#they’ve both grown so far past that together

[hella1975]

lately ive been crying like a tall child. etc. if you even care

#um does anyone want to rant about the tams fire siblings because they are driving me genuinely crazy #the way azula - despite being grown and distanced enough from ozai to know it was wrong - still views her 9 year old self as her ‘peak’ #while zuko views the age he was at when they left as his lowest point #and they’re both trying to get towards and away those respective identities #any reminder that azula isn’t the girl she was is met with discomfort from her #just as any situation that makes him feel unsettled/unsafe/belittled instantly puts zuko into his 11 y/o mindset #like so much has happened and diverted from canon yet here they still are #those children are still living and kicking within them despite all they’ve done to have ‘zuko’ and ‘azula’ erased #there’s just sooooo much to them but I really liked this from the latest chapter #bc this chapter was supposed to really show how all the little crumbs I’ve put into their characters so far #come together to create two surprisingly opposing mindsets #and this is a key factor of that and this treatment of their past becomes VERY prevalent #twice as many stars #oh on the topic of tams please if ur gonna listen to any song off the playlist pls let it be come by adrienne lenker #like I’m crying about it actually

[freedomfireflies]

You have me looking more forward to fridays then I normally do. I SCREAMED when I read ifall Harry is going to be updated on Friday💛🤭

iFall for Harry pt. 4*

Summary: You and Harry have agreed to your first phone call.

And phone sex is always better together.

Word Count: 3.2k

(Previous parts to this series are down below at the end!)

“When was the last time you touched yourself?”

Right to the intimate questions, all right. “…last night.”

Harry hums. “And did you make yourself come?”

“I always make myself come,” you retort almost instantly. “Even if it takes all night.”

You swear you can hear him smile. “That’s what I like to hear.” There’s a brief pause as you hear him shift. “All right, since that was two questions and two answers…I’ve got two instructions.”

You nod before realizing he can’t see you.

“Want you to take your hand…and slip it under your shirt,” he says, and the sound of his voice has grown deeper. Labored, almost. “Just your shirt.”

You do just that, slightly cold palm meeting your warm skin as you trail it up to your chest. 

“Are you doing it?”

“…yes.”

“Good girl.” More shifting. “Second, I want you to think about something that turns you on. Anything. Cocks, pussies, hands, legs, tits…whatever. Think of something you’d like to touch. Taste. Think of how you’d want to be touched…who you’d want to be touching you. And where.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you settle back into the arm of the couch to do just that. You think about an old ex-boyfriend that had a particular good technique. You think about the sounds you make when you’re so far gone that you’re dripping down your own hand. You think about soft, delicate whimpers. You think about deep, guttural groans.

You think about Harry. 

His voice, his instructions. You don’t know anything past that, really, but you know that you could easily come to the sound of his voice alone. Even if all he did was breathe.

“Okay…” you exhale, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple. “M’doing it…is it my turn now?”

There’s a gentle chuckle on the other side of the phone before Harry says, “Yeah. Ask me anything.”

In-between images of strong hands and sweaty skin, you work to find a question. “How long have you been…entertaining?”

There’s a pause. “Little over ten years.”

“And do you like it?”

Again, you hear him smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs, seemingly content. “Yeah, I do. Wouldn’t wanna do anything else, really.”

You pull your lip between your teeth. “Good to know. Are your pants down?”

He laughs once more, seemingly at the blunt switch in topics, but does answer. “Yeah, almost shoved ‘em down the second I came in here.”

You smirk. “And where are your hands?”

“Got one on my cock.”

“And the other?”

“And the other is waiting for you to tell it what to do.”

Your cheeks flush but you’re so pleased. “Want you to turn around…and put it on the wall. Want you to just stand there, looking down at the mess you’re making, while you think about how good it would feel to be pulling on someone’s hair.”

A few seconds of silence pass but you don’t miss the soft groan that slips through the speaker.

“Because I’m willing to bet…you like to have that kind of control…don’t you?” you add. “Like to take a fistful of someone’s hair and show them exactly who they answer to. Move them exactly where you want, make them do exactly what you’ve asked them to. Until they’ve got pretty little tears in their pretty little eyes.”

You’re not sure where you managed to find this dominance, but you certainly don’t mind. You both share the power right now, and for some reason…you can’t help but thrive off it.

“Am I wrong?” you ask.

“No,” he breathes as you hear him shuffle around. “No, not at all.”

“Didn’t think so.” You smile. “And are you doing what I’ve asked?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

You hear him curse between gritted teeth and pride swells in your chest. 

“All right, my turn,” he declares after he’s seemed to catch his breath. “Want you to tell me…what I can call you.”

Your brow raises.

“Doesn’t have to be your real name if you don’t want,” he continues. “But if I have to moan, ‘Cheese Girl,’ I might go soft.”

Your head shakes with amusement. “What do you want to call me?”

He takes a moment to think. “Thought about calling you Angel earlier, but that doesn’t exactly fit, now, does it?”

“Dunno,” you reply innocently. “You tell me.”

