy, the kind that he couldn’t fight any longer. You must have noticed from the loosening of his limbs and the sudden lightness to his body. “Are you sleepy, baby?” 

The rhythm of your heart soothed him as he murmured a lazy hum of agreement. 

“You can rest now, Bear.” Your soft voice sounded further away as sleep started to overtake him, like the prettiest lullaby he’d ever heard. “I’ve got you.” 

Before the whispers of slumber could steal him, though, Bucky smiled — drunken and free. “I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.”

The giggle that vibrated from your body to his only made him fall even more in love with you. Bucky purred like a cat as you ran your nails through his hair and finally let himself go. 

The last sensation that registered in his mind was the feeling of your lips pressed against his head and a last declaration of love. “Thank you for being the reason it does.” 

[sundrop-writes]

Blood In The Water

Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Beg me for mercy - admit you were toxic.

Now I am the violence, I am the sickness.

Won’t accept your silence - beg me for forgiveness.

We’ll never get free, lamb to the slaughter.

What you gon do when there’s Blood In The Water?

Summary:

Being Stiles's best friend, you are incredibly worried about him when you figure out that he is quite literally not himself - and that the thing currently occupying his body could be destroying it in the process. When you approach him to show this concern, Void takes a particular interest in you. He's not capable of love, or even fondness, but he likes you.

And he likes the way your fear spikes when you talk about Stiles. So he makes you a deal - he'll agree to take care of this fleshy, mortal host, in exchange for something more precious, more rare, and more delicious than the meal you have brought for Stiles.

He wants your pain. He wants your tears.

Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader. Pining Best Friends. Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt No Comfort. Set during Season 3 (with flashbacks to Season 1, Episode 11).

Word Count: 11,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: as it says above - this is pure angst, hurt NO COMFORT, please heed that warning, if this is not something you are into, please leave now; this is set during Season 3, but not during any particular episode; I guess I need to put warnings for demon possession and identity theft (even though for the entirety of the fic, the reader does know that Stiles is not himself on the basis of knowing him so well, and she is talking to Void ernestly); this fic is about Void and the Reader interacting and discussing the relationship and feelings between Stiles and the Reader; the reader and Stiles have had mutual romantic feelings for each other for a long time but never acted on them, and at the point when the fic begins, their relationship is described as long-term best friends; the reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned to wear a dress and high heels to the winter formal dance; the reader's race, hair colour, size or looks in general are not described in any way (Void does call the reader 'little' but it is meant to be emotionally condescending, rather than a description of her size); this fic DOES use Y/N (proudly so); mentions of Stiles not eating/being starved because Void refuses to participate in 'human pleasures' (and he considers food to be one of those); Void is a demon who is fed by pain and he enjoys the Reader's fear, sadness, embarrassment, emotional pain, and other negative emotions, and he can feel those emotions in the air as she experiences them, so he is encouraged to do and say things that prompt negative reactions from her; Void calls the reader 'sweet thing' and 'darling' and 'little girl'; passing mention of Stiles watching porn (but the general tone of this fic is not sexual); Void compares the reader to Stiles's 'mommy' (because she is the only one who has ever given him soft, 'maternal' comfort and understanding) - but it's not a Mommy kink thing (or maybe it is for Stiles, you don't know that); mentions of eating diary and meat being 'cruel' (but I am not a vegan, it's just Void commenting on the way humans do things); the reader considers cutting herself with a knife to 'feed' Void her physical pain (but Void wants emotional pain instead); Void asks the reader to relive a painful memory by telling him about it, therefore feeding him with her emotional pain; Void threatens the reader with physical harm and even murder (to make her more fearful, and to taunt Stiles, who is forced to witness all of this); there is flashbacks to the winter formal episode in S1; mentions of the reader being jealous because Stiles took Lydia to the dance (and the reader hates the jealousy it evokes in her because she doesn't want to pit herself against Lydia and she wants to be happy for Stiles); mentions of Lydia being attacked by Peter Hale (as is canon); mentions of alcohol - the reader takes one sip of alcohol but does not get drunk during the fic; mentions of drunk driving (the reader drives after that sip of alcohol and questions if this 'counts' as drunk driving, and other people are accused of driving drunk, but in this fic, drunk driving is not actually the cause of any accidents); Stiles gets into a life-threatening car accident - mentions of blood and grievous bodily injury; mentions of Stiles needing surgery due to the car accident; mentions of blood; graphic descriptions of a character being stabbed. I believe that's it?

A/N: I have a lot to say here, so strap in. First of all, you're probably wondering why you're seeing this now. That is because I have been going through a very bad patch of mental illness (fuelled by multiple things, including the state of my physical illness) and when that happens to me, I become like a big spinning top of agitation and bad energy. And I feel the need to work on a project to avoid bad practices like self harm. And after a lot of whirling around and only working on certain projects for a few minutes at a time, I was cleaning out my files just to keep my mind occupied, and I came across the pictures I had saved to make the moodboard for this fic and I was like 'I can't delete those yet because I wanna use those to make the fic cover'. So I decided to make the fic cover, and it spiralled into me editing the whole fic just to keep my agitated upset mind busy and focused on something other than the fact that I am upset. So - good for you guys. You get a new fic. As for the actual content of this fic - I wanted to mark it as both Void x Reader and Stiles x Reader, but I figured that wouldn't make sense to most people. Because this is about Stiles and the Reader having mutual crushes on each other for a long time, and Void enjoying the embarrassment of taunting them about it, as well as the pain that comes from their pining and the potential of hurting the other and forcing them to watch. And Void does take a kind of 'liking' to the Reader, but because he's a demon, it's not necessarily romantic? Idk. I just have a lot of fun writing demon characters as complete bastards (I will never get people who write characters like Void, Anti, Dark as secret softies - like please, write a villain as a villain. It's more fun that way). So please - enjoy my take on this awful bastard. I had a lot of fun writing it. (Also I would like to note that I wrote this before I saw the end of 3A so I thought the 'crashing the Jeep' thing was a totally organic idea on my part lmao.)

...

“Stiles hasn’t eaten in days.” 

You stated it very matter-of-factly, rather than asking if he had eaten or theorizing about it. It was something that you knew concretely. 

Usually, Stiles was someone who was very passionate about food. He complained about missing lunch and hated being rushed to eat rather than getting to enjoy his food if you were nagging him about being late and had somewhere to be. 

The only time you had ever seen him miss meals was when he got particularly sucked into his reading and researching. And usually, when his concentration finally broke, he would whine about his stomach hurting and only remember why when the smell of curly fries came under his nose because you had put the bag in front of him. 

But even in that case, he had never missed more than a single meal. 

You had never seen him go days without touching a single bit of food - without so much as mentioning something greasy he was craving or talking about a destination take-out spot that the two of you needed to go to on the weekend. 

You had to guess that it was around the time that He had taken control. Or at least, around about when He had stopped caring to pretend to be human. When He had stopped putting up a front. 

“Observant little thing, aren’t you?” He titled his head in that way that was so distinctly un-Stiles, giving you a small smirk as his words penetrated you with that utterly mocking tone. 

It was strange, staring at the face of your long-time best friend and referring to him in the third person. Starting to think about him as though he wasn’t even there when you were staring right at him. Though it had only been a few days, you had long since given up the hope that you were talking to Stiles. You knew that this was someone else - something else entirely. 

You were still clinging onto the hope that you could get Stiles through this and he wouldn’t be entirely damaged beyond recognition on the other side. 

Hence, why you were trying to feed him now. 

It had been at least four days since you had seen him take a single bite of food, and you had been carefully observing him the entire time. So you had arrived at his place today with an armful of Stiles’s favorite foods. You felt lucky to catch him alone while the others were out chasing leads - or perhaps, unlucky. Perhaps he would have eaten in front of them just to prove that he was still himself. But you were hoping to tempt him with the smell, at the very least. 

Surely, he had to be hungry? 

Laid out on the table in front of you was a variety of things - all kinds of things you knew would have had Stiles gorging himself in minutes. A disgustingly large and greasy double cheeseburger with curly fries and a strawberry milkshake, an extra large supreme meat lover’s pizza, an entire pack of Honey Buns, and a grocery store birthday cake - chocolate with vanilla icing. All of which elicited oddly painful memories for you, now that your best friend was being held hostage by a thousand year old demon. 

Everything from movie nights where the two of you would share a pizza and argue about what kind of toppings to get, to the times that the two of you would buy a birthday cake like this and eat it in his Jeep with no such occasion for it - just because you wanted to celebrate life and didn’t want to need a reason for such a treat. Nights when balancing it between your laps and eating with plastic forks was all the joy in the world that you needed. 

Nights before your life became so hellishly complicated. 

“Let me guess… you’re trying to tempt me?” He posed, moving his finger across the icing of the birthday cake, and then looking at the white glob on his finger with intense disgust before moving to wipe it off on a napkin. 

Of course, he wouldn’t even consider eating that small amount. He was taunting you. He knew that at this current moment, it was your greatest desire to see your friend eat - to know that even though you were entirely powerless against such a complicated and mysterious demonic force, you could do this one small thing in your power to take care of him. 

You couldn’t save Stiles, but you wanted to care for him - just for a moment. You wanted to make a difference - even if it was as small as a grain of sand in an hour-glass. You thought it would help. 

“Even you have to eat, don’t you?” You returned with a question. “You can’t risk your host dying, right?” 

It was something you had wondered. 

You hadn’t seen him drinking water either, and you didn’t think that he had slept at all. As far as you knew, he hadn’t attended to any of Stiles’s human needs. But according to the sallow, almost gray nature of his skin and the dark bags under his eyes - he wasn’t exactly in perfect health right now. So perhaps he did run the risk of actually killing Stiles altogether because he didn’t know how to take care of a human host. 

Void smirked as he felt that flash of fear - the utter terror that overcame you at the thought of Stiles dying from neglect. 

“Need I remind you, sweet thing?” 

He started, the nickname causing a shiver of creepiness down your skin, like the feeling of walking into a spiderweb. 

“I don’t eat the same deep-fried, fat filled crap that he does.” He looked across the table with disdain coating his features once again. “I feed upon the suffering of others.” 

These words caused a wicked chill down your spine. 

It was something that Scott had warned you of, but you hadn’t actually considered what it truly meant. 

“So by depriving Stiles of his worldly pleasures - his music, his laughter, his pornography - which he watches far too much of, by the way.” Void let out a devious chuckle at this, and you didn’t even have time to think about the implications of this before he continued. “And especially by depriving him of food and sleep, I get to feed off his precious suffering.” 

It was a terrible paradox. Void thrived while Stiles withered. 

“And as of late, I have been so deliciously full.” 

A lump formed in your throat - if you knew any words apt for this situation, you wouldn’t have been able to get them out anyway. Void’s smirk grew wider. Indulging in your suffering, in your fear for your best friend, your horror at these realizations - Void continued. 

“But - among all those things, you know what he misses most of all?” 

He posed, talking slowly, his voice calculated, mocking you with another head tilt. It was as though he was looking down upon you even though he was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table and you were standing across from him on the other side of the room. 

You choked on a miserable syllable - no words came out. Part of you wanted to know the answer very badly, and part of you wanted him to shut up. You simply shook your head in reply. 

“He misses you.” 

Void whispered these words as though it was a precious secret. And then - he let out a grand cackle of a laugh, bordering on a howl as he continued to mock you. 

Your insides shook, and you became foggy with confusion - how did Stiles miss you more than he missed food or water or sleep? How did he ‘miss you’ so much when you were standing right here in front of him? Did the presence of this horrid being keep Stiles from seeing you or hearing you? Was he trapped so terribly inside his own body? 

Was this like a coma for him? Would he not remember any of this when it was over?

You could only hope that was the case. 

“He begs and pleads every time I won’t let him touch you.” Void grinned, letting out another laugh - clearly pleased by the idea of Stiles’s misery. “He is so damn desperate to hold you. It’s hilarious, really. Especially because - at the same time, he’s terrified of what I’ll do if I get too close.” 

These words put a terrible knot in your stomach. 

You could only imagine how terrible it was for Stiles - he was a naturally touchy person, and now, someone else was controlling his body, keeping him from participating in the physical affection that he craved. Threatening to put his loved ones in danger if he did get the love that he desperately craved. 

You didn’t want to know what Void would do if you walked across the room to hug Stiles. But at the same time, it made you yearn to hold him, to squeeze him tight, to give him the comfort he was clearly so badly in need of. Especially now that you knew his consciousness was still in there, alert and alive, fighting to get out. 

“He’s so pathetic.” Void remarked softly. “He misses his Mommy, and… well, you’re the only one who ever treated him like a Mommy would. Isn’t that right?” 

This sentiment confused you entirely. 

You stared at him, gape-jawed, waiting for an explanation, and luckily - he did give you one. 

“You held him close, and kissed his boo-boos. You… you were the only one who told him he was good enough when he never fucking was.” 

You instantly wanted to argue this point, but you were more caught up on the overarching metaphor that Void was making. 

All of the individual points were true. You had done all of those things for Stiles. But you didn’t see how that made you Stiles’s Mommy. It just made you a good friend. 

“My Stiles is good enough.” You argued weakly, finally finding your words. “He’s a good person, and you can’t change that about him. He’s still in there. And he’s still going to be a good person after all this.” 

Void tutted his tongue, giving another mocking smirk. 

“Still at it.” He laughed. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t care to respond to that. 

“Beautifully relentless.” Void sighed, sounding almost dreamy as he said this. He sounded as if he admired this quality in you. 

Which he did. But he admired this about you for one specific reason. 

“See… that’s what makes the fear so fucking delicous.” He continued on, explaining. “When someone so bright, so full of hope finally gives up. When their spirit finally breaks. It permeates the air better than the smell of a rotting corpse - and it’s so fucking beautiful.” 

You chose not to respond to this - baffled by his words, and slightly frightened. 

Instead, you wondered something else. 

“What happens if Stiles doesn’t eat?” You asked. “You said that you’re full, but he’s still human. It’s still a human body. A body that you’re currently living in.” 

Void clapped his hands together a few times, slowly, giving you dry, sarcastic applause for your cleverness. 

“Good question. Clever little girl.” He congratulated you, causing another wave of ‘ick’ to roll through you at his condescending tone. “He is my host, but currently, I rule all. I give him strength, I eliminate all his weaknesses. I turn his pathetic human form into the ultimate weapon. With me inhabiting his body, he does not need to eat, sleep, or drink. He does not need such tiny fallacies as comfort.” 

“And what happens when you leave?” You posed. 

“If I choose to leave.” Void smirked at you. 

“When.” You ground out sharply, arguing, feeling braver the longer that you stood there and talked to him. 

To you, he wasn’t all that scary. 

Scott had warned you that Void was clever - that he would manipulate you and try to hurt you. But thus far, you hadn’t seen the route to any tricks. He seemed very straight-forward and honest. He seemed very plainly painted in his cruelty. 

“If I choose to leave this host and move onto another, then… I suppose that he’ll collapse.” Void shrugged, speaking about it as if it were no more interesting to him than a fly in his peripheral. “Without my strength keeping him alive, all the exhaustion, all the hunger, all the thirst - it will hit him, all at once. He may even die from the shock alone. His body will be too weak and fragile to handle it.” 

A surge of terrible anger flooded you. Perhaps it was fueled by fear, but either way, it drove you to smack your hand down onto the table, nearly smashing the birthday cake before you screamed out, finally lashing out on him. 

“Motherfucker!” You called Void the first cruel name that came to mind, and he didn’t give any indication of reaction at your throat scraping volume. “You stupid bastard! You are gonna get out and give Stiles his body back, and when you do, you’re gonna return it in good fucking condition! You understand me?” 

Void simply smirked, seeming entirely amused by your outburst. 

Of course, he wasn’t scared of you - a powerless human. You had nothing to threaten him with. Even if you had the powers of a werewolf, he still wouldn’t fear you. 

“There’s that spunk he’s always talking about.” Void said, an odd kind of fondness peeking through his voice that didn’t suit him. “You know, it’s almost… cute. I’m starting to understand why he likes you so much.” 

You only became more pissed off at being called ‘cute’ when you were so boiling angry. It was entirely aggravating - someone being so condescending toward your rage. 

Then, it hit you that the ‘he’ Void spoke about had to be Stiles. Did the two of them have conversations? Why would Stiles bother to praise you to a thousand year old demon? 

It caused more of your affection for Stiles to bubble up inside you, and you hated it. 

“Look, darling, because I like you, I’ll make you a deal,” Void posed, giving you yet another pet name that made you feel oddly disgusted. 

Stiles had called you plenty of friendly nicknames before - he had even called you ‘babe’ jokingly, on occasion. But ‘darling’ had never spilled from his lips toward you. It was just another horrible reminder that he was so terribly not himself. That the thing wearing his face, puppeting him around was not Stiles. 

“What deal?” You replied. 

It was best to move on and start thinking of ways to take care of Stiles - ways to get him out of this mess. 

“I’ll eat something for Stiles if you do something for me in return.” 

You knew that he kept his wording purposefully vague. And you knew that this was likely what Scott had talked about - his intention to trick you. But Void had you right where he wanted you - desperate, fearful. He was manipulating you using emotions that he didn’t have. 

“What do you want from me?” You dared to ask. 

He smirked. 

“I’ll tell you after Stiles has been fed.” 

You took a moment to consider it, knowing that it was likely a terrible idea to agree to anything when it came to him. But he had you backed into a corner. He knew that he could get you to do anything while holding the culpability of Stiles’s wellbeing over your head. 

“Oh no,” Void said, using an oddly soft, pained tone that varied so much from the emotionless, mocking tone he had been using before. He gripped at Stiles’s stomach, and let out a groan of pain that you knew had to be fake, as he professed before that he made Stiles’s body strong and invincible. “He’s begging for you to help him! You’re right, he hasn’t eaten in days, and he’s really feeling it now! It’s killing him!” 

He was using your empathy to manipulate you. 

“Stop it.” You protested, and it came out much weaker than you had intended - sounding much more like a plea than an order. 

He clutched his stomach tighter, and then, he looked up at you with the saddest water eyes you had ever seen - for a moment, a single breath of a moment - you saw Stiles, your Stiles break through. 

“Please, Y/N.” He said, crying out your name breathlessly. “Please, I’m so hungry.” 

“Fine, fine!” You cried in return, barely realizing how close to tears you were, seeing Stiles beaten down, weak, begging for you to help him. “Fine, you’ve got a deal!” 

In a moment of weakness, rushing to help Stiles, you reached out your hand to shake on it, signifying your promise - and in an instant, Void’s face shifted from that soft, vulnerable boy you knew back to that horrible demon, glaring at you as he reached out and grabbed your hand. You knew that many stories cautioned against making a deal with the devil, and you supposed that making a deal with Nogistune was just as bad. 

But it was done now. All you could do was hope that Stiles would benefit from this. 

A short while later, he had scoffed down a very large piece of cake and was halfway done with the cheeseburger, with you intently watching the whole time to make sure that there were no tricks involved on his part. You thought that the meal would mostly be silent, but he finally spoke up again, looking a bit less intimidating with some remnants of the meal smeared across his face. 

“You know, one thing I can credit humans for…” He said, swallowing before he picked up one of the fries. “Their talent for cruelty. Grinding up an animal, frying it in its own melted fat and then covering it in the stolen milk meant to suckle its babes - that is something I can admire.” 

“I’m sure vegans would love you.” You mumbled quietly, to yourself, not entirely sure if he could hear you. 

“You should join me.” He remarked after another bite - motioning toward the table full of food. “It’s more polite than standing over me like a statue, gawking at me the whole time.” 

You knew that with him holding Stiles hostage, you were in no position to refuse him. So you played right into his demands, pulling out the chair across from him without a word and flipping open the pizza box to grab a slice. You began eating in silence, and naturally - Void continued speaking. 

“This is almost like one of those little dates that you used to have with him, isn’t it?” He spoke quietly, mocking you once again. “At least, that’s what Stiles called them. Dates. He was deluded enough to believe that if he didn’t speak it aloud, his affection for you would simply be known.” 

This punched you in the gut, and you bit your tongue as you took your first bite of pizza. You sputtered with shock and Void continued to look amused. You never thought it was true. Scott always said that Stiles had feelings for you, and Lydia said so too - but you thought they were just theorizing. 

You had never, ever thought that your best friend and long time crush - the person you were in love with - would ever feel the same way about you. 

And you had to find out from a fucking demon. 

You remained silent, busying your mouth with eating as you tried to process the shocking news. 

“But we both really know what it was, huh? He was so pathetic… he didn’t want to be rejected by you, so he never even asked. He was never brave enough. Always so pitiful, and small. Your boy is just a coward.” 

Again, you didn’t say anything. Not playing into his game - unaware of the fact that he could feel your annoyance in the air. He didn’t need you to voice your emotions in order to gain satisfaction from mocking Stiles in your presence. 

So of course, he kept on going. 

“But not as pathetic as he is right now. Sweet and pathetic, begging for your life. Begging for me to spare you. It’s almost like a song. He keeps on telling me to stay away from you as if he has any power over this.” 

“Just shut up and eat.” You told him, sharp and even. 

He nodded and continued, seemingly content with the deal you had made - for now. 

And he finished the burger and fries, and two of the Honey Buns before scrunched up the wrapper on the last one, and then wiped his face with an utterly contented smile. Then he said: 

“Now, time for what I want.” 

You wiped off your face and hands with a napkin, done with your pizza - not having much of an appetite anyway with the situation at hand. There was a flash of worry in your mind. Wondering if he might ask you to kill someone for his benefit because they wouldn’t be expecting it to come from you. Or perhaps he might even ask for something sexual - 

He let out a bright chuckle - almost as if reading your mind and highly amused by your thoughts. 

“No, no. Don’t worry, darling. Nothing like that.” He told you. “I feed off of suffering. Precious pain. Anxiety, heartache, fear. Now it’s time for me to eat.” 

You thought he might say something like that. And you had come prepared with that in mind - prepared to give up anything to get Stiles back. 

You reached into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a small pocket knife. It was one that Scott had given you shortly after you found out that he had become a werewolf. He had never wanted to hurt you, so - it was silver plated steel, and he had Stiles burn Wolfsbane smoke over the blade to poison it - just in case you ever needed a weapon against one of his kind. It would be useless against Void, and the Wolfsbane wouldn’t poison a human like you. 

But the blade was more than sharp enough to cut you. It would hurt you. It would provide the pain that Void desired. 

You shoved your sleeve up to your elbow and poised the blade at your skin, but Void reached out, stopping you. 

For a heart-stopping moment, you thought that somehow, Stiles had regained control. 

But when your eyes flickered up to his face, you saw nothing but Void’s dark amusement lingering in those eyes. This left you confused as he took the knife from your limp grip. 

“As amusing as that would be, sweet thing, it’s rather… boring.” He declared tiredly. “I had something else in mind.” 

Your throat dried up, and you didn’t even realize that you were trembling as you stared him down with terrible, anxious anticipation, waiting to see what he had in store for you. 

Void licked his lips, practically lapping up the delicious, sweet taste of your fear. 

He pocketed the knife and walked around the table toward you. You resisted the urge to get up and run away as he bracketed so close to your side, leaning on the table and tucking his face close to your cheek. Being this close to him, as close as you had been to Stiles since he had been taken hostage - you could almost be tricked by the faint smell of the familiar body wash coming off his skin, by the warmth that you knew to be so human. 

But this wasn’t Stiles. A thought that only made it all feel so much worse. 

It caused you to hold back tears. 

“No, no, darling.” He whispered against your cheek, causing your throat to clench up again. “If I wanted your pain, I could have it. I could take it.” 

Fuck. What had you gotten yourself into? 

You held back a fearful whimper, and Void joyfully continued. 

“I could smack you, punch you, make you bleed.” 

He went on - the confidence of his words causing your trembling to become more apparent as your heart pounded in your chest. You considered running, but that would mean abandoning Stiles. You came here to check on him - to fight for him. You couldn’t chicken out now. 

“I could take your pathetic little knife and stab you, over and over again while Stiles screams and begs for mercy. I do love it when he begs for your life - he’s so much more desperate when it comes to you.” 

Dear god. Would he actually kill you just to force Stiles to watch? Did Stiles have to be conscious for something like that? 

Would he force Stiles to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of not being able to stop your murder? With him in control, would Stiles even live that much longer? 

“But no. That’s not the game I want to play. Not right now, at least.” 

You hated that he likely saw the breath of relief as it flexed from your chest. 

“What -what do you want, then?” You asked, your throat still clenched by fear, making your words come out choked and weak. 