“It doesn’t.” The answer is resolute. “No, you’re no angel. At least, not one from heaven. And my little devil sounds a little too generous.”

You bite back your amusement as you listen.

“So, how ‘bout this?” he proposes. “I’ll call you exactly what you deserve to be called. If you’re good for me, then you’ll be my good girl. And if you’re not…well, then, I guess we’ll have to decide what you are.”

“Fine,” you agree softly, lashes fluttering with intrigue. “And let me guess…you’d like me to call you Daddy?”

“No,” he says, almost instantaneously. “No, I wanna hear you say my name. Wanna hear my name in that pretty mouth. Wanna make sure you know…that your pleasure…belongs to me.”

Impressed and beyond pleased, your breath hitches as you whisper, “Yes, Harry.”

You can’t see him, but he sounds proud. “That’s my good girl. Knew you would be. Was gonna punish you for not answering my question, but you’re behaving so well, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Harry.”

He hums. “Then where is your other hand?”

“Wherever you want it to be.”

“That’s right. Go ahead and take your sweats off, baby, okay? M’not gonna let you touch yourself yet, but I think you deserve to be teased a little, hm?”

You swallow thickly as you set the phone down on the coffee table so you can rid yourself of the fabric on your legs.

Your fingers tremble with anticipation as you pull the pants down so you can toss them onto the floor, and once the air hits your bare legs, your muscles begin to unwind.

“Now…I want you to let your fingers trail along your inner thighs,” he instructs softly. “Nice and slow. I want you to feel the skin. How it tenses, how it dips, how it begs you for more. Bet it gets so soft the higher you get, yeah? Bet it’s so sweet, you could just bury your face into it.”

Goosebumps crawl their way across your body as you let yourself enjoy such a simple touch. And you obey his every instruction with focused precision as your body begins to yearn for more.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good,” you mumble, head rolling back. “Bet it feels as good as you do right now, yeah?”

“Maybe. Probably feel better if you told me what to do next.”

“Then I guess I better ask you another question, hm?”

“Think you should.”

The delicate dancing on your thighs slows as you search for your next inquiry. “I’m realizing I probably should have asked this question a long time ago, but…are you involved with anyone? Is there a relationship I’m ruining? Because I swear to God, if you purposefully didn’t tell me—”

“No,” he says quickly. “Fuck, no. I’d never…no. I wouldn’t do that to someone else or to you. No. No, of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fucking positive. M’not calling you just to get my rocks off and ruin a relationship, that’s…no,” he repeats, a bit more vehemently. “I fucking promise.”

You listen closely for any signs of deceit, and honestly, you suppose there really is no way to know for certain.

But, right now, you choose to believe him.

“Good,” you whisper, a tad relieved.

“And you?” he asks. “Is there…a Mr. Cheese Girl? Or Mrs.? Or Mx.?”

You smirk. “No,” you admit. “No, it’s just me, and the dead succulent I can’t ever seem to keep alive.”

Upon the mention, your eyes drift over toward the sad, dead plant near your TV. Poor thing.

He exhales a laugh that sounds a little airer than before. “You promise?”

“Girl Scout’s honor.”

“S’good.” You hear a bit of static and your breath hitches. God, please don’t let the call drop. “All right. Since we both asked, and we both answered…I think we both deserve a new instruction.”

“I agree. How’s that cock doing? Is it nice and red yet?”

He scoffs but you can tell there’s a slight, needy edge woven within the sarcasm. “How’d you know?”

“I can always tell.”

“Yeah? Then what would you like me to do about it?”

You pull your lip between your teeth and grin. “Want you to swipe your thumb across the top and take a taste for me. Tell me what I’m missing.”

“Fucking shit—” he hisses, and you swallow a giddy laugh. “God, maybe I do need Life Alert.”

You wait for him to follow the instruction, the soft sound of his sucking dancing through the speaker as you feel your stomach flip. “Well?”

“…honestly, it just tastes like come,” he admits, and you smile. “Bet yours is a whole lot sweeter, though, isn’t it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Find out for me.”

Thrilled with the permission to finally make contact, you move your hand from your thighs to your hips, touch slipping beneath the band so you can swipe your finger through.

Once you’re sure you’ve got enough, you bring your soaked finger up to your lips before laying it on your tongue.

You’ve tasted yourself before. He’s right, it’s really nothing that special (at least, not to you), but you play it up, because you know he’ll appreciate it.

You sigh and you suck, and you pop off your hand with satisfaction as you listen for the sound of his approval.

And it comes quickly, another curse scraping from his throat as it echoes around the bathroom. 

“Good then, yeah?” he asks, almost regretfully, and you nod.

“Fucking delicious.”

 Another hum. “I’ve got another question for you.”

“All right.”

“Are you dripping?”

You have to fight back a whine. “What do you think?”

“I think you should tell me.”

“Yes,” you admit, palm already sliding back down your stomach in search of your cunt. “God, more than I thought I’d be. Normally takes a little more effort. Guess I’ve been wound up for a while.”