He put a hand on your cheek - one that felt all too familiar. The hand you had held while walking to class, or cuddling on the couch. The hand that dismissively waved in front of your face when you told him that he had come up with another horrible idea. Void turned your face toward him, and you were then up close and personal with the horrible sight of a pain-fueled demon wearing your sweet best friend’s face. 

“I want your tears.” 

Of course. Emotional pain, rather than physical. You would dare to say that it would be even more potent. 

Good thing you were already so close to crying. 

You would just have to spend a few more minutes thinking about Stiles trapped in there, helpless-

“Tell me about the accident.” He declared, smirking, finding the whole ordeal very satisfying. 

“No.” You immediately replied. 

It was too painful. You couldn’t even think about it, it was too much- 

“No?!” He screamed in your ear, causing you to flinch. “Nobody tells me ‘no’! You promised me something, you stupid little bitch. Now hold up your end of the deal.” 

Sadly, he was right. You had made a deal with him - and if this was part of carrying it out… you would have preferred the pocket knife. 

Even just thinking about that night - the blood, the twisted metal, the terror you had felt. The anxiety, the waiting. It had all been so horrible. It had been hell. A worse hell than a dinner date with a demon who was wearing your best friend as a human skin suit. 

Already, Void felt a deep satisfaction as those emotions began to permeate the air around the two of you. To him, it was the most beautiful kind of poison. He took a deep whiff, and then leaned in close again, running his nose along your hairline to sniff you. 

You shrugged away from the touch, but didn’t have far to go without falling off your chair completely. You were happy when he pulled away again - feeling used and wishing for nothing more than Stiles’s comforting touch and assuring words. 

“Perfect.” He mumbled quietly to himself. “You know, Stiles hardly remembers any of it. The night is almost completely blank in his mind.” 

You didn’t know that. After the hospital, the two of you had never bothered to talk about it in order to compare stories. Like you always did, the two of you just moved on. You looked forward to brighter days, thankful that your friendship was still intact. 

“But I know that you remember everything. Every. Single. Last. Detail.” Void said, giving another terrible laugh. 

He grabbed onto the back of your chair, and using a strength that you knew didn’t belong to Stiles, he roughly tugged on it, forcing it away from the table and spinning you to face him. He came back around to stand in front of you - now, he would be the one standing to loom over you, watching you while you provided him with a delicious meal. 

“So, come on,” He prodded. “I want to hear the whole story. And you better not leave anything out.” 

He stood there in complete satisfaction, his arms crossed as he grinned down at you with a devilish smile. 

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with your fingers for a moment. You gathered your courage, and then you began to speak. 

This is for Stiles, you assured yourself. For Stiles. 

“Well, it was the night of the winter formal.” You started off. “And when I saw Stiles screech out of the parking lot in his Jeep at top speed-” 

“No, no.” Void shook his head, cutting you off. “I said start at the beginning.” He scolded you sharply. “That’s not the beginning, is it? I want all the details. Go back to the beginning of the night.” 

“Are you serious?” 

At first, you were utterly confused. He asked you to tell him about the accident. What did a high school dance have to do with a car accident? 

“Of course, darling.” He smirked at you. 

Then, it hit you. He didn’t just want the gorey details. He wanted every ounce of your suffering. He wanted Stiles to suffer too. Especially if he said that Stiles didn’t remember it. He wanted you to recount the entire night to Stiles from your perspective. It was why he had brought up Stiles’s ‘affection’ for you. 

He wanted both of you to suffer in the misery that you had been in love with each other for so long and not been together. The stupidity that you were both blind idiots who kept each other from happiness the whole time. 

So you took a breath, and you told your story how he wanted to hear it, starting from the beginning of the night. 

… 

You were utterly miserable. 

It was one of the biggest dances of the year (well, aside from Prom and Homecoming…) and you didn’t have a date. You had spent a huge chunk of money, your savings from a crappy minimum wage job waiting tables, on a gorgeous dress and shoes, hoping that Stiles would ask you to the dance. But he was going with Lydia. 

You guessed that you had to be happy for him. He had been crushing on her since the third grade, and he was finally going on a date with her. A good best friend would be happy for him. 

But naturally, you were still trying to look your absolute best, maybe, selfishly, in the hope that he would see you from across the room and realize that he had made the wrong choice. Lydia was an amazing, sweet girl - and you genuinely hated the type of jealousy that this was making you feel. 

You knew that logically, you had no claim over Stiles. He was just your friend, and he was more than free to go on dates with other girls. It was downright toxic of you to not ask him to the dance and then get upset when he happily went with someone else as his date. 

But you tried not to think about that as you put the finishing touches on your look. You had gone all out with your best hair and make-up to compliment your expensive crystal blue satin dress. Whether it was to make yourself feel better or to try and capture Stiles’s attention - you still weren’t entirely sure. 

“Lip-gloss?” Allison appeared behind you, holding a hand out, looking for the aforementioned product. 

You handed it to her and she leaned down, looking into the mirror of your vanity while applying it. She had told you that getting ready at her own house would have simply been ‘too weird’ because she was fighting with her family, and she wanted some calm down time. So she had asked to get ready with you, with the offer that Jackson could give you both a ride from there. 

“Look, I’m sorry.” She said, feeling too awkward in the silence as you applied your mascara, focusing on your work and not looking at her in the mirror. She knelt down beside you, guilt written across her face. “If I had known that you liked Stiles, I wouldn’t have set him up with Lydia.” 

“It’s not a big deal.” You remarked. “Like you said, you didn’t know.” After a moment, you added on: “It’s kind of… good. Like a relief. I almost feel like it’s less pressure.” You shrugged. “I can just go and have fun without worrying about impressing him.” 

You had been lying to yourself. You absolutely hated it with every fiber of your being. You didn’t want to be angry with Allison, but you knew that she was better friends with Lydia than she was with you. That’s why she hadn’t known about your feelings for Stiles before now. When she had asked why you seemed so upset about the news that the two were going to the dance together, you told her, and she explained with a sour, sad face that she had set them up. 

You hated it, but you couldn’t help thinking that this was the first step to Stiles and Lydia becoming a thing - the first act in them dating for long months while you resented Lydia for stealing something you once saw as yours. 

And you hated yourself for being that kind of person. 

Allison chuckled at this. 

“Yeah… Well, Scott’s not going at all, so none of us get to go with the person we want to be with.” She said in a deeply sad tone, obviously aching from her own problems. 

… 

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Void commented, drawing you from the memory. “A pretty girl spends too much money on a dress, trying to impress some moron who won’t even notice it.” 

He was mocking Stiles again. 

“And then you had to see him with her.” 

You nodded. 

You could picture it so perfectly in your mind. Getting out of Jackson’s car and seeing Stiles rush to open the door for her - the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her like she held the world on the edges of her lips. You wanted nothing more than for him to look at you like that. Her perfect ‘strawberry blonde’ hair fluttering in the wind as they walked arm-in-arm across the parking lot. 

It caused the most awful aching pain in your chest that you had ever felt. You didn’t truly know how precious Stiles was to you until you saw him with someone else. 

You knew Jackson was aching too, for much the same reason. And when he had offered you a swig of his drink, you took it. But it wore off too soon for your tastes and you didn’t have more. So for the better part of the night, you were forced to feel your pain while his was drowned out by the booze. 

“Tell me. Tell me how it made you feel.” Void egged you on, wanting you to say it out loud even though your pain was all too palpable in the air. 

“Like I was dying inside,” You answered, your throat tight but - still no tears yet. “Like all good had drained from the world. Like I had lost the most precious thing in my life and I would have to sit at the sidelines watching a perfect story play out when I was supposed to be a part of it.” 

Void took a deep breath, sniffing the air again. And then he chuckled. 

“Your pathetic teenage angst is… so amusing.” He grinned at you, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do tell me more.” 

You had no clue that somewhere inside of there, Stiles was hit with his own wave of intense sadness - something else for Void to feed off of. He had no clue that you had been in love with him for so long. He had no clue how many opportunities he had missed out on to tell you about his feelings - how long he could have been happily dating you. 

He hated how much time the two of you had missed out on. 

Void sat contently between Stiles’s complicit misery and your renewed angst as you continued the story. 

… 

You had moped around all night. 

You thought perhaps the only person more miserable than you at that dance was Scott - stuck hiding in the shadows, forced to watch Allison dance with Jackson while pretending he wasn’t even there. 

But eventually, he too got his way after making a huge scene that even stopped the band for a moment - and left Coach feeling embarrassed when everyone thought that he went off on a homophobic screaming tirade because Scott was dancing with Danny. Good thing Beacon Hills was pretty progressive. 

After spending all night on the bleachers on the verge of tears, you decided to leave to get yourself a chocolate bar from the vending machine - nothing goes better with sorrow than chocolate, right? Well, perhaps Jackson had a point in pairing his sorrow with liquor. But you weren’t at that point yet. 

You were considering just calling it a night altogether. But you saw Stiles standing by himself, sans Lydia, and you figured it was a good time to make your move, if you were going to make one. 

You wandered over to him shyly. 

You had been feeling so down about yourself, you didn’t notice the way his eyes traced over every inch of you with awe - the way his lips parted with slight shock and wonder at how beautiful you looked that night. 

Just as he was about to tell you so, you spoke up. 

“So… where’s Lydia?” You asked. 

“Oh, uh - she went to go find Jackson.” He said, disappointment seeping through every single inch of his voice. 

“Naturally.” You replied. 

You wanted to rant and scream about how she wasn’t good enough for him if she was going to ditch him for a guy who supposedly didn’t even want her anymore. 

Your eyes strayed over to Allison and Scott on the dance floor, looking at each other with nothing but affection - clearly, only thinking of the other person, so caught up in their own little bubble. She didn’t care that Jackson had ditched her. A small flare of jealousy went through you. 

You wished that could be you and Stiles. 

“Do you wanna dance?” You asked Stiles, hoping that you could have your moment, even if it meant stealing him away from Lydia (when she clearly didn’t care). 

He gave you a shy grin. “Okay.” 

You grabbed his hand and led him out to the dance floor, and his hands found a natural place on your hips while you softly draped your arms around his neck. The two of you swayed to the slow music for a moment before you spoke again. 

“This is nice.” You commented, smiling. 

Though it had felt impossible only an hour ago, you actually felt happiness creeping in. Standing there underneath the coloured lights, dancing with the one person you had wanted the whole time. It was nice. There was still a lick of mourning lingering in your chest. You knew that Stiles still only viewed you as a friend, and you weren’t sure if you could ever gather that courage to take the leap and tell him about how you truly felt. As much as you wanted to just pull him close and kiss him. 

“You know, you were the one person I actually wanted to dance with tonight.” You continued on. “And-” You cut yourself off with a sigh, not wanting to sound too vulnerable. 

“Yeah.” Stiles replied - though he sounded oddly distant and thoughtless. 

When you looked at his face again, you realized that he was staring at something over your shoulder, and you craned your neck to see that he was gawking at his watch. 

“Ugh, really?” You scoffed, pushing him away. “Is dancing with me so awful that you feel the need to time it?” 

“No.” He shook his head furiously, hating what you were accusing him of. “That’s not - look, Lydia’s been gone for over ten minutes! I’m worried.” 

You shook your head, sighing deeply in defeat. Of course he was still thinking about her. 

“Did you ever consider that maybe she found Jackson? That maybe they’re off somewhere making out? That she just ditched you because she doesn’t give a shit about you?” You argued, full of pain, your voice raising in volume to the point where you attracted stares from others on the dancefloor. 

A look of pure pain streaked across Stiles’s face at your words. 

“Whatever.” Stiles shrugged. “I’m going to find her. Because I actually care about her. And because I trust my gut.” He sharply bumped your shoulder as he passed, leaving you feeling more rejected and horrible than ever.

You turned and fled from the room, scurrying away from the many eyes on you once you realized that people were still staring. 

… 

“His gut.” Void chuckled. “He always did have good instincts, didn’t he?” 

He did. Stiles had amazing instincts. 

Because you had been assuming the worst - believing that Lydia had ditched Stiles to go and make-out with Jackson, when in reality, she had been bleeding to death on the lacrosse field. Stiles had been more than right to go looking for her. 

Given, that was before you even knew about the existence of werewolves and all the other bullshit that ran ramped in Beacon Hills. But it didn’t make you feel like any less of a horrible person when you found out. 

“Did you ever consider what a selfish bitch you are?” 

Void continued on when you didn’t speak, seamlessly picking up with his mocking. Of course, he knew all the weak spots to hit. He could feel right where you were soft and vulnerable - right where you flexed with hurt under his taunts. 

“Whining about not getting to dance with some dork while an innocent girl was bleeding to death? Talk about priorities.” 

“I didn’t know.” You replied, your voice stiff. 

You knew it was a poor excuse. You knew that ultimately, you were selfish. You should have gone with Stiles to look for Lydia. You should have helped. 

Distantly, caged up inside of Void - Stiles was eternally thankful about that argument. He was thankful that you had been distanced from all of it, kept away from Peter Hale’s hungry claws. He would have gone insane, having you and Lydia in hospital beds, side by side, not knowing what the fate of either of you would be. 

“Yeah, you can just keep telling yourself that same bullshit, sweetheart.” Void said, his voice a low whisper. “But we both know what you are. Maybe in reality, you’re not that much different from someone like me.” 

Maybe that realization hurt more than anything. 

Maybe that was his intention - to hit you with a truth that would wound you. 

“You know… he still thinks about you in that dress.” Void spoke quietly again, carefully, painstakingly choosing each word. “How… beautiful you looked. His perfect rare crystal.” 

He put emphasis on each word in a way that sent chills down your spine. His sharp gaze coming from Stiles’s honey whiskey eyes felt infinitely darker, and rather than feeling treasured as something good, something valuable like you usually did when Stiles looked at you - you felt filthy. You felt a sense of fear, knowing that Void would use Stiles precious appreciation of you to hurt him. To hurt both of you. 

“That was the night he knew for certain that he was in love with you.” Void let out another laugh - dark and low. “The night he knew that he loved you more than he ever loved Lydia. She was laying in front of him dying, and still - all he could think about was protecting you. Protecting you from the threat.” 

Your throat clenched up, and anything you were going to say was lost. 

“I guess he’s selfish too, isn’t he?” Void posed. “You two are perfect for each other, I suppose.” 

Then, he put on a weak, small, wobbling voice, and began to mock the unique, crippling fear that Stiles had experienced that night. 

“Where’s Y/N? I need to find her. I need to protect her. Is she next?” 

Nausea tightened in your stomach. 

A unique tightness clutched at your chest. 

Stiles had known he was in love with you that night. 

He had been trying to protect you. 

Is that why he had fled from the dance so suddenly? 

“Ask me the question.” Void grinned, entirely excited now that you had put it together, made the realization. “Come on, ask me the question. We both know you want to.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You choked out. 

This was not the question he wanted. 

But still, he indulged you. 

“I told you.” He said firmly. “I like pain.” 

He took a step forward then, leaning down, bracketing his hands by your hips on the wooden kitchen chair’s seat, his face tight in your personal space once again. 

“Now… ask me the question.” 

You took a shallow breath. 

You hated how intimidating he was. You hated knowing that if it had actually been Stiles who was this close to you, it would have given you butterflies or even turned you on, but instead - you felt anxiety having him this close. 

You couldn’t help but to give him what he wanted. 

“What really happened that night?” You whimpered out, terrified of that answer. “Why did Stiles leave the dance?” 

Void grinned. 

“What a brilliant question. You are such a clever girl.” 

… 

All of it happened so fast. 

Stiles spotted Lydia from afar - her red hair very distinctive. Then he saw it - a humanoid shape transforming into a big, black beast. Razor sharp teeth and claws. 

He begged for her life, and he had been given one chance to spare her - a single call to Jackson. Luckily, the asshole picked up. (It was the one time in Stiles’s life that he had ever been thankful for Jackson’s existence.) 

And then, he was being kidnapped, forced into his own car and being forced to drive to God knows where. 

Of course, he was far too busy with the panic of it all, and he didn’t notice you. 

He didn’t notice you - stumbling into the parking lot, looking for him in order to apologize for what you had said. He didn’t notice you watching with suspicion and confusion as his Jeep pulled out of the parking lot at top speed. He didn’t notice you going into your purse for your phone, looking to call his dad, considering making a report to him about it - only to find Jackson’s keys in your purse from earlier that night. Because when you had spotted him still drinking more than an hour into the dance, so sloshed that he could barely stand, you had demanded his keys from him, telling him that you wouldn’t let him drink and drive. 

Stiles hadn’t noticed you getting into Jackson’s car and stealing it in order to trail behind him to see where he was going - just in time to miss Jackson running through the parking lot screaming for help with Lydia’s limp body in his arms. 

Stiles was too busy with panic and anxiety to notice any of that, far too busy wondering if he was going to get out of this alive. And now, he was driving down a deserted backroad with Peter Hale in his passenger’s seat, who was making entirely sexist remarks about how Lydia would end up ripping his throat out ‘twice a month’ if she survived The Bite. 

“You know, you didn’t have to protect her from it.” Peter droned on, increasing Stiles’s anxiety and annoyance. “It’s going to make her whole life better. She’ll thank me for it when she’s ready.” 

“You should have just left her out of this.” Stiles bit back. “Lydia is a good girl. She doesn’t deserve any of this.” He huffed. “If she dies, I swear to god, I’ll-” 

“You’ll what?” 

Peter chuckled, grinning, seeming amused by Stiles’s vague, likely unbackable threats. Stiles ground his teeth, not responding - hating that they both knew he wouldn’t be able to follow through on anything he threatened. Not when Peter could kill him with one clean swipe of his claws. 

“You’re protective. I do admire that in a man.” He paused, thinking. “Though, I suppose… you’re not quite a man, are you? At least not yet.” 

Stiles bit his tongue, not wanting to make any further threats that he couldn’t live up to. He had seen what Peter could do, and unfortunately - he knew that he didn’t have the physical force to fight against him. 

So what the hell could he do? 

That was the question that made Stiles’s mind tink on anxiously, convincing him further that he just might end up dead tonight. 

“What about your other pretty friend?” Peter wondered aloud, changing the subject suddenly in a way that confused Stiles. “Are you just as protective of her?” 

“What? Are you talking about Y/N?” Stiles’s heart began pumping even more viciously with anxiety, absolutely terrified that you were on Peter’s radar. 

He hated that he knew Peter could hear it - that spike in his heart rate that indicated his fear, his weakness. 

“The one in the blue dress.” Peter told him, seeming almost disinterested in the conversation as he picked at his nails. Stiles’s heart thumped harder in affirmation, and Peter continued. “She wears that lovely vanilla perfume-” 

“Leave her out of this!” Stiles screamed at the top of his lungs, rage overtaking him so suddenly that he almost swerved off the road - Peter reached over and corrected this, rolling his eyes at the outburst. 

Stiles clenched his jaw tightly and looked ahead at the road, fuming. 

(Driving behind him in Jackson’s car, you wondered why his driving was suddenly so erratic.) 

“You leave her the hell alone.” Stiles huffed, praying that there was some finality to his words. 

“That would be a little difficult, considering that she’s been following us for half a mile.” Peter grinned. “I am going to have to speak to her about this whole matter when we arrive.” 

Stiles thought that Peter was bluffing - trying to use you as leverage to get him to co-operate, just as he had done with Lydia. But when he squinted into the rearview mirror, he saw… Jackson’s car? And a flash of blue in the driver’s seat that must have been your dress. 

Fuck. 

He was so screwed. 

“What do you mean ‘speak to her’?” Stiles questioned, entirely panicked. 

“Well, we can’t have her running back to the Argents to warn them.” Peter smirked. “Perhaps, I can convince her how beneficial the Bite would be to her-” 

“No!” 

Stiles screamed, his voice filling up the entire cab of the Jeep with the might of his protection toward you. 

“Enough! Okay? Enough. You can do whatever you want with me - I’ll do whatever you want, I swear. And then you can kill me when you’re done with me so I won’t blab.” His voice tightened up around these words, slightly frightened to resign himself to this fate, but he was willing to do whatever it would take to protect you. “Just leave her the hell alone.” 

“And if I don’t?” Peter asked, taunting, clearly enjoying the emotional reaction prompted from Stiles trying to protect you. “What can you possibly do about it?” 

Think. Stiles wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel. Think, think, think, Stiles! You’re supposed to be the clever one. 

An idea popped into his head. 

It wasn’t clever. It wasn’t good. But it was the only idea that he had. 

And when he took one last glance in the rearview mirror and realized that you were about twenty feet back - more than enough to hit the brakes in time - he resigned himself to it. 

He put his seatbelt on, and then - he harshly turned the wheel toward the nearest tree and - he gunned it. 

… 

The crash shocked you. 

You slammed on the brakes as quickly as you could, and came to a stop a few feet behind the tree that Stiles had rammed into. You stumbled out of the driver’s side door in shock, tears in your eyes as you wandered toward the Jeep - which was now nothing more than a heap of twisted metal, smoking, the horn blaring loudly where it was crumbled against the tree. 

“Stiles?” You called out, praying that he would answer you. “Stiles?” 

You slowly came around the car, finally able to get a good view of him through the smashed driver’s side window. 

He was entirely still, collapsed against the air-bag that had emerged from the steering wheel, blood smeared all over the white material. So much blood. It painted the smashed front windshield, dripped through his shirt. He was so still. He wasn’t moving. He-

“Stiles?” 

When he didn’t respond, you let out a loud sob. 

“Stiles? Come on - you - you have to-!” You couldn’t contain another sob as it tore through you, making you utterly breathless. 

You had been so distraught that you didn’t notice the passenger side door was wide open, even though there was not a single trace that anybody had been sitting there. Even if you had noticed, you likely would have chalked it up to the door being flung open from the force of the crash. 

Your ears were pounding with blood from the shock and you didn’t even notice the wolf-like howls echoing into the night above you. 

…

“I thought he was dead.” 

Your body couldn’t contain another sob when you got to this part in the story - finally providing Void with the tears he so desired. 

As you went over the horrors of that night in your mind, they now poured freely down your face. Your pain was made even worse with the stunning realization: Stiles had done it all to protect you. Put himself in danger, gone through so much pain - all to protect you. 

Void smiled at you - a terrible, haunting grin that he mocked you while wearing the face of the man you loved the most. 

“So beautiful.” He hummed, reaching out and wiping your tears - not to comfort you, of course. He gathered the wetness on his fingers and brought it to his lips, licking it. At this, he gave a satisfied sound. “So much pain.” 

“Are we done now?” You asked, wanting to be alone to wallow in your pain. 

Truthfully - you wanted nothing more than the comfort of Stiles. You wanted him to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay in the soothing way that he always did. You wondered if hugging Void would feel the same. You wondered if you could close your eyes and pretend, even for a moment. 

“No.” He told you, enjoying the extra little bit of anguish he could wring from you by telling you this. “Because that wasn’t the worst part, was it?” 

…

“Look, Noah, it’s probably nothing.” Melissa said firmly, doing her best to try and soothe the fellow parent. Sheriff Stilinski had already been at the hospital to take a report on what had happened to Lydia when something else came over the radio - a car accident report about a crash involving a blue Jeep. “Stiles isn’t the only person in this town who drives a-” 

Before she could even get the words out, the paramedics came bursting into the ambulance bay, wheeling in a bloodied, unconscious Stiles on a stretcher with you walking beside them, holding his hand. 

“My boy.” The Sheriff sobbed, rushing to reach them. 

Melissa knew that the doctors would likely need to get him up to the ER with the kind of condition that he was in, so she moved to escort you and the Sheriff to the waiting room. She wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you refused to be pulled away - you refused to let go of his hand. 

“He needs me.” You bawled, tears still steadily streaming down your face. “He needs me!” 

“Let them work, sweetie, just-” Melissa argued gently, trying to be understanding about the kind of shock you were in. 

“He needs me! He needs me!” 

She held you back, tearing your grip off of Stiles so that he could be escorted to the ER. Melissa began to cradle you comfortingly, rubbing a hand on your shoulder. 

There was only a short moment of silence before-

“What the hell happened?” The Sheriff turned to you, barking the words loudly, obviously yearning for answers about how Stiles had gotten hurt. 

“I - I don’t know.” You answered meekly, feeling intimidated by him. 

“Was he drinking? Were you two partying?” He screamed, getting closer into your space. 

Quickly, Melissa stepped between the two of you, putting a hand on Sheriff Stilinski’s chest to keep him at bay. 

“Noah, stop it-” 

“Was he drinking?” He pressed, forcing the words out slower, as though you were too dumb to understand. 

“What? No!” You quickly replied. “Stiles doesn’t drink!” 