“Yeah?” He almost sounds hopeful.

“Yeah.” Your hips shift against the couch, as if itching to thrust up into your hand. “Since the moment you made that stupid lube joke.”

You think you hear a laugh, but you can’t be sure. “You poor thing. If I’d known you were in such bad shape, I would have called you sooner.”

“Well, you’re here now.”

A beat.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “M’here. I’m right here. And I want you to do something else for me.”

“What?” you pant.

“Want you to close your eyes,” he instructs, and instantly, your lids fall shut. “Want you to close your eyes…and picture something.”

“Okay…”

He takes a breath. “Want you to picture my tongue on that pretty cunt.”

You roll your lips into your mouth and squirm along the cushions.

“I know you don’t know what I look like,” he adds. “But I want you to picture me talking to you while I take a taste. My hands on your thighs, holding you open for me, playing with you until you’re begging me to give you just a little more…”

And you do. God, you do picture him. Not a face but his voice. That deep, sultry cadence guiding you closer to the edge. Encouraging you—praising you. 

If he looks half as good as he sounds…you might have accidentally won the lottery.

And you don’t need to imagine his face for this scenario he’s proposing to work. You simply allow your body to visualize the way it would feel to be held. Taken care of. Touched. 

Tasted.

All while that voice of his talks you through each step.

Your fingers tap just near your clit, closer but still too far, begging for permission as you roll your head toward where your phone is still sitting on the coffee table. “Harry?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Please…”

“Please what?”

You whine. “Please let me touch myself, this is…I can’t do it any longer.”

He makes a noise of approval before cooing, “Poor little thing. Does it hurt?”

“It does, it hurts.”

“Then answer another question for me, and I’ll let you.”

You huff to yourself as you work on your self-restraint. 

And of course, he takes his sweet fucking time to ask. “If you ever find yourself needing release in the future…will you think of me?”

You hesitate, a little unsure what he means. 

“Will you think…to ask for my help?” he clarifies when you don’t offer a response, and you exhale slowly.

“God, yeah,” you admit, almost sheepishly. “Probably shouldn’t, but…don’t think I’d be able to think about anyone else.”

This time, you know you hear him smile. “Yeah?”

“Yes, Harry. Now…please.”

He offers you a rather sadistic chuckle. “Okay, baby, go ahead.”

So, you do. You generously coat your fingers and drag them up to your clit, pinching and circling exactly the way you like. “And what about you?”

“What about me, baby?”

“What are you doing?”

“What would you like me to do?”

Well, what you’d actually like him to do, he can’t since he’s not here.

So, you settle for, “Want you to give yourself a little squeeze and think of me.”

And you know he has because the sounds of gratification he makes are heavenly. You might not be able to picture him doing it, but the idea is there, and that idea gives you the inspiration and push you need to slip a finger inside.

And suddenly, something clicks.

It’s harmonious and effortless. Both of you, working to get yourselves off, to the noises of each other.

The game of questions comes to an end as the sound of his hand pumping his cock reverberates through the speakers, hitting your ear just so.

And he sounds so…fuck, so good. There’s a chill that runs down your spine when you allow yourself to imagine what it would be like to hear those sounds directly in your ear.

In person.

Sure, he could be a serial killer, but you’d let him murder you any day if it meant you could hear him whimper again.

Because he does. He whimpers, ever-so-slightly in the back of his throat and you almost miss it but thankfully you don’t.

And that sound alone, that desperation, is exactly what you’d needed to hear.

You add a second finger, stretching yourself just so as you pump and curl your way closer to release.

“You still with me?” he calls just as your back is beginning to arch off the sofa.

“Yeah,” you answer faintly. “M’here. Are you?”

“Right fucking here,” he says, a bit gruffer. “Just wanna hear you.”

Instinctively, you mewl, growing more and more unhinged as the second’s pass. You’re hitting just the right spot, feeling so goddamn full. And that, plus the way you’re treating your clit like a toy—you aren’t gonna make it much longer.

“Don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muses, almost as if to himself. “S’fucking killing me, kitten. Don’t even know you and I’d give you everything I have.”

“Yeah?” you manage, almost inaudibly, but he hums.

“Yeah.” His voice is growing thicker. He’s gotta be getting close, and you’ve never needed to hear something so badly. “Gonna think about you for the rest of my goddamn life. Think about that sweet, little voice begging for me to let you touch yourself. Think about me fucking that throat raw. Think about the way you’d sound pleading for me to make it better.”

“Make it better, Harry, please,” you reply instantaneously, giving him exactly what he wants. 

You’re rewarded with another breathy moan that drives your own fingers in further.

“Please,” you repeat. “Please make it better…need you, Harry, please—”

“Fucking hell, lovie. Don’t—” he warns, “—shit, don’t do this to me. Not when I can’t be there to do something about it—”

“Maybe you should be,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Maybe I was meant to get your number instead of Bryce’s.”

“Braden,” Harry corrects, and you smile weakly.

“Yeah, whatever.” You squirm a bit harder. “Maybe it was always meant to be you. Maybe this is how we find each other.”

“Through cheese puns and phone sex?” he teases, but you can tell he hardly has the strength.

“Yeah.” You tug on your lip so hard, you can taste the blood. “Don’t think I’ve ever found someone so good for me.”

Another groan. “Wanna be good for you, angel. Wanna be bad, too. Wanna give you everything. Wanna fucking ruin you for everybody else. Especially Braden.”

You’re so close. So fucking close and it’s all his fault. “Then give me everything, Harry, please. Need to hear you come for me…gotta hear it. Please.”

And it takes a minute, maybe two, but eventually the sound does come (and so does he), and it’s everything.

Deep, and long, and so fucking depraved. It’s everything you’d needed to kickstart your own, and the second that wave begins to rush over you…everything stops.

You disappear into him. Into his sounds. Into yourself. It’s long and it’s beautiful and it’s so much more intense than the one you’d had last night.

It’s so fucking perfect, and the sounds of your pleasure mix together through the phone as your entire living room fills with soft pants and erotic whimpers.

Neither of you speak for quite some time as you slow the thrusting of your fingers before pulling out completely. 

Just for him, you take another taste, tongue lapping at your knuckles as you sigh blissfully, and he laughs through a pained grunt.

“Fucking minx,” he chastises. “Never needed to taste something so badly.”

“Guess that makes two of us.”

You hear another smile and some shuffling. “I’d let you have whatever you want. A taste, a snack, a fucking full course meal. Whatever you wanted, I’d give you.”

“I bet you would,” you agree gently. “You’d be so good for me.”

“Be anything you want me to be.”

“Just not good at puns.”

He laughs a little louder now, and you’re almost thrilled to know you can return to your previous rapport with no consequences. “How about I make you a deal, then? I’ll work on my puns…if you promise you’ll be here to listen to them.”

“Always,” you say without thinking, smiling yourself. “I mean, did you really think this was just one and done?”

“Was hoping not,” he admits, and you hear the sound of his buckle as he begins to put himself back together. “Honestly, I’m already thinking about the next time.”

“Me, too.”

He chuckles. “I hate to rush off, but if I don’t get back to the meeting, it’ll be a whole thing.”

“Don’t worry, I get it.” You smirk. “I gotta get to fixing your Girl Scout cookie order anyhow.”

“Amazing,” he replies. “Thought you’d forget.”

“Never.”

With that, you exchange your goodbye’s, and finally hang up the phone.

And you go about the rest of your day, tending to your work, and taking care of your dead plant as the post-orgasm haze continues to wash over you.

But something tells you…

You haven’t heard the last of Harry.

Next part! ~ iFall for Harry pt. 5

Previous parts:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 1

~ iFall for Harry pt. 2

~ iFall for Harry pt. 3

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #iFall for Harry #harry styles concept

[avatartophblindbanditbeifong]

Bloody Knuckles and Palm Kisses

Miles Morales x Reader

1.4k words

Warnings: blood, bodily harm, crying, angst, Miles being stubborn, & reader being a patient Saint.

“Ow.”

Miles hissed again as you swiped the alcohol-soaked cotton ball across his bloody knuckles.

Miles was seated on your windowsill. A dozen cotton balls, once white but now turned red, scattered next to him while you stood in between his parted legs. You would have him sit on a more comfortable surface like your bed, but there was a strict ‘no outside clothes on the bed’ rule that your parents implemented, and it was one you instilled in Miles, especially when he came over in his beat up Spider-Man suit.

“Sorry.” you said quietly. You looked up from Miles’s hands, and for a second, you saw his sorrow.

It was a quarter to 1 a.m. when Miles abruptly landed on the fire escape outside to your window. Bang! The sound of his body colliding with the rustic metal sounded through your room.

Your body reacted to the sudden sound by jolting upward, prompting you to drop your phone onto your face. “Shit.” you thought. You hoped with everything you loved that your parents weren’t woken up by the noise coming from your room.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve checked in due to Miles’ inability to be stealthy.

You got out of your bed when you noticed Miles’ state. You swiftly padded over to the window, tucked your fingers under the metal and pushed it up quickly. Something about his body, he looked tangled in the position he landed in, the slight red smears across his skin glistened; the sounds he emitted were those of a wounded animal.

When you stepped outside, you were looking at Spider-Man, but all you could truly see was a beat-up teenager looking for solace in something familiar.

And that was you.

“Here,” You cupped your hands together, “give me the cotton balls.” Miles then picked up one scarlet ball and placed it in your palm.

Then another.

One. By. One.

He did this for each cotton ball.

Into the palms of your hands.

Until they were full.

Miles let out a deep sigh when you turned your back to him, throwing away the blood shed he wore on his body just moments ago into the trash bin. When you looked over your shoulder, Miles was slouched over, leaning on his knees with his head in his hands. His mask was abandoned on the windowsill next to him.

You made your way beside him. “You did good today, y’know.”

He scoffed.