(That had been a lie. You had seen him drink a few times at parties. But you knew that he was a firm proponent of designated sober drivers because of how many accident reports his father had filed from drunk drivers that involved death.) 

“Even if he was, I would never let him drive! Stiles would never let anybody drink and drive because that’s what you taught him!” 

You felt a slight bit of guilt, knowing that you had sipped on Jackson’s bottle and gotten behind the wheel. You wondered if that one single sip made you guilty of the crime that Stiles was so very much against. 

Before you could dwell on it too much, you continued. 

“I took Jackon’s keys from him to keep him from drunk driving! That’s how I followed Stiles in the first place.” 

“You used my car?” Jackson appeared behind you suddenly, taking on an accusatory tone. 

Everyone ignored him. 

“Well? Where was he going? What was he doing? How the hell did this happen?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” You ground out slowly. “It’s not like it was my fault!” 

… 

Void let out another astrid laugh. 

“Oh, but it was.” He grinned. “It was all your fault. How did it feel lying to a police officer about the fact that you almost killed his son?” 

“I wasn’t lying.” You replied, your throat gripped by tears. “I didn’t know.” 

You were glad that you hadn’t known the truth at the time. You weren’t sure if you could have faced the Sheriff, knowing that Stiles’s near death experience had been all your fault. 

“Would you look the Sheriff in the eyes and tell him that now?” Void asked. “Or would you apologize? Tell him that it’s all your fault that stupid, infatuated Stiles crashed his car into a tree trying to save you?” 

“I-” You choked out, truly unsure what to say. “I don’t know.” 

“Would you have taken his place?” Void snipped, quick to berate you with more questions. 

“What?” You parroted back, slightly confused. 

“Would you have taken his place?” He repeated. “You - caught up in that heap of twisted metal, carted off to the hospital to be poked and prodded by doctors, cut up, barely alive? Him - crying at your bedside like a pathetic idiot?” 

You had never considered it. You didn’t think it was wise to dwell on the past or mull-over hypotheticals like that. But truthfully - you thought that what had happened to you was worse. You thought that Stiles got the better end of it, sleeping through most of it while you had to steep in your pain. 

“Y-yes.” You said, hesitating slightly, feeling as though this was the proper, kind answer - saying that you would have taken the physical pain for him - that you would have laid in the bed and taken all of it in his place if you could have. 

“Uh-oh.” Void said, shaking his head. “Nobody likes a liar, Y/N.” 

How he knew that you were lying, you had no clue. 

But you were eager to move on from it before he prodded you about it any further. So you quickly moved on with your story. 

“And then, there was the waiting.” You told him. “We had to wait hours for him to come out of surgery, wondering if he was going to live. And then I waited for weeks by his bedside, wondering if he was ever going to wake up.” 

You swallowed around a painful knot in your throat as you remembered it. 

“So perfectly pathetic, isn’t it?” Void commented. “The way that you showed up to that hospital every single day - spent nights sleeping beside him in an uncomfortable plastic chair, just waiting… every single day waiting to see if he was going to wake up. Or rather - seeing if he was going to finally slip away. Waiting to see if he was finally going to die.” 

You let out more tears and Void sniffed the air again, taking a deep breath, enjoying the depth of your pain. 

“I wish I could have been there.” He remarked. “Every single day, you mourned over him. You cried for him. What a waste of sweet suffering.” 

He let out another laugh. You go do nothing more but sit there and let him mock you, let him indulge in the suffering that you had promised him. 

“You showed up every single day and he didn’t even know it. You talked to him, read to him, played him music… not even knowing if he could hear you. Thinking that he could hear you, but just… hinging it all on that tiny ray of hope.” 

You thought for certain that Void would confirm then and there that Stiles had never heard you when he had been comatose, because before he had said that your hope being broken was ‘delicious’. 

But what he did next hurt so much more.

Because of course, he knew the worst, most perfect ways to hurt you.  

“You read him The Velveteen Rabbit… because he said that his Mommy used to read it to him.” 

Void said, mocking deep in his voice. And then, he put on a shrill impression of you as he spoke again - repeating word for word what you had said to Stiles when you had been at his bedside. Private words that had been meant only for Stiles. 

“‘Stiles, you have to wake up. You have to wake up so we can be together again. Look, I know I messed up before, but… I really like you. I might even love you. Fuck it - I do love you. I’m in love with you, and you - you have to wake up so that I can spend the rest of my life loving you.’” 

He burst into laughter with these last words, cutting right through you. 

“Well, newsflash!” He screamed, startling you with his sudden volume, shaking you. “Stiles isn’t going to wake up this time. He’s never coming back again. You’re going to spend the rest of your life alone.” 

“He will.” You said weakly, knowing how defeated you sounded. “He’ll come back. He’ll come back to me, I know it.” 

You and Void both knew that you were trying to convince yourself with these words. 

Void pulled up his shirt, showing off the long, jagged scar in the middle of Stiles’s stomach - the scar he had from the accident. 

“See this? This is his human weakness.” Void stated. “I came along and I made him into something so much better. I made him strong. I made him-” 

“You ruined him!” You screamed, finally standing from your chair, hyper charged with your own rage now. “You took away everything that made him good - his sweetness, his kindness, his empathy. You-” 

“No, sweetheart.” Void grabbed your face, shutting you up and causing sharp shocks of pain across your head as he roughly jostled you. “Those things have always been his downfall. His stupid kindness and empathy caused him to crash himself into a fucking tree tyring to protect you. You - a dumb bitch who is still willing to put herself this close to a demon who could gut her in a second without a single care.” 

You held your breath. You waited for him to do something more - to truly attempt to harm you. 

And then, after a paralyzing second of staring into those dead eyes - he let you go again. You took a step back. You should have run - you should have run, and run, until you found Scott or someone else. But he was right. You were a dumb bitch. Even now, you couldn’t abandon Stiles. 

“You know, it’s even the same thing right now.” Void grinned. “The minute he gets back the slightest bit of control, he keeps trying to crash the damn car. He keeps trying to protect you!” 

He burst into laughter again, and your insides shook with fear. 

You knew that Stiles ‘crashing the car’ this time would only end with him dying. And you weren’t sure which was worse - him living in there, trapped and tortured while a demon controlled his body - or him killing himself to end all potential harm that Void could do to you and anybody else. 

“Even now, he’s begging me to shove this pathetic little knife into his neck,” He said, taking your knife out of his pocket and raising it up to his jugular. “Just so that there won’t be a single chance of me hurting you.” 

Your chest jumped. 

Upon instinct, you stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, attempting to pull the knife back - but of course, Void was much stronger than you, and his grip didn’t budge. Not even a slight bit. 

Your heart raced as you began to panic. 

“Please, don’t-” You muttered out, knowing that begging was likely your only course of action, whether Void or Stiles was the one in control. 

He grinned. “What are you going to do to stop me?” 

You had an idea. A terrible one. 

You leaned in, sealing your lips onto his - feeling chapped skin against yours and for a moment thinking that you had a one-way ticket to getting stabbed. But then, you felt the stiff, tense form underneath you soften up. You felt a gentle sigh, a sigh of relief leave Stiles’s lips as he pressed back, pushing into the kiss as though he had been yearning for this for centuries. 

The hand holding the knife to his neck shook - sharp spasms going through the muscles as he battled with himself. And after a moment, he dropped the object to the floor with a quiet clatter. Then, he brought that hand to smooth across your back in a gentle, comforting way that could have only been Stiles. 

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment, and when you looked into his eyes, you knew for certain that it was him. The softness, the sadness, the apologetic mourning. 

“Y/N-” He croaked out, releasing a few years of his own. 

“Hang in there, my love.” You told him, reaching up to gently grasp at his cheek. 

And then, just like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day - he was gone. 

Void’s horrible grin took over once again, and all the life dropped out of those eyes. 

“You truly are pathetic.” He said, giving another horrible laugh. 

Perhaps he was trying to convince you that Stiles had never been there, that it had only been a trick, but - you knew what you saw. 

Void hated it. 

It was something that he absolutely hated to admit, but you gave Stiles strength. You were likely the only person in town, likely the only thing on earth that could have given him - a weak, stupid, pathetic human, the strength to overpower the epic thousand year old demon that had taken control. 

In that moment, in an instant, he decided that you had to be eliminated. 

Void didn’t hesitate to reach down and pick up the knife. 

“No-” You gasped out. 

Before you could blink, he grabbed your shoulder, shoved you against a nearby wall, and plunged the small blade into your stomach. He didn’t stop just once - he stabbed you again, and again, and again - creating a flurry of blood and mashing flesh that caused you to gasp from the pain and sheer shock that overtook your body. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you expected it to. It was like a simple pinprick - nothing more painful than a needle piercing your skin for a routine blood sample. But when you felt the intense hot waves of blood pouring out, soaking your clothes - you knew that it was bad. You were already shaking from the shock and you knew that him pressing against you was the only thing still holding you up. 

Void took a tight hold of your face, both your cheeks in one blood-coated hand, and pressed his forehead tightly into yours. 

“Look at her.” He growled out, his voice as sharp and frightening as ever. “Look at her. Look at her while she’s dying.” 

You knew in an instant that he wasn’t talking to you. 

“Look at what you’ve done, Stiles!” He screeched, his voice harsh, almost distorted. “All that begging… all that begging - all for nothing!” 

“It’s okay.” You huffed out, reaching up, your hand surprisingly bloody, trying to touch his cheek in comfort. “It-it’s okay.” 

You were determined to survive this. Or - at the very least - you didn’t want Stiles living with the guilt if you didn’t. 

“Stiles-” 

Void wouldn’t stand for it. This comfort. 

He quickly stamped out this truth with a few more quick, violent jabs of the knife into your gut, forcing Stiles to watch as he violently eviscerated you. 

Then, he tossed the knife aside and let you slump to the floor before he walked away. 

He left you for dead, all too pleased with how utterly the sight of you bloodied and limp tortured Stiles. 

He left you there, not knowing that he left you with just enough determination - just enough life left you to drag your shaking body to the phone and get a bloody hand wrapped around it.

...

Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, so there will not be a sequel or a 'Part 2'. If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging it to show your appreciation, commenting on this fic, or you can take a look at my Teen Wolf Masterlist for more of my fics from this fandom.

However, please do not comment on this fic asking for a sequel or asking for more - I generally consider that stressful and impolite. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written.

Because I ended the fic the way I did, I do have some ideas for a potential sequel, but it's not something that I am rushing to write, and it's not something that will be on my schedule anytime soon. If you would like to, you can come into my inbox and chat about my ideas for the potential sequel - but right now they are just ideas and they will stay that way for a long time before becoming a full realised story (if they ever become one). I hope you enjoyed this fic as the capsule story oneshot that I always intended for it to be, and that you enjoy my other works if you do check them out.

[ttturnitup]

as it turns out | kwon jiyong x reader

summary: You and Jiyong hate each other’s guts (even if Seunghyun says otherwise). When things get out of hand, there’s only one solution to the drama.

word count: 2k

warnings: minor miscommunication/lack of communication , angst

author’s note: This fic was written for day 12 of the BigBang April challenge! Not sure if I technically met the prompt, but I guess that’s why they call it a prompt? In any case, I hope you get some enjoyment out of this fic! And massive thanks to my girl @loveesiren for all the feedback and help whilst finishing this up!

“And then he had the audacity to call my outfit bad. My outfit! As if he isn’t clashing colours and prints just because he can.”

Seunghyun laughs, topping up your wine glass before settling back on the couch.

“Did it ever occur to you that he’s doing it to get your attention?”

“I don’t want him to have it.”

“Your constant rants say otherwise, Y/n.”

You glare at Seunghyun, grabbing a pillow from behind you and holding it up as a threat. He quickly holds a hand up in surrender, the other moving his wine glass away from the couch. A moment passes before you lower the pillow, satisfied that your friend is properly cowed.

“I just don’t get what his problem with me is.”

“He doesn’t have a problem with you.”

“Seunghyun, last week he walked out of the studio as soon as I stepped inside. That kinda feels like he has a problem with me.”

Seunghyun winces. It’s impossible to deny your statement; he was there to witness the whole thing, after all. But still, he presses on, trying to convince you.

“Okay. I’ll admit that wasn’t his best move. But, Y/n, I promise you he doesn’t have a problem with you.”

“No, he just hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“The day I believe that is the day you stop loving space - never going to happen.”

You hear your friend sigh, and you gear up for another argument. It wouldn’t be the first time; you understood as his best friend, Seunghyun had a better understanding of him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe him. Actions speak louder than words and all that. But Seunghyun doesn’t push, instead pivoting to asking about your latest role. You’re grateful, and the rest of your wine night continues without bloodshed - or a ruined couch.

————————————————————————————————

The thing was, there was a time a few years ago where you knew he didn’t hate you. There was a time where you might have considered Kwon Jiyong a friend. Being trainees at the same time forged a connection that few understood. Being leaders of your respective groups only deepened that bond. The long hours, the pressure, the uncertainty of what the future held - all of it was was the focus of stolen late night conversations, in the moments between YG breathing down your necks and getting whatever sleep you could. It was during that time that you got to know the person behind the G-Dragon persona; it was then that you grew fond of Jiyong.

The groups debuted, and that connection only seemed to strengthen. You remember being in the crowd, cheering loudly as BigBang took to the stage for the first time. You can recall Jiyong and the others swarming you and your group, hugging you tightly after your first performance. For a year, your groups chased each other, prompting a friendly rivalry, pushing each other to do better. It was fun, exciting.

But as BigBang continued to grow, your group started to flounder. You worked hard, trying to fix every problem that came up. Better choreography, extra vocal lessons, thinking up brand new concepts. Nothing worked. Your group disbanded, your friendships frayed from the pressure you put on them. While you still loved music, it hurt to see it all fall apart, and so you pivoted towards acting.

You kept in touch with Jiyong, determined not to lose any other friendships. You felt the distance between you growing, but you pinned it down towards your busy schedules. Being invited to star in their latest music video felt like a sign, and so you jumped at the opportunity. Spending time with Jiyong, being able to reaffirm that connection, while also being back in the scene you used to love so dearly? It felt too good to be true.

Filming went longer than anyone expected. Everyone was at their limits, tired and grumpy, yet Jiyong kept pushing. You recognised his need for perfection; you had it, too. It played its part in your group’s disbandment, and so you spoke up, hoping to diffuse some of the tension.

“Maybe try having Daesung move over here?”

He turned to look at you, frowning. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Will you at least give it a try? I think you’re overlooking things because you’re tired.”

“I’m not.”

“You are! We all are! You don’t need to be G-Dragon all the time, you know.”

“I don’t need help from a failed idol!”

Jiyong might as well have slapped you for how much his words hurt. You were no stranger to his outbursts when he was stressed, but they had never been this personal, and they were always followed with an apology. Not this time. All he offered was a dumbfounded stare, as if he couldn’t believe what he said, either. You turned away from him, rapidly gathering your belongings.

“My scenes are done for today, right? I’ll be back tomorrow. If you need me, I’m sure G-Dragon here can figure something out.”

You walked out, refusing to look back.

————————————————————————————————

Staying friends with BigBang meant crossing paths with him. Some days, you could get by with giving him the cold shoulder. Most of the time, though, you traded insults at best, and had yelling matches at worst. The others did their best to diffuse the tension, but sometimes it spilled over with no way to stop it. It wasn’t fair, and you knew it. You didn’t want to give them up over whatever this rivalry with G-Dragon, because that’s what it was. But either way Jiyong? That was harder to determine. There were moments where the boy you grew fond of came out: when he was relaxed with his friends before he saw you, when something he had been puzzling over worked out, when your fighting was more playful and brought a different kind of heat.

You wished that you weren’t jealous of the boys, but you were. You wanted Jiyong, but all you had - all you knew how to do - was fighting with him.

————————————————————————————————

“I’m telling you the blocking doesn’t work.”

“And I’m telling you that it will. I know what I’m doing!”

“Oh, do you, G-Dragon? Who has more experience with film shoots?”

“Me, because this isn’t a film shoot!”

“Enough!”

Seunghyun’s voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it, and you know you’ve gone too far. Taking a step back, you’re startled by how close you and Jiyong had gotten during your argument. It leaves you off-kilter, but you push the feeling down. It was just to get in his face, to push his buttons and get him pissed off; that’s your story if anyone asked. Foolproof.

You turn to apologise to Seunghyun (and Daesung and Youngbae), but a hand held up in front of you stops you in your tracks. The oldest member looks unimpressed. You feel chastised, and Seunghyun hasn’t even said a word. You don’t look over, but you know Jiyong is feeling the same.

“Jiyong, Y/n, with me.”

Seunghyun’s voice left no room for argument. You follow behind, quiet, not wanting to upset your friend further. You hoped that wherever he was taking you, you’d have a chance to apologise properly, to fix the mess that you had a hand in making. The silence as the three of you made your way down the hall was overbearing, but you didn’t dare break it.

It was only a couple of minutes later when Seunghyun came to a stop, and you almost crash into him, taken aback by the suddenness of it. You look around, confused. You’re nowhere special; in fact, you’d probably describe it as nowhere at all. Just a hallway with a door in front of you. He opens the door, and before you can protest, he’s pushing you both inside. The door closes, and the click echoes through the tiny room.

“Kiss each other, or kill each other, I don’t care. But this door isn’t opening until you sort your shit out.”

You can just about hear the footsteps as Seunghyun walks away. You don’t even bother trying to check the door; you know without a doubt that Seunghyun wasn’t lying.

You try to create space between you and Jiyong, not that there’s much to create. Your eyes cast around the room, finally acknowledging that your friend shoved you into a supply closet. Bastard.

Minutes pass, though it could have been hours for all you knew. Silence stretches between you, both too stubborn to make the first move. It would almost be like admitting defeat.

More time passes. Seunghyun hasn’t returned. You’re about to plan a jailbreak when Jiyong finally snaps.

“This is your fault, you know.”

“What did you just say?”

“The room’s not that big. I know you heard me.”

“No, I did. I want you to say it again.”

He scoffs, as if he can’t believe your attitude. You can’t believe his.

“This is your fault, telling me what to do, not showing me respect-”

It’s your turn to scoff, and it’s loud enough to interrupt him.

“Respect? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You call Daesung oppa and he’s younger than you! You’ve never called me by any titles!”

“Yeah, because he’s actually deserving of one!”

“And I’m not?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A finger jabs into his chest with enough force to make him rock back in his heels. You crowd his space, just like before.

“This is not about your goddamned ego right now.”

“Why shouldn’t it be? I’m G-fucking-Dragon!”

“You don’t get it! I don’t like G-Dragon. I never fucking cared about G-Dragon! I cared about Jiyong!”

Your confession echoes throughout the supply closet, accompanied by the sounds of heavy breathing, the weight of it threatening to crush you. You can’t move away. You try to at least avert your gaze, but Jiyong’s confused noise draws your attention. Your heart hurts at his expression.

“You… what?”

You can’t look at him. Your gaze drops. There’s an apology on your lips, but what comes out is, “I care about you. I always have.”

There’s no response.

It’s weird, being in silence, when you were so used to the fighting. Jiyong always had a comeback, always knew just what to say. Often, it would only serve to piss you off. Wasn’t that a little bit messed up to miss that?

Your eyes started to sting, and before you could stop it, tears were falling down your face. You can hear Jiyong curse, clearly uncertain on how to help you. Years of animosity and buried feelings have created a chasm between you that he doesn’t know how to cross.

There’s so much unsaid. So much hurt that he can’t ever take back. He’s confused and scared and apprehensive, but he can at least do something in the moment. He just hopes it doesn’t backfire.

Slowly, as if he’s worried about hurting you, he wraps his arms around you, only hesitating for a brief moment before pulling you into a tight hug. It’s embarrassing how the sobs seem to ease immediately, but you find that you don’t care. You lean into his embrace. It was everything you never let yourself of. Just for a moment, you could pretend that Jiyong cared about you, too.

You could pretend that the kiss he pressed to the top of your head was real.

challenge taglist; @wcnderlnds, @ldydeath, @loveesiren, @bluesunss, @emmiesoverthemoon, @eru-vande, @berfgrimm, @gdinthehouseee, @infinetlyforgotten, @petersasteria, @currentloser, @makeitworse, @sherxoo, @aizshallnotbefound @breakmeoff♥

[pendingnomdeplume]

Hey, saw your requests are open! Looking back at the kinktober lists gave me the idea of a mix of cockwarming/freeuse kink...idk if that makes sense lol.

Feel free to ignore but if you're interested I'd love to see what you do with it! Love your writing 🙏

chick flick cherry pairing: hozier x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Cock Warming, Exhibitionism, Free Use (sort of?), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unsafe Sex, Teasing, Riding, Lingerie words: 3.9k author's note: I hope this somewhat fulfills the vision you had in mind!! This is straight up PWP, god bless.

[Read it on AO3]

[title is from my favorite shade of OPI]

divider by: sylusz

The first time you’d heard of the Red Nail Theory, you merely scoffed and rolled your eyes. Pseudoscience at best and a grift at worst, the idea that red nails are somehow more attractive to men than any other colour seems preposterous. 

How many men bitch and moan about the look of red lipstick on a woman who’s never asked? How many fragile egos have been broken by a woman standing slightly taller in red heels? Yet, you are somehow to believe that these same men will gravitate towards you, should you have just the right shade of OPI on your nails? Absolutely absurd. 

At your next nail appointment, however, the idea comes up again while staring at colour swatches painted onto plastic nails—orange reds, cherry reds, deep reds all stare back at you as you play with the idea in your mind. 

You certainly have nothing against red nails. They’re classic, feminine, a little bit Old Hollywood. You’ve never shied away from the colour before, though red reads more as a holiday shade to you. However, with Valentine’s Day fast approaching, you can surely get away with a month of bright red. Burning curiosity and a resounding yes from the nail technician finally has you picking a bright, blue-based red that pops against your skin. 

It’s all merely an experiment for the craic, though you can’t help but admire the colour once you walk out of the salon. 

Andrew has never really noticed your nails outside of complimenting them when you show them off post-appointment. He’s always sweet about it, taking your hand into his and admiring them before pressing a kiss to your knuckles and murmuring a soft compliment. His lack of attention never bothered you. Pretty nails aren’t high on his list of priorities (outside of using a strengthening nail bond and lacquer to keep his picking nails from breaking off), so why would he really take notice of yours without prompting? 

You don’t show off the red manicure immediately. Andrew is busy outside tending to the bees, and you figure now is as good a time as any to start prepping some of the fresh strawberries your neighbor dropped off yesterday afternoon. Better now than before they go off like some of the…older veg that still lives deep within the crisper drawer. 

The creak of the back door startles you just 20 minutes later, and you smile as Andrew steps inside, sans beekeeping gear that’s been left outside for his next venture. He brushes by you in the kitchen and stops for a moment to peer over your shoulder as you slice into a banana. 

“Andrew!” You smack his hand away from the punnet as he steals a bit of fruit and pops it into his mouth with a cheeky smile. “Keep your hands away from the sharp knives, please.”

It’s a rare sunny day with only a smattering of clouds hanging in the sky. The sharp smell of sweat and heat envelops you as he hovers in your space—maddening when you know he doesn’t like to be touched in this state. The culmination of love and hard labor have you feeling feral, but he will inevitably disappear for a shower before allowing you to touch him the way you so desperately desire. 

“Oh, those are pretty,” he muses before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Hm?”

“Your nails.” 

You automatically hold up a hand to let him admire the colour. It’s not typical for him to notice right away (or, at all), and he surely didn’t absorb the information about your appointment when you shook him awake this morning to say goodbye. Not with the way his eyelids drooped, nor the way he fell face-first into his pillow after you pressed a goodbye kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you, baby,” you hum with a beaming smile. “I was tired of neutrals and wanted to do something fun.” 

“Well, I think red looks lovely on you.” You feel another kiss pressed to your head. “You should wear it more often.” 

As soon as he wanders off to shower, you ponder his offhand comment. 

Red isn’t a colour you gravitate towards in terms of wardrobe. You’ve always dressed in simple, neutral colours with bits of flair here and there to keep things interesting. Even your undergarments are shades of black and whatever you can find that mostly matches your skin tone. 

However, with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, there’s certainly no shortage of lingerie in a spectrum of red hues lining the Penneys racks. With a wolfish grin, a naughty idea comes to mind, and you set out to finish chopping up fruit before rushing to grab your laptop. 

***

The package that arrives at the house a few days later is nondescript, no logos or company names to glean its contents. Andrew doesn’t ask any questions as he hands it off to you. He’s used to random nonsense showing up at the door (and is, in fact, a part of the problem), so he’s less inclined to curiosity when he’s certain it will be another novelty t-shirt or pack of socks that would inevitably lose their mates—the ouroboros of laundry, as it were.

You scurry away to the bedroom and close the door behind you. With an excited squeak, you tear open the package to reveal an abundance of cherry red satin and lace. The sight of it sends your heart racing as you tentatively lift both garments out of the box and lay them out on the bed. They’re far skimpier and more scandalous than you anticipated despite seeing them displayed on the model in photos. 

Part of you wants to wait until the 14th like you had planned, but the idea of sitting on this for the next week sparks impatience. If you had your way, you’d throw these on now just to give Andrew the shock of his life, but it’s not the right time. Not yet. You’ll have to wait for an opportunity to strike when he least expects it. 

***

Opportunity presents itself in the form of a lazy, rainy Saturday. It’s one of the first weekends in a while with no plans on the docket, and both of you are excited to sleep in and relax on such a beautifully dreary day. 

Recently, Andrew has been acting a bit…strange. On more than one occasion this last week, he’s grabbed you from whatever household task you were working on to drag you to bed for impromptu sex. You’re not sure if you’ve done something to warrant this reaction, or if he’s just been particularly insatiable for the last few—oh.

 Oh no.

It can’t be the nails…can it? No, you refuse to believe it. There cannot possibly be any merit to that nonsense theory. But…it’s difficult to ignore the frequency of initiation on his end, the uptick in sly touches and lingering kisses.

While Andrew is busy making coffee in the kitchen, you rush to your dresser and pull out the red undergarments before skittering into the closet to change. You admire yourself in the mirror, twisting every which way to ensure that nothing is out of place. It’s not the first time you’ve tried the lingerie on, but seeing yourself and the way the colour pops against your skin tone has you feeling cool and confident.

A little flirting, a little teasing, and you figure you’ll have him beneath you in record time. 

A too-large t-shirt hits mid-thigh, hiding the flashy red beneath a swath of grey cotton. You wander out of the bedroom and pad into the kitchen as Andrew delicately holds down the french press. He doesn’t flinch when you slip your arms around his middle and press your forehead to his back.

“It’s almost ready, dove,” he hums lightly. 

“Can you make it go faster?”  

“Depends on how many coffee grounds you want to eat this morning.” 

You squeeze him once before slipping away to grab two mugs from the cabinet. As you reach up, you can feel the hem of the shirt rise just enough to give a peek of bright lace beneath. You pause for a moment, pretending to deliberate between mugs before plucking out two from the furthest depths of the cabinet. 

There’s no reaction, to your disappointment. Perhaps he’s too distracted to notice, or maybe he doesn’t even think twice when he’s seen you without trousers or pajama bottoms plenty of times. 

With a frown and a quiet huff, you shuffle back over to him and set the mugs down on the counter. 

No matter. You’ll just have to try harder on your next attempt to catch his attention. 

***

The next opportunity arises about an hour later when you follow him into the kitchen to clean up after a late breakfast. The dishwasher is full but clean, and you make a show of bending at the waist to unload the seemingly unending pieces of silverware crowded inside. 

Again, no reaction. 

Not even the next two times elicit any kind of comment, and you’re beginning to wonder if Andrew really is that oblivious to his surroundings. When you look over your shoulder, his back is to you as he bobs and sways to whatever tune is currently in his head. 

Goddamn it.

When the dishes are put away, you hop up on the counter and swing your legs as he dumps the coffee grounds into the bin, making sure to keep them spread just enough that he’d surely catch a peek. With an amused expression, his eyes drop to your bare thighs for only a moment before his attention is pulled away by a lorry rumbling down the road. Then, he walks away without so much as a glance back at you to peer outside like a dog on alert. 

You frown. How is this man both so insatiable yet so oblivious to your advances? Christ. This man needs to be studied.

Fine. Okay. Time to regroup and find a different strategy.

***

When Andrew goes out to work on the garden, you follow him out with a mug of herbal tea in one hand and a book in the other. He’s always happy to have you outside with him even if you’re not actually helping with anything. (“You’re my…what’s the phrase? Eye candy?” Immediately followed by him chomping his teeth before pretending to attack your neck.)

The garden is cut off from the rest of the world, trees and shrubbery dotting the fence to enclose you in your own little Eden. You feel comfortable and secure in being outside without trousers knowing that the likelihood of someone seeing you is nearly zero. It would take a dedicated peeping tom to see through the foliage and spot either of you. 

You sit on the swing that rests in the shade and watch him work, giggling each time he has to adjust the straw sunhat resting on his head to wipe the sweat from his brow. Watching Andrew transform from a chronically online lad to the oldest man you know has been fascinating. Teasing him for acting like he’s in his 60s is typically followed by endless ‘cradle-robbing’ jokes that make him snort and remind you that you’re only two years younger than him. 

As you read, you casually pull your legs up so your feet rest just at the edge of the cushion. The breeze against your slightly splayed, bare legs tells you that he should get an eyeful once he looks up. However, your teasing is either missed or purposefully ignored as he smiles at you before taking a swig of water and turning his attention back to the soil. 

You hold back a frustrated huff and set your book down. 

What is wrong with this man? Can he not feel the energy you’re trying to bring to the table? Can he not tell how badly you want him to undress you like he’s opening a birthday gift, or how badly you want his mouth on you? Christ alive, he’s had you horizontal nearly twice a day the last few days! How is this going so far over his head?

Fine. You’ll just have to figure something else out. Something that will really grab his attention.

***

You find him in his little office alcove later that afternoon. The room is dim, the shades drawn shut. The only light source is the sunlight that encroaches from the edges of the blinds and a warm lamp that sits on a side table. It’s cozy, a little spooky with some of the more macabre artwork that decorates the room. That little hint of despondence that dwells within him, projected onto the walls. 

It takes a moment for you to realize what you’re seeing upon entering, and your jaw drops as you try to comprehend the scene laid before you. 

Andrew is slouched low in the oversized armchair that sits near the window, one hand lazily stroking his cock while the other rests casually on the arm of the chair. He doesn’t seem surprised when you walk in, simply giving you a lazy, hazy smile. 

“I was wondering when you’d come in here.” He beckons you closer with his free hand.

You approach him on wobbly legs, your eyes trained squarely on the slow, methodical movements of his hand. He eyes you with a smirk, and with a smug little chuckle, he asks, “D’you want to show me that red set you’ve been teasing me with all day, dove?”

Your face goes hot, arousal and embarrassment washing over you in equal measure as you realize that he had noticed what you were doing, had seen your efforts to get his attention, and he deprived you of that for his own amusement. The man clocked your own game and turned it against you.

“Oh, you absolute bastard,” you huff. “You knew?”

Andrew chuckles, the sound low and rich in your ear. “‘Course I knew. You think I wouldn’t catch onto something like that?”

“And here I thought you were just clueless.”

“Clueless? Maybe. Blind? Surely not. Just wanted to see how far you’d take it.”

You swallow audibly and lick your dry lips as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. After a beat and nearly zero deliberation, you peel the shirt off in one go before tossing it to the side with a smirk. His gaze drops to your chest, to the red lace that decorates your shoulders and hips. A wave of smugness washes over you as his eyebrows go noticeably higher, and his hand slows while he takes you in.

“Stunning,” he breathes. “Absolutely fucking stunning.”

Andrew has never been shy about showering you with compliments, but his wide-eyed earnestness still makes you squirm in delight. It takes every bit of willpower to keep yourself from covering your blushing face with your hands at his words. 

Instead, you turn to give him a better look at your backside while you grin to yourself. 

“Thought you might like it,” you hum before spinning around again to face him. 

He’s still touching himself, eyelids heavy as he asks, “Now, what do I need to—” His breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut as he barely swallows down a moan. “How do I get you to wear that all the time?”

Before you can respond, the telltale sound of his phone startles both of you. It’s a specific ring you know all too well, the ominous tolling of church bells that alerts Andrew of a call from the arbiter of both his success and his misery. 

His head falls back with a huffed sigh before looking at the phone sitting next to him. You wave a hand as he turns to you with an apologetic frown. 

“Come to bed after, okay?” You press a kiss to his forehead before turning on your heel and scooping your shirt up on the way out. 

Impeccable timing from his manager, as always. Still, your body buzzes with anticipation of what will happen after his call. It’s not the spontaneous, impromptu romp you were hoping for, but you’re never one to complain about a lovely time in bed. 

With your mission finally complete, you fall onto your stomach in bed and prop yourself up on your elbows before opening up your phone. Seconds later, you hear the office door open, and Andrew’s soft voice carries into the bedroom, his melodic cadence growing louder as he approaches. When he enters, you raise a confused eyebrow at him, and he simply smiles in return. 

As soon as your attention is turned back to your own phone, his manager’s voice comes through on speaker, and he tosses his cell phone next to you to show that his end is muted. Before you can even turn your head to ask a question, you feel the red fabric of your bottoms being pulled off roughly. 

“Baby, what—?” 

A hand over your mouth silences you. “Think you can stay quiet for me?” 

His manager is still talking, but you don’t comprehend anything she’s saying as Andrew rounds the bed and sits up against the headboard. You watch in awe as he pulls his still-hard cock out and gives it a few cursory strokes before beckoning you closer with a soft, “C’mere.” 

“Andrew, are you even listening to me?” Caroline’s voice crackles over the speaker, and he reaches out to tap his phone as you straddle him. 

“Of course! Of course, I’m…writing it all down…” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth as he guides himself into you, eyes fluttering as you sink down until you’re fully seated in his lap. 

“Then what’d I just say?” 

With an amused smirk, he responds, “Pretty sure it was something about Bonnaroo?”

Silence. Then, a sigh that’s cut off as Andrew turns off the speaker and brings the phone back to his ear. He rubs a hand in small circles against your back as you rest your head on his shoulder. It feels so fucking good to be filled like this even if he isn’t moving. 

This has never been a discussed scenario, has never even been within the realm of possibility in your mind. Yet, the idea of riding him while he’s on the phone is exciting, and there’s a part of you that hopes to make Andrew regret asking for this. 

“Jesus, Caroline, how many summer festivals do you have me lined up for next year?” 

You shift slightly, and his hand stills as his fingers press into your back. A shudder runs through him, breath hitching slightly as you smirk against his skin and press a kiss to his neck. Arousal slicks your inner thighs as you clench around him. Andrew gasps sharply, covering the receiver with his hand to the best of his ability while giving you a look. 

“Sorry, what was that about May?” 

As Caroline responds, you feel his free hand slip down to squeeze your hip. You lift your head to look up at him, and he kisses you quietly before whispering, “Take what you need,” in your ear.

Slowly, you lift yourself up onto your knees, mouthed pressed in a thin line as you lose the warm stretch of him, before pressing back down just as carefully. Andrew’s head thumps against the wall, and his eyes slip shut. A soft whimper escapes him, and you smirk as you lean in to whisper, “Think you can stay quiet for me?”

You reach back to unhook your bra before casting it aside, earning a delighted grin when he opens his eyes. He props the phone between his shoulder and his ear, then brings his hands up to mime taking a photo. His grin is quickly wiped away as you roll your hips, his eyelids going heavy and lips parting as you begin to ride him at an agonizingly slow pace. 

“Right,” he replies to something unheard, his gaze trained solely on you. “No, no, I think that works.” 

You can’t help but grin as he attempts to maintain a semblance of composure while asking, “And the musicians? We need to replace—” 

Caroline’s voice goes louder on the other end, obviously the beginnings of a rant about something, or someone, and Andrew rolls his eyes. His irritation is short-lived as you begin to bounce in his lap, his eyes immediately dropping to your chest before bringing his free hand up to gently cup your breast. A gentle thumb dragged across your nipple pulls a soft sigh from you, rolling and light pinching sending a current up your spine as you clench around him again. 

“Oh.” Your whisper cracks as he leans in to drag his tongue across the hardened bud, teeth grazing as he pulls away with a little wink. 

“Are those already scheduled?” He asks as you brace your hands on the headboard for more leverage, effectively caging him as you try a different angle. 

This position is somehow even better, his cock rubbing against a spot that creates a delicious pressure and makes you shake. It feels nearly impossible to hold back the sounds that bubble up in your chest, so you take to whispering expletives towards the ceiling hoping Caroline doesn’t hear a thing. 

You’re moving faster now, knees aching and core burning with every bounce. The protection of his joggers still around his thighs mostly muffles any telltale sounds, and you can hear the long-winded rambling on the other end that Andrew is clearly ignoring as his dazed, heavy gaze stays directly on your chest.

“Is that—” he squeezes his eyes shut and grimaces as you roll your hips again. “Is that happening in Dublin or Nashville?”

Your eyes roll back as you bring a hand down to rub fast circles into your clit. The creak of the bed grows louder as you revel in the heat that builds within you, a band slowly pulling taut. 

“Baby,” you whisper, and Andrew understands immediately, nods his head in encouragement as he tells Caroline, “So sorry, can you hang on for just a minute?” He doesn’t seem to wait for a response as he taps frantically at the screen to mute the call. Then, he tosses his phone aside and rests both hands on your hips, guiding your movements. 

Volume doesn’t matter now, and you pant and whine with every thrust he meets you with, fingers digging into your skin as he bites his lower lip and groans. Warmth continues to build with frantic movement that has both of you going off rhythm. 

“Close,” he breathes. 

Any reply you could muster is choked by a crashing wave of pleasure that consumes you all at once. Your body tenses as you cry out against his skin, and Andrew holds you tightly as he snaps his hips just a few more times. You feel the twitch of his release within you as he whispers, “I love you, I love you,” in your ear.

After taking a moment to catch your breath, Andrew presses his forehead to yours, eyes sparkling with the type of admiration that makes your face hot and your stomach squirm. He’s always looked at you like this—like a goddess to be revered, and he, an unworthy soul—but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to the showering of love and affection this man provides, all butterflies and a twitterpated heart. 

He sends you off with a kiss before grabbing his phone while tucking himself back into his pants. As you head towards the closet for a fresh change of clothes, Andrew picks up the phone again and puts it to his ear. 

“Sorry about that, I was just taking care of something.” 

He throws you a wink, and you can’t help but grin as you roll your eyes and wave him off before disappearing into the bathroom for a much needed shower. 

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Indelicate proposal

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: @thatawkwardlittlefangirl and @itzavahere I told you I'll blame you both for planting this idea into my head. So here it is and I've no idea why this initially short drabble grew into something so monstrous as it is now. I just hope you'll enjoy. And this is the meme that actually triggered it all 😅

Warnings: fluff, SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, sub/dom undertones, slightly dominant reader, praise kink, hints to past abuse, Sihtric being a bit lost but absolutely the sweetest (don't know whether this is a warning but just in case 😅)

Summary: an unexpected proposal leads to more unexpected actions as you discover the surprisingly soft core of the young warrior seeking your attention. Can't claim there is much plot despite the word count

Word Count: 7,1 K

"Sihtric is with us now," Uhtred declared simply, devoid of any pomp or solemnity. The decision was made, requiring no further confirmation.

From the sidelines, you had observed the scene unfold beside Lady Gisela, your hand poised on the hilt of your sword, ready to spring into action if need be, prepared to protect her if necessary. Your eyes scanned every slight movement of the young prisoner, who held Halig hostage.

His slender yet well-built frame was taut like a drawn bow, every muscle vibrating with tension. His eyes darted nervously around the gathering, briefly meeting your scrutinising gaze before settling on Uhtred.

Wide and expressive, his eyes, framed by thick lashes, gleamed with a blend of despair and determination. Despite the tightness in his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils, there was no hint of malice or cruelty in his gaze, only a fierce resolve to endure, akin to that of a trapped wild animal.

A fresh wound above the Dane's temple left a hint of red in his short-cropped hair on the sides. The purple blue bruise marrying his left eye, the fresh cuts and scrapes on his arms, and his bleeding nose and lip added to his battered appearance. He was young, likely even a few summers younger than yourself, but the way his muscles rippled beneath the skin, told you there was much more hidden beneath his youthful and even soft features.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you observed the young Dane, realising that his greenness might have lulled the vigilance of the guards tasked with watching him. It was a tactic you knew well, one you had used to your advantage countless times before.

Gisela's worried whisper broke through your thoughts. "Do you believe he can be trusted?"

"We'll have to see," you responded with a nonchalant shrug, drawing your dagger from its sheath, prompted by Uhtred's nod in your direction.

Approaching the young man cautiously, your eyes locked onto his, noticing the dilation of his pupils and the tense set of his muscles. It was evident he was unsure of what to expect from you and braced himself instinctively for an attack.

"Hands," you demanded, tilting your head. He tried to maintain composure, but his breath betrayed him, quickening as his chest rose and fell unevenly. With a hesitant glance at Uhtred and the others dispersing from the clearing, leaving just the two of you behind, he extended his bound hands toward you. They trembled slightly, his chest now still as he held his breath in anticipation.

Pressing your dagger against the ropes, you made a swift cut, eliciting a sharp exhale from Sihtric. His eyes followed the falling remnants of the ropes, landing at his feet, his hands remaining outstretched as if in disbelief of his newfound freedom.

Raising his gaze to meet yours, your eyes locked - two deep pools of different colours filled with a mixture of alarm and trepidation, an unspoken question hanging in the air between you.

"You're free," you confirmed, and a faint smile touched the corners of the young warrior’s lips, though it failed to reach his eyes, a subtle sadness lurking within their depths.

Sheathing your dagger, you turned to leave, but halted after a few steps, casting a questioning glance back. Sihtric remained where you had left him, rubbing his wrists, a perplexed and somewhat sheepish expression gracing his handsome features. A smile tugged at your lips as you observed him, a curious warmth blooming within you. It seemed he was at a loss for what to do now that his audacious plan to gain Uhtred’s attention had unexpectedly granted him freedom.

"Sihtric, are you coming?" you called out, surprised when the young Dane visibly flinched at the sound of his name. His eyes flicked towards you, and in the next moment, he hurried into motion, falling into step behind you.

"Can't you sit still?" you whispered with exasperation, your patience wearing thin. Cleaning Sihtric’s head wound had become a challenging endeavour, akin to trying to pin down a spooked animal. He squirmed and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, his hands restless as they roamed from the collar of his armour to his sides and back again, as if uncertain where to settle.

It was evident that the simple act of being tended to was deeply unsettling for him. As you reached out again with the damp rag, Sihtric, caught off guard by your movement, flinched and nearly leaped from his seat. In his startled reaction, he accidentally overturned the bowl of warm water you held, splashing both you and the ground.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he hastily clasped his hands between his knees. Avoiding your gaze, his eyes darted around the tent, searching for a means of escape.

You furrowed your brow, taking a step back to observe the young Dane before you, who seemed as though he'd prefer to vanish into thin air.

It all felt painfully familiar, an almost long-forgotten image emerging in the back of your mind like a jagged shard of glass. You saw her clearly, that young girl with wild hair and desperate eyes, caught in the act of stealing from a lady with cascading dark curls and a smile that could melt the coldest heart.

You had snarled and recoiled when she reached out to touch your unkempt locks,  expecting a whip but met with only kindness. She offered you food, a bath, and clothes to replace the ragged remnants hanging from your frail frame. Yet, despite this generosity, you fled the very same night. Sneaking out of the room offered to you, you ran without looking back, incapable to comprehend why you were treated with such goodness, feeling suffocated by it all, unable to bear the weight of her compassion.

A month later, you encountered her again in the bustling marketplace of Eoferwick, your fingers once more grasping for the purse at her side.

"My name is Gisela," she had said, her smile unwavering as you returned the stolen purse later that evening, cheeks flushed with shame. From that moment on, you never strayed from her side.

Meanwhile Sihtric’s gaze had shifted downward, fixated on his worn boots. Shoulders slumped and slightly hunched over, the young warrior, possessing the strength and skill to disarm two grown men with his hands securely bound, resembled a child caught in mischief, anticipating reprimand.

You softened your expression and extended a reassuring smile towards him. "It's alright, Sihtric," you said gently, your tone soothing as you reached out, resting your hand on his shoulder. "Just try to relax. Can you do that for me? We'll get through this together. You’re safe here."

Retrieving a bowl from the ground, you headed outside to fetch warm water from the kettle over the crackling fire.

"Would you mind if I tended to your wounds?" you asked, your tone tender, pausing to give him space. You sensed how crucial it was for him to feel in control, so you waited patiently, allowing him to make his own decision.

After a moment of uncertainty, Sihtric acquiesced with a slow nod, exhaling deeply. His gaze remained fixed on you as you drew near, this time handing him the bowl to occupy his restless hands. As you resumed your task of cleaning away the blood and applying salve to the bruises, a sense of relief washed over you as Sihtric remained seated, clutching the bowl as if it were a lifeline. Despite his body still being tense and his breaths ragged, he managed to keep himself still long enough for you to complete your work.

"It looks much better now," you remarked with a smile, stepping aside to assess the result of your efforts.

"It seems you've got yourself a new admirer," Gisela teased, nudging you in the side with a playful smile.

"What?" you replied, pretending to be clueless.

"Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed the way that young Dane looks at you. What was his name again?"

"You mean Sihtric?" you confirmed.

"Yes, Sihtric," Gisela chuckled, holding onto your hand despite your attempt to pull away. 

"Tell me all about him!"

"There's not much to tell," you dismissed, feeling a bit bashful.

"Come on, he practically can't take his eyes off you. Your horse has never looked better, and your gear is always impeccably cared for. How many times has he leapt to his feet, overthrowing the bench he was sitting on, to fetch you ale before you've even asked?"

Of course, you couldn't overlook any of it. Over the past week, Sihtric had become like your shadow. Your horse received extra care, your weapons gleamed with attention, even the loose ropes of your tent were neatly secured, and the kettle by your fire was constantly refilled with fresh water.

You tried to reason with him, insisting that such efforts weren't necessary. You were perfectly capable of handling your own belongings. Yet, he remained resolute. He didn’t argue with you, offering only a simple, "Yes, lady," with his gaze cast downward and his arms stiff at his sides. The following day, when you approached the horses, your mare was already tended to, her coat gleaming and her feed replenished.

"Sihtric, what are you doing here?" you exclaimed, surprised to find the young warrior curled up near the entrance of your tent, wrapped in the furs and blankets you had provided for him on his first day in camp.

Lost in discussions with Uhtred and Gisela about Guthred's intended negotiations with the Turgilsons brothers, time had slipped away from you. Sihtric had proven invaluable, gathering crucial intelligence on the brothers' forces and camp location, earning praise and rewards from Uhtred. Alongside his prowess with a blade, the young Dane showed remarkable cunning as a spy and scout, excelling at remaining unnoticed.

Regret washed over you as your words escaped, realising the abruptness of your tone. Sihtric practically jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes and trying to regain composure, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and panic as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in your tent?” you asked, lowering your voice and aiming for a soothing tone.

“I... Um... Clapa snores,” he offered uncertainly.

“Are you spying on me?”

“No, lady, why would I? I... I wouldn’t dare. I just wanted to be close in case you needed something.”

“Sihtric, we've had this discussion before. You're not my servant. I can take care of my horse and my weapons just fine,” you said firmly, the frustration evident in your tone.

Sihtric's shoulders dropped, and he cast his gaze downwards. “Are you upset with me, my lady? Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong? Sihtric, my horse will burst if you keep feeding her like this, and I fear there'll soon be a hole polished into my sword.”

“I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean any harm. I only wanted to help, to be of use. I won't bother you anymore,” Sihtric stammered, hastily gathering his belongings.

A pang of sympathy tugged at your heart. You hadn't intended to hurt his feelings, but you clearly had.

“Wait, don't go. I didn't mean it like that,” you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm in an attempt to stop him from leaving.

Sihtric froze as your fingers grazed his skin, his breath seeming to catch in his throat. Sensing his discomfort, you quickly withdrew your hand.

“I'm sorry,” you apologised, feeling a twinge of guilt. “I truly appreciate your help, Sihtric. It's just that sometimes it feels a bit overwhelming.”

Your gaze softened as you looked at the young man before you. Despite your initial suspicions, you couldn't deny the genuine kindness in his demeanour. His innocence and vulnerability reminded you of yourself in many ways, and the way he often appeared completely lost and overwhelmed by his new surroundings was so familiar to you that against your better judgement, you found yourself growing fond of him. Perhaps even more than you were ready to admit. 

“Can I offer you some hot tea?” you suddenly asked, eager to show him a bit of appreciation. Sihtric nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You held the tent flaps open, inviting him inside with a graceful gesture. Sihtric followed, still clutching the bundle of furs and blanket in his arms. Inside, you swiftly illuminated the tent with the warm glow of candles, then located two cups and filled them with herbs and hot water. Turning back to your guest, who stood just a few steps from the entrance, you offered him a welcoming smile.