You let out a deep breath. You knew no amount of assurance would help ease Miles’ disappointment.

“You did the best you could, baby.” He lifted his head, staring into your eyes.

“You weren’t there Y/n,” His eyes were half lidded and his eyebrows frowned; he looked tired. The slight downturn of his mouth made him look like the most grief-stricken boy in the world. “I was there, and I-” he swallowed. “I could’ve done more,” he picked up his mask and held it firmly, “I could’ve saved them all.” His voice was hoarse and tears formed in the waterline of his eyes.

“People lost their family; their friends tonight because of me, because I couldn’t get the job done.” Miles whispered that last part. He didn’t want to let you in on the habit of self deprecation he’d grown into.

“Miles, you can’t blame yourself for every mishap that happens in Brooklyn.” You caught the way he shook his head. “You can only go so far with what you can do. You're fourteen. You can’t protect everyone-”

“I can be both!” He interjected exasperatedly. “I’m Spider-Man,” he croaked. You shushed him as his voice grew louder.

Miles pushed himself off of the windowsill, standing up tall. You looked up at him; he really had grown a lot taller these past few months, you thought.

“You are both. But not saving every single person in need doesn’t make you any less of a hero.” You replied, but he wasn’t listening. Trying to talk to Miles when he was upset was like talking to a brick wall; nothing was going to get through.

“I’m supposed to be the protector of the city,” he continued. “A-and I just let two people die!”

You shushed him again. “Miles, please.”

He paused before saying, “Peter could’ve done it.” flatly; devoid of any emotion.

The atmosphere in your room was muted then. The lack of noise was so deafening you could hear the faint sound of ringing that introduced itself into your ears every once in a while.

Miles sighed, breaking the silence. He leaned against the wall, slowly descending until he came in contact with the floor. You looked down at him and positioned yourself down the wall next to him, sitting on your heels.

“Maybe.” his eyes snapped toward yours like magnets. “But you’re not Peter Parker, Miles. You can’t compare the success of one Spider-Man to the other because you both serve a different purpose. Sure, Peter could do things you can’t, but he wouldn’t be able to do the things you can. And that’s okay,” he wasn't looking at you anymore, you slid your palm slowly up the back of his shoulder. “Look at me Miles — you don’t have to be Peter Parker to be Spider-Man.”

That’s when the dam broke. Miles's shoulders dropped in ruin, and his bottom lip quivered. He took in a sharp inhale before letting out a breathless sob. Seeing Miles break down like this was a rare occurrence. Sure, you’d seen him cry many times, but this…

He wasn’t just sad, you knew this. He was angry. He was ashamed. He was crushed.

Even though Miles had been Brooklyn’s one and only Spider-Man for the past eleven months, he still felt inadequate about being “Spider-Man #2.” It pained you to see Miles, an otherwise upbeat boy, feel so dejected and helpless.

You smoothed the hand on his shoulder across the length of his back and pulled him into you. Right then, he melted like a puddle in your arms. You rested your chin on top of his curls and a thin line of tears welled up in the corner of your eyes.

You and Miles both sat there on your bedroom floor in each other’s embraces, crying silently for two completely different reasons.

“I should go.” He breathed, sitting up right and detaching himself from your hold. The weight of his body left you feeling a lot lighter. When you opened your eyes, they slowly adjusted to the clock on your nightstand; 1:30 a.m. it read.

Had forty-five minutes gone by that fast?

“Stay.” is all you said, and it was all that needed to be said for Miles to do so.

When you let go of him and made way to your closet. You walked back to Miles with an oversized hoodie that you secretly stole from him and a pair of your pajama pants in hand to give him. He thanked you and wandered toward your door. A chuckle bounced in your chest when you noticed the way he peeked out of the crack of your door to check for your parents before he slipped out to the bathroom.

When Miles entered your room, a lot more silent than he did nearly an hour ago, you giggled at the sight before you. Miles was engulfed in your shared clothes. The arms of the hoodie made his already long arms look like those of Slenderman and the pants dragged on the floor before him. Miles stood there with a tight-lipped smile before moving toward your bed where you had already taken place under your blankets.

Miles laid on his side, in the space you had given him. This moment was one of the few times that you and Miles lay in the same bed together. You wanted to lay your head on his chest, but that would be too awkward. So, you reached out and put your hand on top of Miles's. Then, he did something that shocked you; Miles took your hand into his and kissed the back of your palm. It was soft and sentimental, you thought. Miles held your hand in his and set it back down gently between the two of you.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

You felt the soothing gesture of his thumb rubbing against yours and before no time you were asleep and so was Miles. You knew he’d be gone before the sun rose to get back home before his parents woke up, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was there with you.

Safe with your hand in his.

Him tenderly holding you throughout the night.

Although he’d be up and out of your window soon, Miles thought he had never slept so well than at that moment with you.