“Would you like to take a seat?” you asked, extending your arm with the cup towards Sihtric. He set the bundle on the ground and accepted the offered cup, but remained rooted to the spot. You watched as he wrapped his palms around the cup, which seemed almost small in his large hands. The intricate lines tattooed on his fingers caught your eye, and wondered if they held any special meaning, but you decided against asking.

Sihtric shifted nervously from one foot to another, lifting the cup to his lips for a small sip. Several times, he seemed on the verge of speaking, but each time, the words eluded him.

You observed him quietly for a moment, allowing the soothing silence to linger a little longer. It was evident that something weighed heavily on the young warrior's mind, but you didn’t want to press him.

Eventually, your curiosity got the better of you, prompting you to break the silence. “Is there something you want to say, Sihtric?” you inquired, offering him an encouraging smile.

“I… I’m not sure how to put it,” Sihtric muttered, his gaze flitting around as he took a tentative step back towards the entrance, as if contemplating a hasty departure. It wasn't the first time you noticed his tendency to seek an exit strategy.

With deliberate steps, you approached, trying not to appear too imposing, and halted directly in front of him, meeting his gaze with gentle assurance. “Go ahead, I’m all ears,” you prompted, offering him your full attention.

“I mean… I wanted to… I wanted to ask you… if maybe you and I… if I could…” His words stumbled over each other, his breath quickening, cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. “Would you mind if I… if I humped you?” he finally blurted out in a single breath, his gaze darting nervously to the ground.

“You what?” You choked on the hot liquid you had just brought to your lips, spluttering it onto Sihtric’s leather armour. The surprise and incredulity in your voice were difficult to mask.

"Gods… I… I like you. You are so beautiful and kind. I’ve never met someone like you and… and… please don’t be angry with me. I… I can give you everything I have, all my rings, look, I mean it,” he hastily removed his arm rings, recently gifted by Uhtred, and began pulling rings off his fingers, the cup in his hands hindering him until it finally fell to the ground.

You looked at Sihtric, unsure of how to respond. You should have felt offended, but the earnestness and embarrassment on his face suggested he hadn’t meant to offend you.

Sihtric stretched his arms toward you, presenting all his valuable belongings.

"Do you think I'm a whore?" you finally asked, meeting his gaze with a mix of surprise and concern.

"What? No, why? By the Gods, no…" Sihtric's voice faltered, revealing his nervousness. You noticed him taking a cautious step backward, edging closer to the exit. "I didn’t mean it that way… It’s just… back home, in Dunholm, the girls always asked for something in return to let me hump them. And ... and they said they enjoyed me. I didn’t have much to give, but I always found something, like a piece of cloth or a blanket, or fresh-baked bread. So I thought… I thought… since you're a lady… if I offered you silver…"

Sihtric gulped, clearly sensing your disapproving gaze. “The other warriors and Kjartan used to mock me for giving away all my belongings. I know they were having the girls even against their will, but my mom always told me that real strength isn't about hurting those weaker than you. I mean… back then when she was still around,” he continued, his words tumbling out in a rush like an unstoppable stream.

“Gods, now you are really angry with me. You must think poorly of me. I’m such a fool. Please forgive me, lady. I’m sorry. I better be going before I say something even dumber. It’s all yours, anyway.” 

Before you could respond, he hastily deposited all his silver and gold into your hands and turned to leave.

Staring down at the glimmering wealth he had thrust upon you, disbelief washed over you. "Hold on! You can’t just give me all this! Wait!" you protested, but Sihtric was already halfway out of the tent. "Stop, get back here," you commanded firmly, and to your relief, Sihtric froze in his tracks.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly, turning back to face you, though he avoided meeting your gaze. "Please don't think badly of me. I'm not like my father, I never wanted to be."

It was just a tiny glimpse into his past life, but even that filled you with sadness and sympathy. Setting the unexpected gifts down on a nearby table, you made your way to the tent entrance, drawing the flaps closed behind you. You turned back to Sihtric, blocking his way out. You couldn’t leave it like this; you needed to have a talk. 

"Hey, I'm not angry. I'm just kinda surprised," you said, stepping closer.

"Surprised?" Sihtric let out a relieved sigh, but he still wouldn't look you in the eyes, his embarrassment clear even in the dim candlelight, with his cheeks flushed red.

You shook your head as you continued to observe him. He was undeniably good-looking, his muscular build catching your eye, and you couldn’t deny you felt attracted to him, but there was something about the young warrior that went beyond looks. You had already gathered that his life hadn’t been a smooth ride on a paved road, and you wondered how deep the scars in his heart ran, realising that the few visible ones he carried on his handsome face were merely the surface of a much larger tapestry of pain and suffering.

"I like you too, Sihtric, and I just want to know you better," you said, stepping forward slightly.

"You do?" disbelief and even suspicion were evident in his voice.

You moved with deliberate care, allowing Sihtric to observe every motion as you reached out and tenderly cupped his face. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering shut. Your thumb softly traced his cheek, and with a heartfelt sigh, Sihtric leaned into your touch, snuggling against your palm.

You pulled back your hand quickly, worried that he might misinterpret your gesture as anything more than a reassuring comfort to show you were not angry. The faint whimper that escaped his lips, followed by a sigh, cut through you sharply, echoing in your mind.

"Please... could you... do that once more?" Sihtric said under his breath, opening his eyes to meet yours, his expression filled with earnest pleading.

"Do what?" You paused, momentarily confused.

"That... that thing you just did," he replied.

"That thing? You mean when I caressed your cheek?" A gentle chuckle escaped you as you noticed the blush spreading across Sihtric's cheeks. "Like this?" you asked, reaching out again to cradle his jaw gently, your thumb skimming the corner of his mouth. Sihtric immediately responded, leaning into your touch, his eyes closing and his breathing deepening.

You closed the gap between you, gently tilting his face toward yours, and he instinctively followed, your foreheads lightly touching. "When was the last time someone touched you like this?" you asked, and although you suspected the answer, it still caught you off guard.

"I don't remember," he whispered back, his voice tinged with a faint tremor.

You weren’t really sure what made you do it; it wasn't something you'd planned. You just wanted to smooth over the awkwardness caused by his indelicate proposal and unexpected admissions, to let him know you weren't upset. It was evident the young warrior had no real understanding how inappropriate his offer actually was.

You had so many questions you wanted to ask, so much you wanted to understand. But instead of asking anything, something inside you took over. You found yourself standing on your tiptoes and kissing him, holding his face in your hands and pulling him closer.

Your lips brushed against Sihtric’s, a little rough from the wind, and you could taste the faint hint of ale and the tea you’d made earlier in his quick, shallow breaths. Your heart was racing, pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears, and a fluttery feeling filled your stomach. Sure, you’d kissed before—some who were charming and passionate, and some who definitely weren’t princes—but this somehow felt so different and it was a bit embarrassing, especially since Sihtric didn’t kiss you back.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." you stammered, pulling back abruptly, taken aback by your own spontaneity. So much for just wanting to talk to him. Sihtric stood there, eyes closed and hands at his sides, as still as a statue. The silence thickened around you as you tried to steady your pounding heart. It was perplexing; the young Dane had wanted to hump you, yet he didn’t even respond to a kiss. What the heck?

Just as the wave of embarrassment hit its peak and you considered asking him to leave, Sihtric’s hand reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "Please, can we... Can we try again?" he breathed, leaning in and tentatively pressing his lips against yours..

It was a soft and cautious kiss, his lips barely brushing yours, as tender as a feather's touch against skin—a gentle probe for warmth and connection. Feeling your head spin slightly, you kissed back with more intensity and passion, drawing a low groan from Sihtric.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, breaking the tender embrace of your lips but keeping his forehead pressed against yours. His breath was warm and ticklish against your face, his fingers trembling slightly as he continued to stroke your cheek with his thumb, his breathing shallow and unsteady.

"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I... I do. I've never been kissed like that before," Sihtric admitted, his voice carrying a note of surprise mixed with sadness.

His response took you aback once more. "Did the girls in Dunholm require extra payment to let you kiss them?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

With his eyes still closed, Sihtric shook his head. "No, they never allowed me to kiss them. They never touched me the way you just did. Not even the women in the alehouse that Tekil paid for," he added, his voice fading into a whisper.

Without speaking, you reached out and drew him into a firm embrace, feeling his body stiffen briefly as if he might pull away. But you held on, your fingers gently combing through his hair. After a moment, his resistance eased, and Sihtric relaxed into your hold, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Slowly, his arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer against his chest.

For a while, you both just stood there, the warmth of your bodies wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His deep longing for attention and warmth, for genuine love and friendship—those simple joys that breathe life into existence tugged at your heart. You had found such treasures in Gisela's unconditional care and friendship years ago, and now you just tried to convey at least a small fraction of that same comfort with your gentle touches and steadfast embrace.

As Sihtric's breath warmed your neck, you felt his large hands pull you closer at the small of your back, his lips seeking yours again with a newfound passion. The kiss unfolded slowly, deeply, and you savoured each moment, losing yourself in the tenderness of his embrace. Your lips moved together in harmony, his hands tenderly stroking your back and hair, fanning the timid spark that had flickered to life at your first touch into a fervent blaze, making you crave for more.

Breaking the kiss elicited a soft whimper from Sihtric. "Come," you said in a low voice, gently taking his hand and leading the way. Sihtric followed,  a slight bewilderment crossing his face.

"I don’t want you to hump me," you began, looking up at him as he stood beside your fur-covered bed.

Sihtric’s eyes dropped to the ground once more. “It was so stupid of me to ask, I’m sorry…” he said hastily.

"Shh, listen to me," you interrupted, placing your index finger to Sihtric’s lips to silence him. "I want to show you something. Do you trust me?"

"Lady, I would trust you with my life," he replied, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an intensity that made you smile.

"Good, because I want to share something special with you, and I need you to trust me, to feel safe. I want to make love to you, Sihtric," you spoke softly, placing your hand on his chest and gently urging him backward onto the fur-covered bed. "Trust me," you repeated, and with wide eyes, Sihtric allowed himself to be guided down. 

Seated on the cushioned surface, he watched you with anticipation as you settled onto his lap, legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him. You pulled him into another kiss, and this time, you abandoned all restraint. Your fingers wove through his hair as your tongue eagerly explored his lips, seeking entry into his mouth. With a soft gasp, he yielded, allowing you to deepen the kiss, and you revelled in the soft sounds of pleasure that escaped Sihtric as your tongue explored his mouth, clashing against his. His hands tentatively wandered up your hips and along your back, drawing you nearer to him.

You traced a trail of soft kisses along his jaw, playfully nipping at him with your teeth. Each touch of your lips drew a low moan from Sihtric, encouraging you to linger on his sensitive neck and suckle at his skin, leaving behind a few lingering marks. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you could feel his arousal growing, prompting you to grind your hips against his, seeking friction.

Sihtric responded with a deliciously soft moan, his hips rising to meet yours, his breathing growing rapid. Your hands skillfully loosened the laces of his leather armour, but as you began to pull it away, he suddenly tensed, his hands catching yours to stop you. "You may not like what you see," he murmured softly.

Confused by his hesitation, you gently insisted, "Why? Sihtric, let me. I want to see you, to feel you. You told me you trust me," your voice soft but persuasive, and eventually, his resistance crumbled as he released your hands.

You couldn't help but gasp at the sight of his well-defined abdomen, muscles rippling under his skin, but it was the scars crisscrossing his torso that held your attention. Some were thin, precise lines across his chest, likely from a blade, while others, more rugged and widespread across his shoulders and back, were surely traces of a wip. Gently, you traced these marks with your fingertips, emotion rising within you.

"My goodness, Sihtric," you whispered, guiding his chin gently to keep his gaze from averting, and then you brought your lips to his in a tender kiss. "You should never feel ashamed of these. Wear your scars with pride. They're evidence of your strength and resilience. Don't let your past dictate your future," you murmured against his mouth, feeling the tension that had crept into his body begin to melt away.

He looked up at you with a shy smile and released a soft sigh, as he licked his lips before he drew you in closer. His kisses along your neck were soft and filled with gentleness and purpose, sending shivers down your spine, the feeling of his tongue against your skin igniting a growing desire between your legs.

With a chuckle, you asked, "Could you give me a hand?" and guided Sihtric's hands to the laces of your armour. His puzzled expression brought a smile to your lips as you nodded, and together you swiftly worked to remove your armour. You giggled at the sharp exhale that left him as your breasts bounced out from beneath your tunic. 

“You can touch them, and you can kiss them, just be gentle,” you encouraged with a smile.

“You are so beautiful,” Sihtric uttered softly, his hands hesitantly cupping your breasts. You arched your back with a soft sigh as his lips wrapped around your hardened nipple and gently suckled on it, hands caressing your bare back. 

“Yes, just like that,” you didn’t even try to muffle the moan that tore through you, your fingers tangling in his soft and thick hair, as he turned his attention to your other nipple, while his hands traced down your spine to your buttocks, squeezing them.

Your hands found their way to the hem of his breeches, unlacing them and slipping inside. Sihtric groaned at your touch, his breath picking up rapidly, as you stoked his already fully hard length. 

Sihtric effortlessly lifted you, his grip firm as he flipped you onto the furs and settled himself between your thighs.

With eager breaths, you shed the last remnants of clothing, allowing your bodies to meld together. Sihtric's tender kisses and gentle touch on your bare skin setting ablaze a fiery sensation within you.

"Come closer," you mumbled, drawing Sihtric into a tight embrace, cradling him between your legs. Your fingers traced gentle paths over his scars as you savoured the sensation of his warm, muscular form against yours. You listened intently to his heavy breathing, feeling the heat of his body seeping into your bones, while his fingers grazed your skin and his nose nestled against your neck, inhaling your scent.

“I’ve heard the pleasure one can bestow with the tongue could be indescribable, but I’ve never done it before. Will you teach me?” he asked and you almost choked on your breath as Sihtric’s lips started to trail a path of tender kisses down your naked body. 

“Oh, Sihtric,” you gasped as his hot breath hit your core. You reached out, grabbing his hair, and he moaned as you guided him, where you craved for him. 

“Yes, here, use your tongue, pretty boy. Oh, gods,” the first laps of his tongue against your pulsing bundle made you squirm and whine. “Just keep going. You are so good ... oh, oh please don’t stop … it feels godly … you are made for this,” you mewled, rolling your hips against Sihtric’s face. 

You heard his breath stutter with every praise you gave him, as he got more and more eager to please you, his tongue alternating between quick and soft licks and long and teasing wipes, the soft moans leaving him telling you how much he was enjoying this.

Your grip in Sihtric’s hair tightened as you felt your climax quickly building up and you tugged him closer to your perl. “Here, suck on it,” you panted, and your head snapped back as Sihtric’s lips encircled your oversensitive nub, sucking gently at it. 

The lewd sounds, that rolled over your lips, spurred him on, each lap of his hot tongue sending waves of increasing pleasure through your body, each swirl around your clit making you whimper and whine.

“Put your finger inside me,” you mewled between heavy breaths and whined out loud as Sihtric did as told, sucking harder on your clit. “Oh by Freya and Freyr, yess, yessss, you are such a good boy,” you tugged harder on his hair, pushing your hips up against his eager mouth and Sihtric groaned in pleasure against your cunt.

You had no idea whether he knew what he was doing or was it pure instinct, as he added another finger and started moving them in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. His tongue kept lapping through your folds, and after a few thrusts the pleasure exploded within you as he pushed you over the edge. You moaned his name into the silence of the night, as you came undone, tugging on Sihtric’s hair and gasping for breath. 

With a satisfied smile on his lips he kissed his way back to your lips, your eyes glassy and chest heaving heavily as you slowly came down from your high.

“You are so delicious,” he murmured quietly, kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“I thought you had never done it before,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, still floating between this world and the afterglow of the probably most intense orgasm you had ever had.  

“You are such a good teacher and I learn quickly,” he murmured between kisses.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your belly, and you let your hand wander down, your fingers sliding over the sensitive tip, gathering precum and spreading it all over his rigid length with slow sensual strokes. 

Sihtric moaned at your touch, pressing his nose against your skin, his breath getting more and more rugged with each movement of your hand. 

“How do you want me?” you asked, putting a bit more pressure in your hand and eliciting a breathless groan from Sihtric. 

“I … I want to see you,” he whispered and another moan escaped his parted lips, as you continued your ministrations, and he eagerly bucked his hips into your hand. 

“I want to look into your eyes and see you falling apart on my cock,” he murmured in your ear, his voice hoarse and breathing uneven, as he struggled to control himself. “Will you let me? Please, say that you want me. Say that you want me to pleasure you.” 

“Of course I want you, silly boy. You are almost too good to be true. Come, take me, pleasure me, I’m yours,” you breathed in his ear, guiding him at your entrance. 

“I want to be good. I want to be a good boy for you,” Sihtric breathed against your lips. 

You eagerly rolled your hips into his. ”I just want your cock inside me, good boy,” you chuckled.

You both moaned in unison as Sithric slowly pushed himself inside you until the very end of his shaft, his thick and long cock filling and stretching you perfectly. You spread your legs wider to welcome him. Buried deep inside you, he stilled, letting his lips run along your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy open mouthed kisses, burning on your skin and leaving you yearning for more, as he waited for you to adjust to him. 

His large palm ghosted your skin on your side, trailing down to your thigh, as he pushed your leg up and dragged his cock out of you before making his first thrust. Moaning breathlessly, you arched your back against the soft furs beneath you, digging your nails into Sihtric’s shoulders. 

His hips started to move against yours as he fucked you so torturously slowly but thoroughly, pushing himself deep inside you. Holding on to his broad shoulders, you met each thrust moving up against him, tensing your inner muscles and savouring every inch of him brushing against your pulsing walls. 

Your fingers found their way back into Sihtric’s hair, and you pulled hard on them, a smile tugging on your lips from the delicious moan it elicited from Sihtric.

“Use me, mark me, I’m yours,” Sihtric groaned, pulling out of you and thrusting back in one smooth go. “Please, I want to be yours,” he begged, and you dug your nails into his shoulders, leaving red marks in his pale flesh. 

“More, Sihtric,” a needy whine left your lips. “I need more of you.”

With a low groan, Sihtric fastened his pace, hips pounding against yours. You gazed up at him, a strange feeling curling in your stomach. You felt safe. You felt loved and adored, and so wanted like never before in your whole life. 

You were in his power, pinned down beneath his muscular body as he fucked you into the soft furs of your bed, his soft whimpers like a music to your ears, as he begged you to pull harder on his hair, to use him, to mark him, to allow him to please you. You savoured the pretty and desperate sounds he made in your ear, finding them both beautiful and so arousing, your climax approaching with each snap of his hips against yours.

“Do you enjoy me?” Sihtric uttered quietly in your ear, his voice quivering slightly.

“Yes, by the gods, I do,” you muttered, your eyes starting to roll back in your head, feeling the pleasure intensify within you. Sihtric let out a low growl at your words, his breath catching.

“Please, say it again,” he pleaded.

“You’re doing so well,” you praised him. “You feel godly within me. Even Thor itself couldn’t bring me more pleasure.” Sihtric whimpered in response and you felt his cock twitching inside you. 

His moans grew louder and more fevered, his thrusts getting harder and deeper, breath panting and hot against your neck. You felt almost like drowning, gasping for breath from the intensity of pleasure building up within you.

“Such a good boy for me,” you murmured, gripping his hair tightly and eliciting another moan from him. Sihtric’s thrusts started to get sloppy, his moans more heavy with each thrust. 

“I’m so close,” he whimpered, his body tensing, “I will not last much longer.”

You took his hand and guided it to your perl. “You know what to do,” you breathed and Sihtric’s fingers instantly started to rub and circle it. That was all you needed, the last touch to push you over the edge. You felt your walls starting to clench around him, your head snapped back and you came with Sihtric’s name on your lips, shuddering from the waves of pure bliss washing over you. 

A few thrusts later Sihtric pulled out, and you felt his hot seed painting your belly as he groaned in the crook of your neck. He slumped down beside you, his breath heavy and laboured. For a moment you both just lay there, coming down from your highs. 

You turned your head toward him, watching his handsome features. You had never had a more gentle and attentive lover, so concentrated on your pleasure instead of chasing his own. You wanted to pull him closer, to let him feel the same. You wanted him to feel loved and accepted, and cared for just as he had made you feel, but before you managed to do anything Sihtric abruptly jumped to his feet, glancing around the tent. Grabbing a cloth and dampening it with warm water from the kettle, he returned to the bed and carefully cleaned you up.

You watched, your eyes widening, as Sihtric scrambled to gather his scattered clothes from the ground and began to hurriedly dress. He fumbled with his breeches, hopping on one leg in an awkward dance.

"Sihtric, what are you doing?" you asked, a lump forming in your throat. The bliss of moments before now replaced by a wave of embarrassment and a sinking feeling in your stomach. You tried to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze firmly on his clothes, avoiding yours.

"You don’t have to say it. I know. I’m leaving," he stammered, clumsily trying to pull on his boots while clutching his wrinkled clothes.

"Sihtric, look at me," you insisted, sitting up on your heels to face him better.

Finally meeting your gaze, confusion was written all over Sihtric's face.

"So, you just wanted to hump me and now you're leaving just like that, without a word? Like a coward?" you asked, your voice tinged with hurt and disbelief. You didn’t even remember the last time you had cried, the wetness suddenly pearling in the corners of your eyes taking you by surprise. 

"What? No, it's not like that," he replied, clearly taken aback. "You mean you want me to stay?" His voice was filled with astonishment, leaving you momentarily speechless.

A tense silence hung between you, both of you regarding each other with bewilderment. Sihtric let his clothes fall to the ground as he approached and slowly crawled back onto the bed towards you.

Noticing the tears starting to form in your eyes, his expression softened. "You really want me to stay?" he asked gently, cupping your face in his hands before pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Please don't cry. I'm not worth a single tear of yours," Sihtric whispered, his fingers gently caressing your back and threading through your hair. "I would do anything for you. Just say the word, and I'll move mountains. I… I didn't dare to hope... I mean look at you. And look at me—I'm nobody. Why would you want me to stay?"

"Sihtric, just be quiet," you murmured, allowing yourself to sink deeper into the warmth of his embrace.

The next morning, you awoke still nestled in Sihtric's arms. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tent, he stirred, slowly opening his eyes. Seeing you next to him, a soft smile spread across his face.

"You're still here, it wasn’t a dream," he murmured, his voice filled with relief and a hint of hope.

"Yes, I'm still here," you replied, your voice gentle yet firm, as you traced a finger tenderly along his jawline, "And there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

You moved closer, trapping him between your thighs and propping yourself up on your elbow. Leaning in, you kissed his lips softly.

A rush of emotion crossed Sihtric's face as he pulled you closer, and you gasped, feeling his hardening cock pressing against your inner thigh.  

"I would do anything to hold you in my arms forever," he confessed, his eyes locking with yours, filled with sincerity and a deep longing.

"I think I know how you can convince me," you said softly with a tender smile, and you kissed him again, deeply and passionately, cradling his face in your palm. 

Sihtric's smile grew even brighter as he tightened his arms around you, flipping you over and pressing you into the furs with the weight of his body. 

“Tell me, my lady,” he hummed, his lips trailing a hot path down your neck. “I'm all ears, how can I please you today?”

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama

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[always-just-red]

Hello! Y'know that one line of Sylus talking about his muscles saying "They're not real. But they move." The way he casually admits to not being entirely human

Could I request something angsty where Sylus has an uncanny valley aura about him where you just FELL something's not right and Sylus is all :( cause he can't make the MC feel comfortable around him but it's not like he can fix it either

Just a quick little fic for this whilst I work on a longer fic! Realised like two paragraphs in that I had the opportunity to do the most evil thing ever, so I did!! 😇 I'm really proud of this one guys pls show it some love! And thanks for the prompt, anon! You are my co-conspirator in all this evilness, mwa ha ha DISCLAIMER: This work does not reflect the feelings of the author, who would die for Sylus! Wants to hold Sylus's face in her hands and tell him he is everything good and pure in this dark, cynical chess game we call life! 😎✨

Monster

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: A Deepspace Hunter's instincts never lie...

Genre: angst oh my GOSH so much angst

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, AU I guess as this is a different spin on an existing scene, *passes you some tissues* here you might need these! 🥰

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You know monsters.

Earth-shattering. Sky-shearing. Teeth, reckless: always striving for something soft to sink into. To make a home in and to eviscerate. You’ve been grazed by it— kissed by that violence more times than you can count— and you are not soft anymore; there isn’t space for it. There are scars and then there’s armour, the kind you carry with you, the kind you couldn’t shed if you tried, and you haven’t tried, because why would you?

Horror isn’t loud and cataclysmic, it’s quiet. It’s those few seconds before your Hunter’s watch signals a fluctuation of Metaflux. A premonition, trained, or maybe just human instinct, raw and vulnerable: something is wrong, here. That prickle on your skin— the tip of that claw, raked, snaked down your spine. You feel it whenever a Wanderer lurks in the shadows, or beneath a stretch of water that’s unfathomably deep and far, far too still.

Sometimes, you feel it when you look at Sylus.

I know monsters.

Before you, a fragment of a mural tells a very old story, and beside you, a red-eyed man is thinking of flowers. It’s late, and the museum is quiet. You look at the fragment’s centre, where a female warrior is plunging a blade through a dragon’s heart. “Look,” you say, nodding at the figure with a half-smile. “My predecessor.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that looks like a standard Tuesday to me. Some things never change, huh?”

But other things do. With a chuckle, Sylus draws closer to you. The rumble of his laughter is warm and familiar, and his hand is near yours as he bends to examine the mural. He wants you to take it, to thread your fingers through his like you do when you resonate, when you need his power and he needs yours, except neither of you need it now. Why, then?

You know. Of course you know.

The man is all softness, voice and gaze like an afternoon sun in late summer that lulls you to sleep with thick, golden light. Always trying to evoke a dream. It’s weakness, it’s the dragon on the mural with a split heart, bleeding, and you’ll never understand why Sylus wears his on his sleeve.

It’ll be the death of him, one day. It’s set in stone. Right here.

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own?

Your veins are cold and something is wrong, but no, you don’t pull away, because Sylus knows monsters too. Some declare themselves with twisted horns, razorlike wings and a long, barbed tail. Others declare themselves with something as subtle as a touch, withdrawn.

When Sylus steps away from you, that gash of dread closes up inside you. Heals like his wounds: no mess, no scar, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He’s had a long time to look at the mural, and he smiles wistfully at the woman at its centre. “Some things never change,” he echoes, and it sounds as though there’s blood in his lungs, his throat, and that he has to swallow it down to say anything at all. It must sting.

“All in a day’s work for a Deepspace Hunter,” you joke flatly. You’re not even sure Sylus hears it.

Both of you stare at your fragment of history: an execution, a liberation. A matter of perspective. “Maybe…” Sylus begins, but then thinks better of it.

“Maybe what?”

He’s seeing something you don’t.

“Maybe what, Sylus?”

He spares you a glance. “The pose,” he says, indicating the warrior. “It’s ambiguous. Perhaps she isn’t slaying the beast, she could be—”

“Saving it?”

You’re considering a new perspective. Tapping a finger against your cheek as you lock eyes with your history— that elusive dream— ever oblivious to what’s behind you:

There’s a look of sheer, infinite longing— a gaze that’s been empty of you for too long, so sick of starvation, and determined to have its fill in the few, fleeting moments it can. It’s ravenous: dangerous, sharp, and irrevocably yours, if you would only turn around.

There are teeth and claws, but they’re all of them tame, and that makes them soft, doesn’t it? You could trust them on your skin. Turn around.

You do, and you are not the girl from the mural who tucked wildflowers into his hair and who sung him a song he still hears in his sleep. Sylus’s heart aches.

You are the girl from the mural who’s slaying a dragon, because it’s the oldest story, the only story.

Your eyes harden.

“Who would pull out a sword to save a monster?”

[greedyhoneyz]

Welcome to Wonderland

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: eren yeager x pregnant!reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: soon-to-be-parents embark on a joyous adventure, preparing for the arrival of their little one in a quest to find the perfect stroller.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none. fluff. domestic.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors note: inspired by baby mine from @tojigasm. im in a 'baby' mood and wanted to write something other than football. you can probably tell that I haven't watched the show but honestly, I've kind of based eren on his portrayals by other writers on this app and what I feel he would say and act like if he was a modern character. truthfully i just need to watch the show, but I'm honestly not good at keeping up with shows in general.

Onesies. Diapers. Bottles. Pacifiers. Cribs. Toys.

This was the world of babies. 

Eren had never felt so intimidated— standing by the store doors, a trolley glued to his front as he gawked at the avalanche of ‘everything baby’ in front of him. The signs above the aisles, all printed with words that seemed important, taunted him with ridiculing laughter and bizarre speeches filled with phoney concern. 

Hesitantly, Eren veered around and then glanced at (name). He swallowed deeply before speaking between shallow breaths. “Where do we start?”

(name) was quiet for a few moments as her eyes aimlessly scanned the store floor. She let out a breath and then paused, blinking, before glancing down at her phone. “Uh,”

She padded her thumbs across her screen and scrolled through her baby registry. 

“Strollers,” (name) managed to breathe out. She nodded to herself, assured by her choice and peered up at Eren, nodding once again. “Yeah, I think we should look at strollers first.”

“Strollers…” Eren muttered back slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…that's good.”

The metallic clatter and squeak of the trolley and its battered wheels followed Eren and (name) as they pushed the cart towards the “strollers & travel systems” section. 

The trolley squeaked to a halt when (name) stopped. She blinked, rubbing her lips together and slowly stepped away from Eren. 

“This is nice.” She spoke softly. She raised her hands, her curious fingers wriggling in the air, and fiddled with the straps and handle of the matte black stroller. From the platform where it was perched, she pushed it back and forth, whirling the stroller from side to side. “It moves nicely too.”

“This one looks good too.” Pivoting on the heels of her feet, (name) carefully stroked the handle of another. It was grey, except for its black frame, and carried a sizable basket beneath it unlike the other.

Eren hummed in response to (name) and shifted away from the trolley. He inclined forward and fiddled with the hood of the stroller, pushing it back and dragging it forward. He smoothed his hands across its aluminium frame and picked at the price tag, strapped at the handle. “Not bad, you like it?” 

(name) shrugged. “It’s nice, but I think we should look around first before we decide on anything first.”

The trolley’s shaky rattle continued as (name) and Eren strolled through rows and rows of strollers in various colours, sizes and shapes. 

The traditional strollers, with large wheels and adjustable handles, had quickly gained (name’s) favour, whilst the lightweight umbrella strollers, which were perfect for prompt trips around the town, perked Eren’s eye. The jogging strollers failed to reel both Eren and (name) in, and though their suspension and manoeuvrability brought ease and comfort, the couple could envision themselves going for light jogs across their neighbourhood with their little one in tow. It wasn’t their style. 

“Is there anything here you like?” After a while of searching, Eren and (name) had broken off their stroll and huddled themselves into a corner and fueled themselves with the breakfast bars (name) had stashed inside her purse.

 "No," Eren shook his head, swallowing, his face twisted.

“Well,” (name) began. “If we can’t decide on anything now, I think we should move onto bassinets–”

“What?” A baffled expression came to (name’s) face as she watched Eren shoot off directly to a larger display of strollers.

With a smile on his lips and sparkling eyes, he bent down to retrieve a car seat from the queue of strollers. He waved, beckoning (name) over and beamed down at the contraption below. 

Gripping the metal ledge of the trolley, (name) towed it behind her as she walked. 

She stopped, standing a few feet away and with an inquisitive brow, glanced down at Eren.

“Look.” Hanging his figure over the car seat, Eren turned his back to (name). He lowered his arms, positioning his hands on either side of the seat, its front and its back. He gripped the handle with one hand and tucked his other into the safety lock. He pressed the lock, heaving it upwards as its legs, tucked beneath, extended outwards. Setting it down on the floor, Eren carefully eased the handle from above the black hood and towed it above the seat. A quiet snap could be heard as he adjusted the handle to his hip with a single push of a button. 

“Wow.” (name) gaped, her eyes wide and slowly circled the stroller.

“Cool, ain't it?” Eren smiled proudly. He pushed the stroller back and forth, wheeling it across the aisle in jagged lines. “‘Been looking at this online.”

“And it's good for travelling,” he boasted. “For when we fly. Oh, and it's light….it moves so nice….”

Resting her hand on the swell of her belly, (name) bent down and moved her hands across the seat, running her fingers against its smooth fabric. “But what happens when the baby gets too big and grows out of this?”

“Then…I…guess we buy two strollers?” Eren blurted out slowly.

“Babe… I don’t know.” Reclining back to height, (name) propped her hand on her hip and furrowed her brows together. She pulled her lips down into a frown and shook her head unhappily. 

Eren could feel his heart plunge into the pits of his stomach as (name) scowled. He was convinced that the stroller parked before him was it. And now, as he stared at his wife, he wasn’t too sure she felt the same.  

“Listen, baby, it's a great car seat and stroller,” he began. “C’mon, it's convenient and easy to use, we get this and it’ll make our lives so much easier when the baby comes.”

“Trust me, baby, I’ve done my research. I’ve watched videos and read reviews. This is the one.”

(name) thought a moment, gnawing at her bottom lip. After inspecting the stroller-car seat ensemble, she took Eren’s place at the wheel and rolled it across the aisle, and then back to him. 

She stopped in front of him, parking the stroller a few inches from his feet and sighed. She blinked and blinked and then blinked again, and sighed, tracing her hand across its hood. 

“Alright,” She said. “We’ll get it.”

Eren couldn’t help but cheer, thrusting his fists in the air before launching onto his wife. He wrapped his arms around (name), pulling her into his chest, her swollen belly pressed against his middle, and peppered kisses across her head, his nose bristling against her hair. “Yes!”

“Babe— Eren let go, you’re pulling on my hair.” Wriggling out from Eren’s grasp, (name) huffed, her eyebrows furrowed together and quickly patted away at her hair. 

After calling for assistance, Eren, then armed with newfound instructions, made his way down the aisles to the shelf containing another replica of the stroller, with (name) in tow. Below it were two rows of boxes.

Eren reached out, bending his knees, wrapped his arms around the box and lifted it into the air. With careful feet, he hauled the box toward their trolley and plopped it into the basket. 

“There.” He huffed. He wiped his hands and stared at the box, a twinkle glinted in his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as (name) looked on from the sidelines. 

She approached Eren, a hand to the trolley, the other to her stomach, and studied him. In awe at the way, his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and his cheeks carried a gentle, rosy tint when he was excited. His joy was palpable, radiating out from him like a comforting blanket. 

As she gazed at him, (name) felt a deep sense of gratitude. Most women weren’t as lucky as she was, having a man so involved, so excited it’s damn near infuriating. But she cherished his joy, his nervousness, his wonder. He was new to this world, this world of babies, as was she, and whilst at times it was overwhelming, it was beautiful and intriguing to come to learn and to love the little human cocooned inside her belly. 

And as Eren looked up and caught her eye, (name) returned his smile with one of her own. In a silent exchange, they basked in each other’s warmth, arm in arm, sharing each other’s bliss.

[v3nusxsky]

Hey!!!

I love your work so much,

Is there any chance I can request a Larissa weems x reader fic where Larissa and reader are friends and Larissa always steals readers food (like a couple of chips/fries from her meal or a sip of her drink) and it’s just completely innocent.

And readers pet peeve is when people steals her food EXCEPT when it’s Larissa cause she’s completely head over heels for her.

Anyways, I would really appreciate the fic and if you feel like something would fit in place better, im happy with that too. I’m completely confident that you’ll write something I love.

Once again, I love your work.

Hope you have a wonderful day

-a severely affection starved Gwen Stan xx

New discoveries

*Authors note~ another day, another gift. A Drabble for the woman who I started the account for. I’m so incredibly grateful to be nearly at 2 years of owning and posting these fics for you guys. I’ve met some wonderful people I’ll forever be grateful for.*

Trigger warnings~ nothing? Reader has it bad for Larissa, Larissa struggling with food slightly?

Prompt~ see ask^^^

The first time Larissa steals your food you don’t even register it. Simply swiping the cream off your drink, the once ruby red nail being covered in cream. You’re too distracted by the way she takes her index finger between her stunning lips to clean it off with her tongue. The little happy mewl at the taste makes it all worth it. Larissa immediately apologised to you, of course, but being too lost in the sight before you caused you to be nonchalant at best.

The second time Larissa wanted to treat you to lunch. You’ve been working so incredibly hard to help her keep Nevermore afloat. It’s the least she could do. Due to her own issues with other peoples opinions on her diet, she ordered a salad and water while you decided to order the most appealing meal on the menu. It just so happened that when the waiter brought your meals over, you noticed the way the principals gaze dropped to the side of chips on your plate before quickly flicking back to her own meal.

“Everything okay?” You murmured to her watching as she blushed at being caught. “Of course darling. Thank you for accompanying me. I just wanted to thank you for all the hard work you’ve been putting in for Nevermore. I wouldn’t have survived this semester without you.” Now it’s your turn to flush a pink colour at her words.

The meal was lovely, the conversation seemed to flow effortlessly as you made each other laugh. It was only when the waiter asked about desserts did you leave the table to the restroom. On your plate lay a few stray chips and Larissa tried to avoid looking at them. But then she’s reminded of the happy little moan you let escape you when you took a bite. Well. No one would know if she just pinched one right? You weren’t here and the restaurant seemed abuzz with the other tables conversations.

The fact you returned to the table to see the older woman carefully nibbling on a chip was definitely shocking. That very chip was on your plate. It’s yours. Sharing is caring, but not when foods involved. You never share food. It’s a well known fact by all the staff at Nevermore. Yet, you watched as the shifters eyes went wide as you catching her. Her expression matching a child who was caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Oh! I’m so sorry darling. I don’t know what came over me. I know you don’t like others touching your food.” Her words trailed off almost as if she was waiting to be scolded.

“Have the rest Rissa” you muttered pushing the plate towards the woman who immediately tried to give it back to you, “oh no darling I simply couldn’t. You eat it darling.” If she were anyone else you would’ve been mad, yet looking at her now you couldn’t help but want her to have them. She never allowed herself much. And if a few chips would make her happy then you would gladly give her the rest. And that’s the moment you realised you felt more for Larissa Weems than you thought. A simple crush for the stunning shifter had changed momentum.

Ironically, Larissa sneaking bites of your food or even sipping your coffee became a staple for your relationship. You soon realised that Larissa never really ordered what she desired. She got what was expected of her. So to counter the problem, you’d order extra sides for your meal, enough to ensure that she felt comfortable sharing a few with you. Over the last few months Larissa had tried a range of new food all thanks to this little habit of hers. When the staff witnessed her taking a sip of your coffee in the staff room they thought the world would end. They most definitely didn’t expect for you to kiss her cheek and simply brew another mug for yourself. Sharing food was a no with anyone. But luckily for Larissa she was more than anyone.

[rediimere]

The leaked “AI Aloy” footage from Sony has left such a bitter taste in my mouth that, hours later, I’m still fuming and have even more words to say about the overall sinister nature of its implications.

Let's talk about it.

I want to start by saying that there is a difference between what is colloquially called "AI" as a tool for artists and developers in which their software uses their own sources to streamline the process (for example, the "Content Aware" fill tool that has been present in Photoshop for at least a decade), and "generative AI/genAI" that relies on unauthorised theft of resources to artificially splice data together based on prompts. I have no qualms with the former as it relies on being fed its own sources and is an aid for specific purposes. It is not artificial intelligence, but a tool. GenAI, on the other hand, is immoral, unethical, planet-destroying garbage.

The latter is what is being pushed in that egregious video footage. It is the epitome of tone-deaf, soulless, capitalistic wet dream, dangerously misogynistic slop and I am not exaggerating. And I think it's also the culmination of years of fandom culture being integrated by people who have never interacted in fandom, never bothered to learn the etiquette of a space that existed long before they joined, demanded changes for their comfort, and see it as another commodity.

I'm not the first to say this and others before me have been far smarter about it, but there has been a marked change in fandom culture the past few years. Many have said it goes back to COVID, when people generally not involved in fandom spaces joined because they had nothing else to do.

The thing about fandom is that for pretty much as long as it's existed, it has been a safe space for marginalised voices. It's no coincidence that the transformative works of fandom—fiction, art, meta, etc.—have been places for queer voices, for women, for people of colour, for the trans and nonbinary community, etc. With more people joining, these safe spaces have become less so. There are demands for people to "stop shipping" characters that aren't a canon, established ship. There are personal and threatening attacks on people who have a different viewpoint on a character or plot. People have been stalked. People have been doxxed. This isn't necessary new, but is happening with increased frequency and ferocity, especially by younger members and the terfy crowd. The safe space fandom provided marginalised voices really seems to be shrinking.

Outside of fandom culture itself, there is a rising trend of needing instant gratification, of sacrificing unique protagonists for the sake of "relatability" and "self-inserts." There are readers who ignore descriptions of female protagonists and male love interests in romance books so that they can self-insert (and others are calling for authors to stop describing entirely). There are booktok-ers who, believe it or not, complain about the amount of words on a page. I'm not saying their opinions are wrong in general—there is a market for what they seek—but their reviews are to encourage these stipulations to become the norm. And these influencers get enough engagement that their views are seen as profitable by the corporations and execs in charge.

So it isn't really surprising that now fandom is being seen as something that corporation can milk for all its capitalistic worth. Why wouldn't corporations invade a space they've ignored for years as inconsequential now that it's mainstream? After all, fandom was just full of the "weirdos" before, and now it's full of "normies!" This is a space that has been established for decades, built from the ground up by people who value the source material(s), now full of anyone and everyone who will soak up one morsel of customized instant gratification for the dopamine hit.

And that's where genAI comes in.

Why is this so sinister in regards to Sony's recent leaked footage using AI Aloy interacting with a user?

First off: It's Aloy.

Look, if you've perused my social media or interacted with me online at all, you know I love Horizon. My computer room is full of fan-made merch. I've written almost a million words of fanfiction in three years. I've drawn fanart. I helped construct a fanmade dating sim. Horizon has been a huge part of my life for the past three years.

I'm not ignorant of its flaws. I'm also aware of the fact that Horizon is often hated as an IP, and Aloy is the target of a lot of rage from certain audiences. Not to generalise, but let's be clear: the complaints are largely about Horizon being "woke DEI garbage" (you know, for having a queer female protagonist, for featuring other women and queer characters in prominent roles, for having people of colour be important in the story, for being anti-capitalist and pro-environmentalism, etc.—the same tired, ignorant arguments we've all heard), and about Aloy being "fat" and "looking like a man" (hopefully they stretch before that reach so they don't pull something).

So why would Sony use Aloy to showcase an AI conversation instead of someone like Kratos or Joel, who come from more popular and acclaimed IPs?

One possibility is Sony trying to sink Horizon or Guerrilla Games as a company, spurring so much backlash from the leak that the franchise is doomed and dropped so Guerrilla either goes under or focuses on old IPs like Killzone.

Or the more disgusting possibility is that something like genAI is made for the people who loudly and proudly proclaim how "anti-woke" they are, who have detested Horizon and Aloy from the beginning, and now they have a way to "like" Aloy. They have a way to make her say or do or react to whatever kinds of depravity they want to throw at her. They have a way to control and manipulate a fictional woman to fulfill their own incel agenda.

On top of that—Horizon? The video game about how a defective AI made by a trillionaire wiped out humanity? The sequel that revealed another rogue AI made by thousand-year-old billionaires is set to wipe out Earth again? That Horizon franchise is what Sony is using to showcase AI slop? Let's not even go into how the character responses are literally so painfully out of character they can't be taken seriously at all. The irony is so heavy-handed it's almost crushing.

The other reprehensible part of this is the fact that video game actors are still on strike, and this strike is to protect themselves from being replaced by AI. This test footage did sound like a messed up Siri, but Ashly Burch (Aloy's actress) has been in support of the strike. The insult of using her character to showcase this slop is beyond words.

All I will say in conclusion is that I genuinely hope this is not endorsed, supported, or aided by Guerrilla Games. If this plays any part in Horizon 3 or any future part of the franchise, I speak for myself but can confidently say I am out.

In conclusion please do not support any genAI slop, especially in fandom spaces. Make them know it is not wanted, not needed, and is in fact detested and will lose them money in the end.

On that happy note I'm off to bed.

[cynicalrosebud]

Kinktober Day 8

Warnings: Sexual themes; Breeding; Gay Sex; Author is a monsterfucker

Prompt: Oviposition + Breeding

Pairing: Beast!John Price x Male!Reader

The rest of Kinktober

The cave was dim, the air thick and warm as he lay beneath the weight of Price, his monstrous form looming over him. The creature's body, a twisted amalgamation of beast and man, pressed against his small mate, the heat between them almost unbearable. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, focused solely on his mate, filled with an intensity that made his skin tingle.

"You’re going to take everything I give you," Price’s voice was rough, a deep rumble that reverberated through the space between them. His claws gently traced along his mate's skin, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. There was no escaping it—he had agreed to this, to the strange, primal need that thrummed in the air.

Price’s body shifted, pressing his mate down further into the earth, the creature’s hot breath against his neck making him shiver. His body was already slick with sweat, heart racing as he felt the weight of what was about to happen. Price’s movements were deliberate, each one carefully calculated to ensure that his mate had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from what was coming.

"You want this, don’t you?" Price growled, his clawed hand gripping the smaller thigh, pulling him closer. His monstrous frame loomed large, casting a shadow over his mate as he nodded, unable to form words. His body trembled in anticipation, nerves alive with a mix of fear and excitement.

Price’s massive form shifted slightly, the sensation of his hot breath against his neck making him gasp. The creature’s instincts were in full control now, the primal need to fill him overwhelming any human restraint Price might have once had. His claws dug into the earth beside his mate as he prepared, his monstrous form taut with anticipation.

The cock that pressed against his hole was no less monstrous than the creature it was attached to. Dark in colour, it hung far in front of his body, resting along his tiny mate’s back. Two thick knots bulged from both halfway down, to right above his heavy balls. Price’s mate could see the movement of eggs shifting along the thick girth, forcing a shiver out of him.

His mate’s breath hitched as he felt the first wave of burning inside him, Price’s monstrous body pressing closer as the process began. It was slow, deliberate, as if the creature wanted him to feel every bit of it. Price’s hand slid down to his mate’s stomach, resting on the bulge possessively as his voice rumbled in the dim cave.

"You're mine," Price growled softly, his voice dark and heavy. "I’m going to fill you, and you’re going to take it all. My beautiful mate."

The smaller body tensed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but he couldn’t stop it—the heat, the pressure, the way Price’s body seemed to claim him with every movement. His mind was a blur, every nerve on fire as he was filled, his senses overloaded. It was primal, raw, and utterly consuming.

He needed more.

The pressure inside him grew, the weight of what was happening making his head spin as Price’s claws dug into his skin almost painfully, grounding him through the overwhelming sensations. There was no escape from the intensity, no way out of the primal need that seemed to take over both of them. His mate could feel the heat spreading through him, the sensation building until it was almost unbearable.

He could feel the first egg drop into the canal, slowly moving down to push against his already straining rim.

"You’re taking it so well," Price rumbled, his monstrous body still pressing against his mate as he continued, his voice low and full of satisfaction. "You’re going to carry this for me. All of it."

The first egg finally pushed back his rim, followed quickly by its siblings in a steady flow into his hole. His mate’s entire body trembled, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled completely, the pressure inside him growing until it was almost too much to handle. His breaths came in short gasps, his vision blurring as the warmth spread through him, a deep ache settling in his core.

His stomach began to fill, stretching and becoming almost uncomfortably heavy at a rapid pace. Price’s hand remained firm on his stomach, possessive and controlling as the process continued, the weight of what was happening grounding his little mate in the moment. There was no turning back now—no stopping the primal need that had overtaken them both. “Gonna look so fucking beautiful, full of my young.”

The last egg finally pushed firmly into place among the others, a loud groan of appreciation leaving Price.

"Good boy," Price growled softly, his voice full of approval as he finished, the heat inside his mate finally easing as the intensity began to subside. His body was trembling, completely spent, but Price’s hand remained on him, protective and firm.

"You did well," Price murmured, his voice still rough but filled with a strange sort of tenderness as he leaned down, his monstrous form still towering over his mate. "You’re mine now. All mine."