#miles morales #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales imagine #x reader #miles morales drabble #gender neutral fanfic #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse x reader #sony spiderverse #miles 1610

[star-wrote]

Daryl and reader’s first summer together ? Mood board or headcanon or whatever you like babes 😏🫶 I picture they’ve been together for the fall and a very long harsh winter, and the summer comes around and readers energy just starts to burst in response to the warmth and sunlight, and how that might look for them as a couple 🌻💛😁

Summer Lovin’

ao3 link

Characters: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader | Pre-Prison Era/After Farm Fell

A/N: tysm for the request love !! i adored writing this <3 also i’ve found that i struggle with staying in tenses so this switches from past to present tense :/ whoops

Warnings: typical TWD violence, poor mental health, fluff, angst

Word Count: 750

not my character | images from pinterest

Winter in the apocalypse sucks.

The group had been on the road for months now, grieving the loss of the Greene Farm; the loss of safety. Which also means the group was going through the harsh winter without a whole lot of warmth. Abandoned shacks and small campfires can only do so much.

You had been cold for too long, and you were sure that Daryl had grown annoyed with you complaining about your frozen toes when you huddled up against him at night.

Worst of all was your mental health. Obviously there’s always an air of depression, (it is the end of the world) but your thoughts were getting dangerously close to “hey let’s jump off that bridge!”

You didn’t want to burden Daryl, but after his gentle prying, you reluctantly agreed to tell him your thoughts. He did his best to reassure you, and he held you a little tighter that night.

Finally, the group had found the prison, a place that could be a forever home after the walkers get cleared. The weather had warmed up too over the last few weeks, and it was finally starting to feel like summer.

It was a pretty calm day, most of the group decided to relax for a day outside before trying to get into the prison. You recall passing a pond not too far from the prison walls. Deciding it was warm enough for a swim, you grabbed a blanket and your knife.

“Where are ya goin’ with that?” Daryl stepped in front of you, nodding at the stuff in your hands.

“Swimming. Wanna come with? I need a bodyguard.” You suggest while smiling up at him.

He grunts out what you have come to know as “yes,” and grabs his crossbow. “Ya sure it’s warm enough?”

You shrug. “Don’t care, I’ve waited long enough.”

He must’ve read your mind because he leads you out past the walls and to the pond that you saw while traveling with the group. You both quickly survey the area for walkers, feeling relieved after there seem to be none.

You strip down to your underwear and toss a smirk over your shoulder to a blushing Daryl, then giggle and wade your way into the pond.

Taking a moment to pause, you admire the sun reflecting off the water. You felt so happy in the warmth of the sun that you could cry.

Daryl watches from a distance, smiling at the peace and happiness that seems to be radiating off of you. He knew you had a tough time on the road during the winter. He was worried about you, but now he’s just glad that you’re smiling.

You swim and float around the pond for about thirty minutes, and then decide that you want to lay on the grass to dry off in the sun. You sigh as the warm grass envelops you.

“Come join me?” You smiled up at Daryl who was sat on a rock.

“Thought I was yer bodyguard.” He said while walking over to you anyway. He found out a long time ago that he couldn’t handle denying you anything.

You giggle as he groans as he lays down next to you. You start to cuddle into him but he gently shoves you away.

“Yer soakin’ like a wet dog righ’ now, dry off first.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, but comply. While putting on your t-shirt, you spot a patch of wildflowers and gasp. You run over to them.

This makes Daryl sit up immediately and grab his knife, anxiety filling his veins. He then sees that you found flowers and relaxes.

Walking over to you, he scoffs. “Scared me half to death, girl.”

While you were smelling the flowers, Daryl crouched down and picked one. He gently moved your hair out of your face and tucked the flower behind your ear. You blush and kiss his cheek.

“I’m glad yer feelin’ better. Was worried ‘bout ya.” He looked away for a moment, then back into your eyes. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

You felt your heart flutter. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hugged him tight and stayed like that for a while. You started to hum a song and swayed in his arms.

Daryl scoffs and loosens up so you can sway his body for him. “Whatcha doin’ girl?”

“Dancing with you, duh.”

He smiles and tucks his head into your hair. “Please never stop bein’ you, sunshine.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl x female reader #twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl imagines #angst #fluff #request #daryl dixon request

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 16

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Hope you guys are excited, we are about to start diving into Ophelia's signet! Let me know your thoughts on what you think it could be!

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

As I dismount Mealladh after finishing flight training for the day, I hear Tairn growl. So loud to ground shakes slightly. I look up to see his eyes trained on someone. Dain. And he looks angry, more so than usual. Tairn clearly does not like the sight of him as he bares his teeth at him, saliva pooling on the ground beneath him.

Remind me to never annoy you. I say to Mealladh through the bond.

She chuckles. I will never get that angry at you unless you do something stupid. Which I highly doubt.

My bond with Mealladh was getting strong quickly. We could easily communicate with each other, shield each other out with ease. Even without having taken a single Signet Training class. So far the only one in our squad to show a signet had been Sawyer. He could control metal. Nearly took his opponents arm off in challenges when it manifested. Ridoc had told us the story over one of our meals. He thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen. When would I get my signet? What would it be? They always said the signet represented the rider. Something about their personality or something to aid them. Something they needed. Every time I had tried to think about what it could be I came up short.