[blossombriefs]

Agora Hills | A Goku OneShot [NSFW]

Authors note: hey guys! Be sure to drop a follow and a like! The support goes a long way! I'm also happy to take requests - please be following me and shoot me a message. I can work of prompts such as songs, locations, colours, scents. Give me a brief description and the characters you'd like. This also has potential for a fully smutty part 2 so if that's something you'd want to see let me know! Prompt: Doja Cat's song 'Agora Hills' "who's that man with the big strong hands?" "You're the one you're the only man, me and you on my OnlyFans" Summary: The reader is an OnlyFans model and after being threatened at a party has to come clean to her boyfriend, Goku Content: afab!reader x Goku, mature themes, blackmail and drama (Vegeta being a total asshole), mentions and details of anxiety, story heavy, soft smut near the end Word Count: 2836 words

Times had been a bit financially straining on you since you tried to settle down with Goku. You both shared a lovely home and with plans to start a family together, you needed to find a source of income to start planning ahead. Goku was constantly off either fighting insane battles on faraway planets or was off training with his friends. Sure, you could have just looked for something in your local area like in a store or on a farm, but when Bulma encouraged you to look into the site OnlyFans, it piqued your interest. Bulma is the best source of motivation you have. You were a little unsure about it but with her lovely compliments toward your appearance, you couldn't help but try it.

You had set up a tripod with a ring light in the corner of your spare room to get the perfect shots, using your phone to capture so many pictures of you in cute lingerie sets you had. You also used a couple of your boyfriend's t-shirts for a baggier look on your body. Your income was plentiful as your platform grew and grew. It covered bills, put food on the table and even left some over for you to treat yourself and Goku. However, one question always lingered in the back of your mind.

"How long can I keep this hidden from him?"

You hated keeping secrets from Goku, transparency was such a huge foundation your relationship was built on. He was always honest with you, would this hurt his feelings?

On one of the evenings he had free, Goku had invited you along to a gathering at Krillin and Android 18's home. Everyone was going to be there and you could tell from his eagerness that he was excited for you to finally meet the rest of his friends. You felt that it had been a long time coming and you put so much effort into how you looked while Goku sported his traditional orange gi. Hopping onto the nimbus cloud, he held you tightly as it whisked you toward the Kame House. As you approached your destination, you were both greeted by waves as everyone gathered outside on the beach. You nervously held onto your boyfriend's arms as he waved gleefully to them all, keeping the same wave and smile through your descent. You both bounced off together, greeting everyone. Going around everyone, you were introduced to his friends one by one.

"Y/N this is Krillin and 18," he extended his hand toward a slender, tall blonde woman and her opposing counterpart. You smile as you shake their hands and introduce yourself. Gradually he made his way around the rest of his friends; Master Roshi, Piccolo, and Yamcha were part of the introductions. Finally, your attention was directed to Bulma and her partner, who you hadn't yet met. He stood beside her with his arms folded over a buttoned up blue shirt, his aura nothing short of intimidating.

"Y/N, you haven't met my husband Vegeta yet have you!" Bulma chirped, taking his arm and yanking him toward you and Goku. You smiled at him timidly, admitting you were kinda afraid of him wouldn't have been the best first impression in your mind. You could sense him looking you up and down, choosing to address you with a scoff.

"So this is Kakarot's harlot, yes?"

You looked to Bulma in disbelief as her hand slapped his shoulder harshly. Goku was quick to wrap his hand around your waist as he spoke up, "Hey, c'mon Vegeta you know that's not very nice!"

He simply huffed in your direction as he followed the rest of the group inside, Bulma not far behind screaming an earful toward him. You felt uneasy, Goku rubbed your arm to try and ease you. You weren't someone to take comments like that to heart but something just didn't feel right. You all took your seats in the living room and for the most part the evening was going well. You all shared some drinks, had a laugh, shared some food. You hit it off so well with everyone that you felt like you were part of the family... all besides one person.

Crossing paths in the kitchen, Vegeta glared you down as you look a fresh glass from the cupboard. When you sat it down again to pour another drink you glanced back in his direction, "Can I help you?"

"Don't think I don't know your secrets," he slowly walked toward you, you felt as if he hadn't uncrossed his arms from your initial introduction. If looks could kill Vegeta would've buried you 100ft underground. "You know your vulgar acts aren't suited to him, that clown deserves a woman with a bit more self respect."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you retort. Your hands shaking as you unscrew the lid from the top of the bottle. Deep down you knew what he was referring to but how did he know?

"That woman runs her mouth to me about everything," his reply was cold. He turned his back to you and began walking toward the door that led to everyone else. "You tell him or I will."

A shudder ran down your spine. The tension left behind lingered with his words. Your heart raced, the weight of your secret growing heavier on your shoulders. You took a moment to collect yourself as you decided Vegeta couldn't be the one to tell Goku. Just as he was about to reach the doorway, you spoke up and the tone in your voice was full of determination.

"Wait, Vegeta please." you plead as you set the bottle down. He turned to look back in your direction with his arms still crossed and his expression staying cold. You look to your feet, "I'll tell him but please could we continue this conversation outside."

Vegeta continued to eye you for a moment, his pride more than evident, but eventually he nodded. Hoping you had cracked him he turned away and led you out the back door to the beach, the soundtrack to your serious conversation being the crashing waves of the sea. You lowered your voice and spoke soft, revealing your own vulnerability beneath what you were portraying as tough, "I never intended on keeping anything from Goku. It's just complicated and I never knew how to bring it up."

His response was a shake of his head and a scoff as he stared you down intensely, "He deserves to know what kind of person he's with, that woman refuses to tell him. I don't even understand what it is you're up to! Y-you're lewd-"

"I have an OnlyFans account," you confess with a deep breath. "It's just a way to bring in some money for us and I just didn't want him to worry about our future. I never intended on disrespecting him I-"

As his scowl deepened and his silence remained, you could tell he was taking in what you were telling him. Wether he'd allow you to tell him yourself or not was on the table was another story. He grunted and without allowing another word to leave your lips, he turned and walked back inside with you close on his heels. Your heart felt heavy with what could follow. You didn't know what would be said. You reentered the living room, Goku glanced at you with a sweet smile, blissfully unaware about the conversation you had just had as you took your seat beside him.

The living room buzzed with conversation and laughter but as you cuddled into Goku's strong arm the weight of the conversation with Vegeta was weighing on your mind, you could feel his intense gaze follow you from the other side of the room as you tried to settle in. A silent threat that you had to tell him sooner rather than later.

As the evening continued, you'd engage in small talk with the others to try and keep your composure but what made your heart feel warm was seeing how happy Goku was. He's an incredibly social person, much more than your average person, and was more than happy being in the company of his friends. After a while, Bulma pulled you into the kitchen. She had noticed how reserved you had become throughout the night and was growing concerned, "Is everything okay?"

You nodded with a forced smile, "Just a little burned out and tired, that's all."

She looked at you with sympathy, placing her reassuring hand on your shoulder, "You sure? You know you can tell me anything, right? If it's because of Vegeta's comment earlier I can always talk to him?"

You shook your head and smiled gently, "Thank you Bulma, honestly, but it's fine! I didn't take it to heart."

You lied through your teeth but she bought it, patting your back as she left you alone with your thoughts. Your anxiety was gnawing at you, you knew what loomed ahead.

As the night gradually wound down, Goku yawned and stretched as he turned to the remaining few people left. With a thankful smile he suggested that you both head home. He stood up, spinning you in his arms to face him. "You look beautiful. You're perfect. Your dress you picked is so beautiful I just can't wait to get back home."

You beamed looking up at him, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. He smiled as he kissed you back in return. However, your loving moment was interrupted by none other than Vegeta.

"I bet you won't be the only man to see what's under that dress tonight, Kakarot," he smirked.

You looked up, witnessing the glee in your boyfriend's face shift into shock. The panic surged through your body as you clung to him tighter, Vegeta's words hanging in the air. You looked towards him with a disapproving look but Vegeta remained totally unfazed, his arms crossed and a sly grin plastered on his face.

"What are you talking about, Vegeta?" Goku furrowed his brows, his hands slipping from your waist.

His response was sharp, leaning in with a wicked glint in his eyes, "Oh, nothing, Kakarot. Just saying that some things... or some people... aren't as pure or nice as they appear."

The air was heavy with tension, your throat was running dry as tears began filling your eyes. Bulma stepped in between the two men swiftly, placing a hand on her husband's chest, "Vegeta enough. Stop it! There's no need for this you're making the poor girl cry!"

Goku's face was still taken over with confusion, turning his attention from Vegeta to you. You could hear his own worry take over, his eyes like a puppy's, "Baby what's going on? What does he mean?"

You were hesitant and unable to string your words together. Again, stealing your opportunity, was Vegeta, "Ask your precious partner about her little online endeavors. She's not as innocent as she appears."

You sigh, placing a hand gently against his chest as you look up towards him. Taking a deep breath and your voice was trembling, "Can we talk when we're home about this Goku, please."

The arrogant Saiyan prince wasn't done. It wasn't good enough for him. Purely with a sarcastic tone he chimed in once more, "Oh, how touching. Wanting to keep things private now? The woman who claims she loves you oh so much is selling herself online for a few extra zenies! Showing herself off to other men, tarnishing your trust."

Unable to process what he was being told, he hung his head as he let go of you entirely. Your arms dropped from his shoulders. He sighed gently, "I'll be outside Y/N. When you want to come home come meet me. We'll talk about this at home."

"Goku plea-" your words couldn't stop him from leaving, slamming the door behind him. You couldn't do anything but tremble. You knew why Vegeta did this, he loved seeing Goku weak or vulnerable. You also knew Bulma wouldn't let him live this down. You smiled sadly in her direction and thanked your hosts, leaving behind a now perplexed group of friends. Sat in the sand outside, creating little patterns in the sand with his finger, was your boyfriend who sat in an overwhelmed silence. You took a deep breath, shuffling in the sand beside him which left your dress covered. The beach was serene at night, the waves crashing against the shore heavy at the other side. "Please, let me explain,"

He sat in an almost child-like silence, his eyes fixated on the shapes he had drawn. The gentle sea breeze carried your tension and sadness. You had never seen him so hurt, it was all your fault. He looked up at you with tears starting to form in his eyes, "I can't believe you'd cheat on me with Vegeta..."

"Goku what?" you said, shocked. "I just met him today?"

"Look, Y/N, I love you. I don't want to lose you. If you've been chatting with him online and-"

This is where everything clicked, Goku had no idea about OnlyFans and what the site was. He took Vegeta's words at face value. You shook your head and cupped his face in your sandy hands. "Baby no, it's not that. I have an account on this website where I sell some pictures of myself and it brings us in lots of money."

Goku wiped his eyes, blinking back anything else that could spill. "What do you mean?"

"These men that buy these pictures don't see me in person. They don't touch me. We don't have sex. It was just an easy solution to our money problem and I'm sorry I wasn't honest. Vegeta knew because Bulma told him. I can't be angry at her for that..."

"So-so you're not sleeping with other people. He made it sound so filthy."

"I can show you what I do when we're home." you reassure him. His face softened as the weight of the misunderstanding started to lift from his shoulders.

"I should've trusted you, I'm sorry." he whispered. You held him close to you, you thought through that night you could've lost him.

"I should've been honest from the start, I just didn't want you to worry. I'd never have wanted to have hurt you."

As he gently pulled back from you he summoned his nimbus cloud. Kissing your forehead gently he softly spoke, "I just want to understand everything. We can move forward together afterwards can't we?"

You nodded gratefully at his understanding words. Together, you climbed aboard your transport home. You could tell from the way he held you that he was still skeptical and his emotions were mixed. You wanted to do your best to help him understand.

Once you arrived back to your house, hand in hand you led Goku upstairs to show him the tripod and ring light set up in your spare bedroom. Sitting him down on the bed, you ran through how the site worked. He nodded along taking in every drop of information. You shown him how much income you brough in each day and explained what everything went to. Finally, you handed him your phone to look through the photos. His eyes widened in a gleeful way as he began to flick through them.

"Babe, you look smoking hot in these!" he beamed. You could feel the negative tension lift off your relationship and a new tension start to brew. Looking up with a smirk, "Can I help sometime?"

"You wanna help?" you gently smile. He nodded his head fast. His hands wandered to the front of your strappy dress, carefully slipping it down to reveal your bouncy, perky tits to him. You flushed red a little. Once your phone was propped up on the tripod, you posed for a few photos with your ever supportive boyfriend. You tried letting him control the ideas, however his Saiyan instincts were close to kicking in and wouldn't leave much time for many pictures. He stayed behind you in most of the shots, cupping your breasts with his big, strong, calloused hands or encouraging them down to play with your pussy. You hadn't done anything sexual on your account yet and allowed him to assist with teasy photos. His hands grabbing your ass, his hands squeezing your thighs. He was giving you the content that could only grow your platform more.

He gently left little bites and bruises on top of your breasts, neck and shoulders. With a cocky grin and a chuckle, he whispered in your ear, “Now they’ll know you belong to me.”

Finally, he took some of you sitting on top of him. You gently straddled him as he slipped his fingers in your mouth for the final shots, your spit dripping down his hand as he looked up at you in pure amazement.

"That's my girl," he said with a gently slap to your ass. You tilted your head gently as you looked down at your strong, sexy boyfriend pinned under your thighs.

"Do you have any other questions?"

"When can I fuck you for all your fans to see?"

[nahoney22]

One Night With Royalty***

🫧 Pairing: Prince Rex X Female Reader

word count: 3.5k

prompt:

“Can you be good for me?”

Summary: When the Prince Rex is admired by your beauty, he takes no time in taking you by your hand, offering you a dance and perhaps offering you a little more.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. AU fic. Cinderella Inspired. Explicit Sexual Content and Language, Dirty Talk, Praises, Face Sitting, Oral Sex ie Cunnilingus, Creampie, P in V Sex, Soft!Dom Rex, Female Reader Wearing a Ball Gown (your choice of colour), Reader Flees at Midnight.

Authors Note: I loved this idea anon! Fitting with the theme of Cinderella I’ve also done it that Reader leaves at midnight same as the film for ✨ drama ✨ i hope this is okay and you enjoy 😊

Entering the palace was like stepping into a realm of enchantment. With each stride you took brought forth a spectacle of grandeur that left you breathless. At first, you thought maybe it was the mountain of stairs you just had to climb in heels that had the wind knocked out of you but it was the crystal chandeliers that illuminated the vast expanse of marble floors with a soft, ethereal glow that had you captivated.

The soft hue casted intricate patterns of light that danced in harmony with the melodies of the orchestra; an unfamiliar sound to you. Not only that, but the air was a symphony of laughter and conversation, carrying with it the mingling scents of exotic flowers from an array of different planets.

The sights of Princesses, Noble men, Senators, and Jedi alike moved gracefully, their elaborate gowns and finely tailored suits exuding an air of regal sophistication. Making you feel like you stood out like a sore thumb as you navigated through the ballroom. Holding onto your dress to avoid tripping over yourself, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of sparkling tiaras and impeccably polished shoes from the guests.

Despite the overwhelming opulence surrounding you, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind - "I so don’t belong here…"

With a twist of fate and defying your disapproving family who didn’t even want you here tonight, a stroke of luck shined your way. But you couldn’t even think about that right now. You just wanted to take this all in.

Though all eyes were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Prince Rex - the main reason for the ball - your focus remained captivated by the beauty of your surroundings; caught in a reverie. It hardly felt real.

Overwhelmed by it all, you sought for a moment of calm in the serenity of the outdoors. The far left door beckoned, leading to a spacious balcony offering a panoramic view of the landscape bathed in the stunning glow of a deep purple sunset.

As you stood there, momentarily lost in the beauty before you, a voice shattered the tranquility, causing you to startle. Turning, your eyes widened in astonishment as the Prince himself stood before you.

The tales of his valour in the Clone Wars had preceded him, his attire matching the hues of his armor - a finely embroidered doublet of blue and white. And the praise regarding his looks was indeed warranted, as he was undeniably handsome. It felt like a crime to even look at him.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" His voice was soft, his gaze kind as he regarded you.

"Yes, it is," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness as you instinctively dipped into a formal address, feeling suddenly small in his presence.

His smile was warm, his demeanor charming as he took a step closer, one hand casually tucked behind his back. "I hope you don't mind me coming to say hello. I noticed you when you entered and realised you were alone."

You struggled to comprehend how he could have singled you out amidst the bustling crowd, let alone why he would choose to engage with you. "Not at all, Your Majesty," you managed, your words tinged with a mix of surprise and admiration as you offered a quick curtsy.

He chuckles, laughter almost was infectious, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he drew nearer. "The pleasure is mine," he replied, his charm putting you at ease.

Stopping before you, he extended his hand with a gallant gesture. "Will you do me the honor of having the first dance with me?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.

Caught off guard, you stared at his outstretched hand, then back up at him, a mixture of disbelief and elation flickering across your features. "I...I would be honoured," you stammered, finally accepting his offer, your heart racing with excitement as you took his hand.

As the Prince led you back into the ballroom, this time to the dance floor, you couldn't help but notice the hushed gasps and murmurs that followed your entrance. You chew on the inside of your cheek as a sense of unease crept over you, a stark reminder of your perceived insignificance among the sea of nobility and royalty.

Sensing your trepidation, the Prince offered a comforting squeeze of your hand, his reassuring touch momentarily easing your nerves. With a subtle nod, he guided you to the center of the room.

As the orchestra resumed its melody, the Prince's gaze met yours. For a moment, there was a glimmer of something unmistakable flickering in his eyes. There was a hunger there, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

With each step, the Prince's presence enveloped you, his firm yet gentle touch guiding you effortlessly across the ballroom floor. As you stole glances at the onlookers, their reactions ranged from smiles of admiration to expressions of confusion and even disdain. You’re nervous, the weight of their scrutiny threatening to dampen your spirits, but the Prince's reassuring voice cut through the noise.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Look at me."

You tore your gaze away from the judgmental stares, focusing instead on the Prince's intense eyes that seemed to hold a world of secrets. Yet, despite his attempt to shield you from the prying eyes of the crowd, you couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of inadequacy that lingered within you.

"I..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to articulate the turmoil churning within your mind. "I can't help but feel... out of place."

The Prince's brow furrowed with concern, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly as he sought to understand your inner thoughts. "What are you thinking? If you do not wish to dance just say. I will not take offense," he observed, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

You swallowed hard, the weight of your insecurities threatening to overwhelm you. "It's just... I know why this ball is happening. You're seeking a companion, marriage. Someone who is worthy of your stature and position. And yet, here I am, dancing with you, unable to offer anything of value."

Your confession hung heavy in the air, the vulnerability of your words laid bare before him.

“So you are not a Princess or a Senator?” The Prince's unwavering gaze held yours, his question hanging in the air with a weight that made your breath catch in your throat. As more guests joined the dance, their attention momentarily diverted.

Summoning your courage, you met his gaze head-on. "No, Your Majesty, you are not mistaken. I am neither of those things."

For a moment, silence hung between you, the weight of your admission settling over the space like a heavy fog. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckles.

"May I tell you a secret?" His voice was low, conspiratorial almost. Anyway, it was enough to draw you in with its intimacy.

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to continue. "Of course," you replied, your curiosity piqued.

"I do not wish to marry. Not yet, anyway." His words were like a revelation, catching you off guard and causing your mind to reel with disbelief. "It is simply my duty. I did not want this Ball to take place knowing I had to marry a stranger."

The two of you danced more together, neither of you seeming to want the music to end. But there was something now different in the way he held you.

His touch was possessive, almost afraid that you were going to slip away from him at any point or have another man come and take you from him. His movements deliberate too, each step charged with an unspoken intensity that left you breathless.

The Prince's hold on you was undeniably suggestive, his every movement a tantalising invitation that stirred something primal within you. You felt foolish for getting so heated by him but there was a curious thought in your mind.

“Why have you asked me to dance with you if you’re not looking for something?”

Your question hung in the air, heavy with uncertainty, as you searched the Prince's eyes for answers. His hand, once intertwined with yours, now caressed your cheek with a tenderness that elicited an audible gasp from your lips, your eyes fluttering shut at the unexpected intimacy.

As his fingertips brushed against your skin, a rush of sensations coursed through you, igniting a fire that seemed to burn hotter with each passing moment in the bottom of your stomach. How could a simple touch evoke such a visceral reaction?

"Who says I'm not looking for something?" His words, laced with suggestion, sent a shiver down your spine, your eyes snapping open to meet his gaze once more. You saw the hunger in his eyes, a desire that started to mirror your own.

Heat rose to your cheeks, the feeling of his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "I cannot lie and say that's not flattering," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as his hands trailed across your body with an intimacy that left you stunned.

Leaning in close, his lips mere inches from your ear, he whispered words that sent a jolt of electricity straight between your legs. "Have you ever been with royalty?"

With a sense of excitement, the Prince guided you through hidden corridors and secret passages, away from prying eyes and into the seclusion of his personal chambers. Each step was imbued with anticipation, yet you were eager to see what was to happen.

As he opened the door, granting you entry into his private domain, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight before you. The tapestries that draped the wall, the size of his bed… all of it. But before you could fully take in your surroundings, the Prince stepped up behind you, his hands finding purchase on your hips, his lips brushing against your ear in a gesture that sent shivers down your spine.

"Do you want to do this?" His voice, soft yet commanding, filled the room with an intoxicating allure that left you breathless.

"Yes, Your Majesty," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, your desire evident in every trembling breath.

"In here," he murmured, his hands trailing down your back as he began to slowly, deliberately, undress you. Each touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through your body that has your knees shaking, “you can call me Rex.”

As the fabric of your dress fell away, leaving you exposed in your corset and undergarments, a flush of heat flooded your cheeks at the Prince's appreciative gaze. "You are beautiful," he whispered against your skin, the warmth of his breath making your head roll back and rest in the crook of his shoulder. His lips found your exposed neck, gently kissing along your skin that makes you whimper under his touch.

Your body tingles with anticipation as Rex then led you to his bed. As he sat down, his gaze roamed over your form with a soft smirk, his eyes locking with yours in a silent exchange of desire.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he kissed over your knuckles softly that sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. "Can you be good for me?" he whispered, his voice thick with lust.

“Yes, Rex,” you replied, your voice husky with longing. “Anything for you.”

"Good girl," he murmured, his words sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you as he quickly undressed you until you were now fully nude, him following suit before he reclined on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. The air crackled with tension as you crawled towards him, your movements deliberate and sensual.

As you drew closer, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, igniting a firestorm of desire that threatened to consume you both. His lips were warm and delicious, tender and precise whilst his hands roamed over your body with an urgency.

But then, with a subtle command, he guided you into position, his gaze smoldering with desire as he whispered, "I wish for you to sit on my face."

A smile of anticipation spread across your lips, your eyes shining with desire as you straddled his face, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. With a low moan of pleasure, you lowered yourself onto him, the sensation of his tongue exploring your cunt sent waves of ecstasy coursing through you.

"You taste so fucking good," he moans into your heat, his tongue working wonders as it explores every inch of your dripping arousal. Gripping your thighs firmly, he holds you in place, his determination evident in the fervour of his actions.

His hand roams upwards, teasing your sensitive skin until it finds purchase on your breast, kneading and pinching your hardened nipples. “R-Rex,” you whine beautifully, gazing down at him between your legs, his brown eyes staring back at you with desire as he sticks his tongue deep in your hole; the noises lewd, sloppy and messy

Feeling bold, you begin to move your hips, grinding against his face with increasing urgency. "That's it, ride my tongue," he encourages, praises, his words muffled by your slicked cunt that sends vibrations through your core.

You're on the brink of ecstasy after a few minutes, your body trembling. "I'm gonna cum, Rex," you moan, your fingers brushing against his buzzed-blonde hair as he pushes you closer to the edge with his expert ministrations.

"Go ahead, cum for me," he demands, his grip tightening as he doubles his efforts, pushing you over the edge into a euphoric release. With a satisfied groan, he laps up your essence, savouring the taste of your pleasure.

As you catch your breath, he guides you onto his lap, his solid cock pressing against you. "Are you ready for more?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, his desire evident in the hunger of his kiss. “You’ve got such a beautiful pussy… I just need to bury myself inside you.”

Your mind is reeling from the intense pleasure coursing through your veins as Rex's lips devour yours, leaving you yearning for more. “Yes, yes fuck me please!”

He grins against your lips and flips you over, positioning himself above you, anticipation coils in the pit of your stomach. His cock presses against your slick folds, the size both intimidating and exhilarating. "You're so big, Your Majesty," you purr in desire.

"I told you," he replies softly, his breath hot against your skin as he begins to ease himself inside you, eliciting a hearty groan of satisfaction. "Call me Rex."

With each inch of his length filling you, a symphony of pleasure floods your senses, driving you to new heights of ecstasy. His hands grip the sheets beside you, his movements deliberate and controlled as he savours the sensation of being buried deep within you.

"Stars, you're tight," he murmurs. "It's been so long for me..."