Rhiannon appears next to me as Dain slowly approaches Violet. “What do you think that’s about?”

I shake my head. “No idea. But Dain looks angry and Tairn does not look pleased about it.”

”No he does not.” We both laugh.

As it was our last class of the day we were waiting for Violet. All of us usually headed back to the dorms together before . As Tairn takes off Violet looks over to us and motions for us to leave. She had obviously agreed to talk to Dain.

”Have they talked since threshing?” I ask Rhiannon as we start to walk back down to the Quadrant, Ridoc and Sawyer not far ahead.

She shakes her head. “Don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned if he has. And she would have.”

I nod. “That could be an interesting conversation they’re about to have then.”

”I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.” She adds with a smirk.

”Definitely. He says one wrong thing and she’s gonna rip into him.”

As if on queue I hear loud voices behind me. I turn my head to see they’ve barely made it a few steps and she is already angry at him. Poor boy. But he did this to himself. He’d been trying to baby her, send her to the scribes where he thought she belonged. But Violet had been thriving here despite her the limitations of her body. Hell she had bonded the strongest dragon in the Quadrant. Hell she had gotten two dragons. Something no one had ever seen before. And yet he still saw her as this poor frail girl that needed protection. I was thankful Garrick and Xaden had pretty much looked past that with me. I had made sure to prove I was not the girl they left behind in Aretia. I had grown, I had changed. I had adapted to survive. Not that I had much choice. Though I probably could have refused and ended up dead or locked in a cell. I chose the option that kept me alive. The option that got me back to my family, and as close to home that I could get.

The afternoon sun blinds me for a moment as we walk into the courtyard, busy with other riders now that classes are out for the day. I feel that familiar feeling and look over to see Xaden and Garrick leaning against the Academic Building, as if watching over their domain. Their eyes immediately meet mine.

”So what’s going on with you and Tavis?” Asks Ridoc as we stop just inside the courtyard, waiting for Violet to catch up. “Made it official yet now you’ve done the deed.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Rhiannon groans and rolls her eyes at him. “Really? You still call sex the deed? How old are you again?”

”Hey I was just trying to be more subtle about it in case anyone was listening.” He defends with his hands raised.

”Then don’t ask in a courtyard filled with almost the entire quadrant?” I bite back a laugh at her sassy remark.

”It’s fine Rhi. But if you must know, not yet.” I tell him bluntly.

”Was-”

”And I am not telling you details.” I say as I cut him off causing Sawyer and Rhiannon to laugh at his annoyed face.

Violet storms into the courtyard, clearly not pleased after her conversation with Dain. I laugh as she looks over at Xaden and gives him the middle finger as he arches an eyebrow at her. He can probably sense her mood through the bond. His gaze flickers to Dain who walks through the archway looking sorry for himself.

”Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as she walks up to us.

”Dain is an ass -”

”MAKE IT STOP!” Someone screams as they run down the steps at an alarming speed, holding his head between his hands as if he was in pain. Not if. He was in pain.

I don’t know his name, but I know he’s one of the first years in third wing. He sits near us in battle brief.

“For gods, sake, make it stop!” He screams again, stumbling into the courtyard.

Every rider is on alert. Hands hovering over weapons ready to attack. Mine move to the daggers on my thighs. Next to Violet I see Xaden and Garrick move forward in a defensive stance, ready to jump in at a moments notice. The riders slowly creep forward, a circle forming around him. He was manifesting his signet. And something in my gut told me it wasn’t good.

”Jeremiah!” A cadet shouts as they rush forward.

”You!” He yells as he spins towards a third year, pointing his finger at him. “You think I’ve lost it!” The way his eyes flare and the tilt of his head, I don’t blame the third year. All of us are thinking it. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!”

That’s when it clicks. He’s inntinnsic. The one signet that means instant death. All of our thoughts are open to him. And the thought makes my blood turn cold.

”And you!” He spins around, this time to a second year. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?”

He spins towards Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!”

I have to give Jeremiah some credit. He mimicked Dain’s tone almost perfectly. I look over at Violet to see she looks just as terrified as the rest of us. Xaden and Garrick step forward, shoving Ridoc aside as they move up next to Violet and I who were at the front of our group. Everyone grasps their weapons as Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword.

”Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” He’s panicking.

”Xaden. You need to do something.” I say sternly, dagger now gripped in my right hand.

He nods before turning to Violet. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”

She looks at him confused.

He looks at both of us. “If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now.”

Shit. I quickly slam up my shield as hard as I can. Try to recite what ever useless information I can as well.

”And you!” My heart drops as his eyes lock onto Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. He’ll know about Are-” He barely gets his sentence out before Xaden’s shadows wrap around his mouth, silencing him.

All I can do is stare at Jeremiah. To anyone else Are could have been anything. Could have been any word. But with Xaden’s reaction, I know its not nothing. Something in my heart knows what he was about to say. He was about to say Aretia. My home. Our home. That was destroyed years ago. But why would Garrick have been thinking about it.