You offer no words of reassurance, only the soft sounds of your moans and the tightening of your legs around him, urging him to delve deeper into each moan you make.

His pace starts slow but then quickens quickens, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "You've got such a lovely cunt," he coos, his eyes locked on the intimate union between your bodies, his cock glistening with your slick arousal. "You feel so good."

"M-More, I need more, Rex," you whimper, your body arching against his, desperate for the relentless rhythm of his thrusts.

With a deep grunt, he obliges, his movements becoming more urgent and rough as he plunges into you with unrestrained passion. "Beautiful," he praises, his voice thick with desire as he loses himself, gazing into your brown eyes.

The room fills with the sounds of passion, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and lust. Your body is ablaze with desire, every nerve ending ignited by the intoxicating pleasure of Rex's touch. With each thrust, he elicits a chorus of moans and gasps from your lips, driving you to the brink of madness.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groans, his voice a husky whisper against your skin as he buries himself deeper inside you, face buried in the crook of your neck as he practically folds you in half. "So tight and wet for me, just begging to be fucked."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, the sheer intensity of his desire sending shivers down your spine. "Yes, Rex, please," you whimper, your voice a desperate plea for more of him, more of the overwhelming pleasure he brings.

He responds with a sigh, his movements growing more urgent and desperate as he seeks to fill the hunger that consumes you both. "You're driving me crazy," he confesses, his voice raw with need as he loses himself.

You want more. You need more. "Harder, Rex," you beg, your nails digging into his skin as you urge him to push you further, to take you to the edge again.

With a fierce determination, he complies, his thrusts becoming one again rougher and more intense as he drives you towards the pinnacle of release. "You're so fucking beautiful," he growls, kissing your neck before resting his forehead to yours, locking gazes. “You look so cock-hungry.”

It was sudden, your orgasm hitting you like blaster-fire. With a shared cry of release, you surrender to the overwhelming tide of pleasure, your walls contracting on his cock.

You screamed his name, grasping at his body desperately as he gives strained grunt before he spilled deep inside you. He holds you tight, still slowly thrusting in and out, and you kept clawing at his back, murmuring incoherently.

Rex soon stops, staying inside you as you just laid there together, catching your breaths. “You are wonderful.” He murmurs, kissing your lips softly.

You smile lazily, your legs still twitching as you slowly come down from your high, gasping quietly as his softening cock slips out of you.

“May I draw you a bath?” As Rex offers to run you a bath, he covers you with a part of his duvet and you can’t help but feel touched by his consideration for your comfort, and a blush warms your cheeks at his respect for your dignity.

"I feel like I should be asking you," you chuckle softly, meeting his gaze. "After all, you are the Prince. But I'd like that, if you don't mind?"

"I would not have offered otherwise," he assures you, placing a tender kiss on your cheek before retreating into the refresher, the sound of running water filling the silence.

Alone in his room, you allow yourself a moment to reflect on the whirlwind of events that led you here. You had only wanted to have a bit of fun tonight, sneaking into the Ball without your family's knowledge and experiencing just splendor, only to catch the eye of the Prince himself. And what followed was beyond your wildest dreams. He had been kind, sweet, and utterly captivating.

But reality soon creeps back in, reminding you of the inevitable constraints of his royal obligations.

With a heavy sigh, your gaze lingered on a clock and your eyes widened as realisation hit. Time is slipping away and you must leave—fast.

Hastily, you gather your clothes, struggling to dress yourself. The intricate laces of your dress prove to be a challenge, and frustration mounts as the seconds tick by.

The sound of your hurried movements catches Rex's attention, and he emerges from the refresher, a quizzical expression on his face. "Is everything alright?"

"I..." you falter, meeting his gaze, the softness and confusion in his eyes tugging at your heartstrings. He looks almost like a wounded creature, not wanting to see you go. "I have to leave. But I've had the most magical night, Your Majesty."

As you turn to leave, a pang of regret grips you tightly. "Wait! I... I don't even know your name," Rex calls out, his voice laced with a hint of shame at his oversight, mentally cursing at himself for never asking. Supposedly it was because he felt like he did know you.

But time is against you, and you have no choice but to flee his chambers, leaving his question unanswered. With an apologetic glance over your shoulder, you bolt from the room, your heart pounding in your chest as you navigate the labyrinth passageways of the palace, praying you remembered the way he led you in.

Meanwhile, Rex scrambles to dress himself, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He curses his own foolishness for not asking your name sooner, knowing that now, you're gone, slipping through his fingers like sand.

As he races down the stairs of the palace, clothes askew and heart pounding, he scans the darkness of the night, searching for any trace of you.

All he has now are the memories of your eyes, the warmth of your touch, and the lingering scent of your lips to remind him of the moment you shared.

But Rex is determined. He will find you again, no matter the cost.

Masterlist

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot t @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @lulalovez @thiswitchloves9904

[writerinlearning]

𝐂𝗼𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐫𝐬 | Soulmates AU. Part. One.

plot: based on a writing prompt i found on pinterest: AU where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate but the world turns back to black and white when your soulmate dies. plot twist, you can see colours again in the afterlife.

pairing: luke patterson x mercer!fem!reader | alex mercer x sister!reader | sunset curve x mercer!fem!reader

show: julie and the phantoms

warnings: light mentions of death.

word count: 4,4k

author’s notes: english is not my first language, apologies for possible mistakes. this is the second version of this fic. first version has been unpublished. this AU is somewhat based on episode five of julie and the phantoms aka the other side of hollywood. this is a two-part AU.

luke patterson masterlist || part. two. || main masterlist

Los Angeles, 2020

The sun sets down behind the horizon, the golden glow reflecting onto the crystal blue water of the pier. A warm breeze blows through her hair, loose strands falling on each side of her face, perfectly framing the gentle nostalgic smile across her lips. She tentatively dips her feet into the cold water from the ocean, the waves crashing onto the shore but the sound brings a sense of calmness to her mind. She closes her eyes, inhaling slowly.

Twenty-five years. It has been twenty-five years since Y/N had last come up to the pier, the memories of her friends too numerous and too painful to handle at the same time. But the pier was their spot, and she can still vividly imagine Luke with his acoustic guitar, or Alex tapping his thighs to make a beat while Reggie and Bobby sang together. She remembers always sitting with her feet buried in the sand, watching as her brother messed around with his three best friends.

She remembers the day she first met them through Alex, her twin brother older by only twenty-minutes. And she remembers when her eyes landed on Luke, and suddenly colours started to flood her vision, highlighting her world. She chuckles at the memory; Alex had been mad for a couple of weeks after finding out, wondering why on Earth his twin sister and one of his best friends had to be soulmates, but he got around it after a long conversation with Luke and Y/N. Besides, it’s not like they dated right away. They wanted to get to know each other better first, and when they both turned sixteen, Luke asked out on an official date.

A single tear falls down her cheek. She was fifteen, when she discovered that Luke was her soulmate. And she was seventeen when she lost him.

— 

Los Angeles, 1995

Y/N is in the studio, looking at herself through the bathroom mirror. She’s wearing a white Sunset Curve shirt tucked inside a pair of black ripped jeans. White Converses are on her feet, and she wears a black denim jacket over her shoulders, just in case she gets cold. Tonight is supposed to be her brother’s showcase with Sunset Curve at the Orpheum; they’d been anticipating this day for months now, and she was really looking forward to it. And she knows the boys, they wouldn’t miss an opportunity to celebrate the occasion once the show’s over, and she was not about to ask her boyfriend for one of his jackets, again.

It’s when she wants to reach for her handbag that it happens. She trips over her feet, and her vision turns black for a short minute. Her ears begin to ring, her head pounding as she falls on her butt in a soft thud. She takes her head in her hands as tears begin to roll down her cheeks like a waterfall. She doesn’t dare to open her eyes, but finds herself forced to do so when the phone near the garage doors begins to ring. It’s a shrilling sound, one that makes the pounding in her head grow stronger. Reluctantly, she wills herself to get up, opening her eyes to realize the truth of what had just happened, something she’d feared for two years. It’s the little details she notices first, like how Luke’s usually electric blue guitar is now a dark shade of grey, or how the lights hanging from the ceiling are now a blinding white colour when she looks up. It’s how Reggie’s red flannels he’d left on the couch are now black-coloured ones, and it’s how one of her brother’s pink hoodies that she often steals turns a light grey when she looks at it. She chokes back on a sob as she reaches the phone to answer the call, dreading the news she’d get on the other side. She knows; of course she knows. She can feel it deep within her bones, and her stomach keeps churning and twisting in anticipation. Because hearing it out loud makes it real, and she doesn’t want it to be real.

Y/N never was stupid, and she knows what the loss of colours in her eyesight means. She barely hears the words spoken on the other line as she breaks down in tears, hiccups stumbling past her lips as her headache grows stronger. What was supposed to be the best night of their life had just turned into the worst. Last she’d seen them, they were buzzing with excitement and energy over playing at the Orpheum. Rehearsals had been a blast, and it’s the most fun they’d had in a while. Barely an hour later, she’s faced with the reality; she’d just lost her twin brother, her best friend, and her boyfriend.

She tries to reach out to Bobby that night, but he seems to have vanished from the surface of the Earth. Is she angry? Yes, because he’s the only person who knows the boys as well as she does. She can’t go to her parents, even if she wants to. They’d kicked her out of the house the same night they did Alex when he came out as gay to them. Maybe she could go to Emily and Mitch, but she isn’t sure she’d be strong enough to face them, not when she’d been there when Luke ran out on them on Christmas Eve night of 1994.

She does see them, however, during Luke’s funeral. It’s gut-wrenching, and she barely has the strength to face them. Emily sees her first, and the woman practically runs into Y/N’s arms to hold her close, and the young girl can’t stop herself from clinging onto Mrs. Patterson as Mitch wraps his arms around the both of them. She does see her parents for the first time in a year when they show up to Alex's funeral, one she’d organized from A to Z. She tries her best not to be mad at them, but when her mother comes up to her with a fake smile, Y/N loses it completely. Never had she been this angry in her life, and perhaps it was the grief, but that day she told everything she’s ever wanted to say to her parents, and she stormed out of the service, leaving them shamefaced in the middle of the alley way. She goes to Reggie’s funeral last, and she sees his parents from afar. She’s never spoken to them in the time she knew Reggie, but she knows his little brother and when he sees her, she allows him to give her a tight hug. It doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to give both of them a sense of comfort; that someone shares their grief.

But going to three funerals in a week takes its toll on Y/N. She barely eats, barely speaks, and she spends most of her time locked up in the garage, the owners being kind enough to let her live there until she can find her own place, and she spends every minute despising the beautiful black dress she’d worn one too many times in a short span of days. She lays awake at night, looking up at the ceiling whilst tears fall from the corner of her eyes, low sniffles being the only sound in the quiet studio. Polaroid pictures are scattered on the floor, each with a date written underneath. Y/N had torn them from the walls, leaving them untouched on the ground. She doesn’t have the courage to pick them up and store them in a box, the pain from the memories too unbearable to even look at the pictures. After the funerals, she can’t find the strength to go back to Los Feliz High either, deciding instead to get home-schooled and graduate at home.

On her eighteenth birthday, in the year 1996, Y/N visits the boys’ graves, like she’d do every week for the past year, and she always leaves a bouquet of white lilies on each of their graves. She sits down in front of Alex’s headstone, and she tells him about her day, before she tells Reggie and Luke about their respective families. But Y/N never speaks about her parents whenever she visits, never getting any news from them after Alex’s death. 

—

Los Angeles, 2020

Tears roll down her cheeks as Y/N reminisces on the events that followed that fateful night, on her eighteenth birthday. She’d been on her way back to the apartment she was sharing with a friend of hers for a couple months, when her vehicle got caught in an accident. She could still remember the blue and red sirens echoing in the street as she was pulled onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. She still remembers staying in that dark room for an hour before someone came to get her. And as her fingers brush against the purple mark on her right wrist, regrets overwhelm her mind.

Caleb Covington had made promises to her, and she had naively agreed on his deal, with the persuasion that every ghost end up at his club somehow and that maybe, by a miracle, she would find her brother, her soulmate, and her best friend at the Hollywood Ghost Club. But it’s been twenty-four years since she died, and still no sign of them anywhere. Perhaps they had crossed over, after all.

That night, she walks back to the club when the mark begins to burn her skin. Caleb is calling for her, and Y/N knows she can’t mess up her act during the night’s show. With a snap of her fingers, she lands on the scene in the Hollywood Ghost Club, quickly disappearing behind the curtains to go to her dressing-room, where Caleb is probably already waiting for her.

“Ah! There you are, my little dove.”

Caleb’s voice wants itself to be comforting, but after twenty-four years Y/N has learned not to trust his sweet words. She only smiles when she sees him, sitting herself in front of the mirror as she reapplies her red lipstick, dabbing it with her pointer finger. She doesn’t need to look up to know that Caleb is leaning over her, his cold hands on her naked shoulders as he looks at her through the mirror.

“I need you tonight, my little dove.” The magician says, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “See, our dear William has found three new ghosts here in our city of Angels…” 

At those words, her curiosity is instantly picked. She lifts her eyes from the dressing table, looking at the man through the mirror, her head tilting to the right.

“Ah, yes. I knew you would be interested, dear.” He smiles smarmily. “I need them working for me. They’re too powerful to be on their own.”

“How so?” Y/N asks, her curiosity getting the best of her. 

“They don’t need my help to be visible to Lifers.” 

At that, Y/N smirks, noticing the man’s gritted teeth and the frown creasing his forehead. Caleb is all about power; power over the ghosts that cannot cross over, and power over the Living, who are so interested in anything paranormal. She wants to smirk and flip him off, but she decides against it when he squeezes her shoulders between his fingers.

“I need you–” He says, pointing at her through the mirror. “–to convince those boys to work for me. Use your wits, your charms, anything. I want these boys to work for me.”

“And if I can’t?” She asks, her voice slightly wavering.

“You know what happens…”

Caleb slightly waves his fingers, and Y/N’s wrist begins to tingle with a burning sensation. She hisses, glaring at him through the looking-glass before she reluctantly nods her head, watching him disappear into his own dressing-room before the big show. She sighs, taking her head in her hands. She’s gotten used to seeing her surroundings in black and white, and she learned over the years to discern the different shades of black and white, associating them with the colours she used to see. Sometimes, she still longs for the days when she was alive; when the boys, her boys, were alive. A single tear rolls down her cheek, memories of the plans she’d made with Luke rushing back in her mind. Fortunately for her, she doesn’t have time to think much of it when Willie barges into her dressing-room, dressed in black shorts and a tuxedo vest over a black button-up shirt, a pair of black Vans on his feet. Y/N gives her friend a soft smile before a sigh leaves her lips.

“So…” She trails, looking at him. “I’ve heard you found three lost ghosts today.”

“They’re not exactly lost.” Willie tells her. “They have this old band mate of theirs, who stole their songs, and they want revenge, I– I guess? I don’t really know, but I figured Caleb could help them.”

“Are they already here?”

Y/N’s heart, if she still had one beating in her chest, sinks down as her friend nods yes. She has this weird feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach, just like the one she had the night the boys were supposed to play the Orpheum stage. Her vanishing emotions don’t go unnoticed by William, who sits on the edge of her dressing table, his eyes landing on her.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” He asks her, worry hidden in his voice.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Willie.” She tells him truthfully. “Caleb asked me to–”

She stops herself mid-sentence; can she tell Willie what Caleb asked her to do, knowing the consequences? She doesn’t want to put Willie at risk; he’s her only friend, but everything in her body screams at her to let him know, just in case something happens to her, or to those boys.

“What did Caleb ask you?” William asks her again.

“He asked me to convince the new ghosts to work for him.” She blurts out, immediately covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh god, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“He threatened you, didn’t he?”

Y/N nods, quickly wiping the tears that begin to fall from her eyes with the palm of her hand, sniffling. Willie wraps his arms around her, and she buries her head in the crook of his neck as he holds her close. In their years spent together at the Hollywood Ghost Club, he’s come to consider the girl his sister; someone he could trust, no matter what.

“I know what will cheer you up.” He says after a while, and she looks up to him.           

“What?” She asks him, raising a brow. 

“Well… I was about to offer you some food, but I remembered you don’t eat before a performance so… how about I take you to meet the boys instead?”

“Why do I feel like you need something from me?”

“I need you to entertain them while I go see Caleb. Please.”

“Are you going to try and convince him not to own the boys’ souls? You know that won’t work…”

“I can still try. If it means you and them are safe in the end.”

Y/N’s lips curve into a thin-lipped smile, holding Willie in her arms for a brief moment before they both walk out of her dressing-room. Arm in arm, they head for the main stairs of the Hollywood Ghost Club.

Y/N freezes when she spots the three boys at the top of the stairs, her eyes going round with shock, lips parted and mouth hanging open. Could it be? Y/N shakes her head; no, it can’t be. It’s been twenty-five years since they passed away, why would they show up just now? They don’t seem to notice her yet, even when William lets go of her arm to poof up the stairs next to them. Her feet are glued to the ground, too afraid to move an inch, but she watches as Willie leans over the handrail and exchanges a few words with the brunet boy wearing a long denim jacket. She watches in anticipation when the boy slightly turns his head, and his eyes land on her at the bottom of the stairs.

His breath gets caught up in his throat when his eyes lock with hers. He knows he doesn’t technically breathe, because he doesn’t need it, but the feeling is just the same. What is she doing here, he has no idea. She was supposed to have gone on with her life, created a family without him. She was supposed to have done everything they had planned together before he died. How is she here, not looking a day older than the last time he’d seen her when he was alive? 

She looks as beautiful as he remembers her to be, dressed in a long evening dress with an open slit on the right side, spaghetti straps over her shoulders. Her H/C hair cascades over her shoulders in curls, and her hands are covered by black silk gloves that go up to her elbows and match the colour of her dress. She’s a sight from Heaven, if there were such a thing as Heaven, and if he still had a heartbeat, Luke is certain everyone would hear it beat out of his chest. He isn’t paying attention to either his bandmates or Willie anymore, too enraptured by the sight of her at the bottom of the stairs. She’s the only thing on his mind, and not even the beauty of the Ghost Club would take her away from his thoughts. He watches as she shakes her head, and his eyes finally meet hers as she begins to climb up the stairs.

Gold is the first colour that comes to his eyesight. It’s everywhere; on the walls, on the floors, even on the stairs. Everything in the Hollywood Ghost Club is gold. He sees the red next, like the lipstick on her lips, or the diamond encrusted in her necklace. And blue, like the curtains behind the stage at the centre of the room below him, or the evening dresses some of the women are wearing tonight. One by one, the colours come back to his eyesight, leaving him breathless when she reaches his side, standing by Willie as she links her arm with his.

“Y– Y/N?”

It’s Alex’s voice that pulls Luke out of his trance, blinking and shaking his head as he gathers his thoughts. She’s smiling, that same smile he fell in love with all those years ago, and he sees her E/C lit up with happiness when she finally looks at her twin brother. But she doesn’t move from William’s side, as if she were afraid of something. She only waves her hand in their direction.

“Hey guys.” She smiles. “Long time no see, uh?”

“Y– you guys know each other?” Willie asks, looking between her and Alex.

“Come on, Willie.” She teases him. “You don’t see the resemblance?” A pause. “Alex is my twin brother.” Her brows furrow as she looks back at her twin. “Why?!” She then shouts, letting go of Willie’s arm to slap Alex’s chest repeatedly. “Why did you have to eat those stupid hot dogs?! I– I told you they were bad! Why didn’t you guys listen to me?!”

Willie is the one to pry Y/N away from her twin brother, afraid it might get Caleb’s attention. And the last thing Willie wants, if for Caleb to find out Y/N actually knows them from the time they were all alive. When she composes herself, Alex smiles at her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. He almost loses his balance when she rushes into him, wrapping her arms around his midsection and hugging him tight. He chuckles softly, wrapping his own arms around her shoulders as he rests his chin atop her head.

“You were stupid, Alex.” She mumbles into his chest, a soft sob escaping her lips.

“I’ve missed you too, sis.” He says, dismissing her comment.

“You guys are idiots.” She sighs when she pulls away, wiping the tears under her eyes. “Why didn’t you listen to me? You were supposed to become legends that night!”

“To be fair–” Reggie joins the conversation. “–we didn’t know they were bad.”

“Uh, I did say it was a new flavour.” Alex corrects him. “And you said, I quote, ‘chill man, street dogs haven’t killed us yet’. And guess what? We died!”

“It doesn't matter, guys.” Y/N chuckles, leaning against her twin. “We’re all together now.”

“What happened to you, by the way?”

Alex wonders, looking down at her. When he came back on Earth as a ghost after twenty-five years and met Julie, he figured his twin sister had gone on with her life when he couldn’t find anything from her in the garage where they used to practice. And since she could see him, and he could very much see and touch her, he figured something must have happened to her to come back on Earth as a ghost.

“I got in a car accident.” Y/N admits, sighing. “On our eighteenth birthday. Talk about luck.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair, her eyes finally landing on Luke who’d stayed quiet the whole time. Green is the first colour she sees when her eyes meet his; it’s the colour of his irises, and it’s just like the first time they’d met. His hazel eyes seem to be the first thing she’s able to put colours on, alive or dead. The tears brim the edge of her eyes as the colours slowly come back to her, and soon she can see the world as she used to before he died.

“Hey Luke.” She smiles, head tilting to the side.

“I– I can’t believe it.” Luke breathes out, stuttering. “Y– you’re here. You’re actually here.”

She nods, a soft giggle leaving her lips as he engulfs her in a bear hug. He buries his face in the crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around his back, tightening her embrace around him. Y/ relishes in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against her own as she can feel the ghost of his lips against her skin on her neck. His hands are warm against her back, and she can smell the faint scent of his cologne when she buries her face in his chest. Right now, it’s only them, everything else around them disappearing as they enjoy the moment. Luke only parts away with her when Reggie clears his throat behind them.

“H– how long have you been here?” Luke asks her, reaching for her hand.

“Twenty-four years.” She answers. “A man came for me in that dark room; he said he could help me.”

Her wrist begins to burn at the mention of the man, and she has to hide the wince on her face to not worry the boys. She’d just found them, there’s no way she’d let anything happen to them. But Alex does notice; he knows his sister. And Luke does too. She knows because he squeezes her hand softly, and when she looks at him, she can see the concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Alex wonders, worry laced in his voice. 

“Y– yeah, I am.” Y/N breathes out, wincing again. “I– I’m sorry, I– I have to go.”           

She smiles apologetically at the boys, worriedly glancing at Willie before she poofs herself out of the place, reappearing in Caleb’s dressing-room. The dead magician is leaning against the edge of his dressing table, a glass of wine to his lips whilst his piercing blue eyes are focused on her. She sits on the small couch, awkwardly shifting around under his stare.

“I believe William has introduced you to our new friends, right little dove?” He asks in a sweet tone.

“I won’t do it, Caleb.” She says, her voice a bit more confident than earlier. “I can’t do it to them.”

“And why is that, dove?”

Y/N shakes her head, her eyes sending daggers to the man standing before her. She won’t tell him; there is no way she’d let him get close to the boys, to her boys. Who knows what he might do to them if he knew who they are to her. The only thing she’s certain of, is that he’d use her as leverage against the boys if he knew the real relationship between her and them. She wouldn’t let him own their souls like he does hers, not over fake promises.

“You know what happens, little dove, if you don’t talk.” He threatens her, but there is something else in his voice.

He moves closer to her as she stays quiet, but Y/N can see it in the way he struts over, how he rests the palm of his hands against her naked shoulders and how his lips brush against her earlobe. He already knows.

“I already know who they are, Y/N.” He whispers in her ear. “But I thought your loyalty laid toward me, little dove. I have to say, I am a bit disappointed in you. I had such great plans for all of us. I guess I’ll have to do everything myself then.”

She holds her breath. She cannot let him know that she’s afraid, and that she worries about her brother, and her friends. She barely even has time to comprehend what happens next, as a purple cloud of smoke surrounds her, and she finds herself in her own dressing-room. She hears the lock click but, by the time she returns to her senses, she’s already locked inside the room, with no way of getting out to warn her boys. Tears roll down her face as she faintly hears Caleb’s musical number begin. Y/N knows how the night is going to end; Caleb will get what he wants, and she will suffer the consequences of her actions. But she knows her boys, and she’s persuaded they won’t comply with Caleb's demands. She hopes they won’t. And besides, as long as she can see the colours around her, she knows they are doing fine. Because, if Luke is alright, Alex and Reggie are too.That night, she promises herself to do anything in her power to get back to them, to Luke, and to finally free herself from Caleb.