Something tugs in my mind. And it isn’t Mealladh. It’s as if something else is there. I focus how Melgren had taught me. I’m in the courtyard back in Aretia. My home. To my left is the throne room door, where I can see Mealladh’s red and white presence glowing around the door I’ve shut off. But at the end of the courtyard is something else. Another presence wrapped in… black shadows? Just like Jeremiah was now. Something in me is calling to pull at it, investigate. I feel my left hand twitch as if wanting to tug on it. I’m so focused on it I don’t even see the professor rush towards Jeremiah. My left hand flexes as my mind tugs on the presence in my courtyard in my head. But as I do so the professor grips his head and a crack echoes off the walls. But I hear it louder in my head as the presence disappears as well as the shadows. Everyone’s so focused on the professor and Jeremiah to notice my recoil. Everyone except for two. As I snap out of it I look over to see Xaden and Garrick staring at me wide eyed. Their eyes darting between me and the floor. Underneath my foot is a deep but short crack. One that was definitely not there before. I can tell from the slight scorch mark and power radiating from it. They go to start towards me but I push through the crowd and use my size to get away before they can get to me. Yet again I am running away as Garrick calls my name from behind me. Part 17 Tag List: @riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc

[lily-drake]

It’s over now😭. I don’t know what I’m supposed to look forward to at the end of the week now that both Frieren and 7th Timeloop are over. BUT! We aren’t here to mourn right now, let’s talk about the last episode!!!!

I’m so proud of them! They’ve come so far in these last 3 weeks (both our time and their time) and you can tell! We went from this:

To THIS:

Full circle baby! However, the part I want to focus on the most is the importance of these pivotal moments!

From the beginning we see that Arnold feels somewhat bad about “forcing” Rishe to be engaged to him. We don’t fully see how much he loathes himself because of it until their conversation both after the kidnapping incident and the balcony scene.

And each time we see Rishe reach out and basically judo flip his self-deprivation in the other direction.

This is so important because not only is it building the foundation of their relationship, but it’s setting the precedence in Arnold’s mind that there are other ways to live than planning for one’s own future death. It’s the first time anyone has EVER told him these things without ulterior motives, and he doesn’t know how to react. For all we know, these are the first times he’s ever been at a loss for anything.

Moving on to the freaking PROPOSAL (pt. 2). THIS SCENE IS SO MONUMENTALLY IMPORTANT FOR BOTH PARTIES! And let me explain because the psychological breakdown is all I can think about!!!!

Arnold still holds onto the guilt of brining her to his country. He can’t stand forcing her to do anything when he’s already “forced” her to marry him. But Rishe refuses that BS and thus leads us to the most important part of their relationship in this season. She lets him touch her without gloves.

Remember, the main reason she didn’t want him touching her was because she would get PTSD flashbacks of him killing her. At the beginning she held very grudging respect for him, but still resented him for the past lives he lead. Her letting him touch her freely from this point on shows just how much she’s grown to trust and rely upon him.

This man has been waiting for this moment for a long time, and he is very gentle and respectful the entire time. He understands just how important it is to her but it’s also just as important to him. That tenuous divide that was constantly between them has finally been shattered!

But of course we can’t miss this! In every shot when we first see the ring Arnold’s eyes are vividly there, begging us to contrast them. We see how much she admires the ring, while admiring his eyes even more at the same time.

I would absolutely love and adore a season 2, but even if we don’t get one I’m satisfied with everything we got. These two have come so far in their relationship and the new and still blooming trust, respect, and affection and I’m just so proud of them. The team did such an incredible job putting all of this together and you can feel the passion and love that was put into every little detail. I don’t know what I’m going to look forward to next every Sunday, but hopefully we’ll all find something!

#7th time loop the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy #7th time loop #7tl #loop 7 kaime no akuyaku reijou wa #rishe irmgard weitzner #arnold hein #rishe x arnold #arrishe #fluff #ahhhhh #i love them #i cant believe it’s over #i’m so sad #but I’m also so happy #They both deserve happiness #My insane duo #i love them sm

[heliads]

Tewkesbury x Gn reader, them being both love sick idiots

masterlist

Tewkesbury is meant to be paying attention, but he’s not. Again. Enola’s been trying to brief him on all the latest scatterbrained clues she’s somehow twisting together into one intricate braid of a plan, but it all just sounds like fragments of nothing to him. When Tewkesbury has no idea what’s going on, he zones out. It’s not his fault.

In his defense, there is a lot happening in his life at the moment. If his position in the House of Lords didn’t bring him enough trouble already, because Parliament is an active traincar hurtling towards a new wreck every week, Enola’s gotten them both wound up in yet another murder case. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if she’s causing these things just to give them a bit of entertainment. It seems likely at least half the time.

There’s something else on his mind, too, if Tewkesbury is in the habit of being honest. Someone, technically. There’s someone who’s come into his life, someone new, someone extraordinary, and the thoughts of where they were and what they were doing recently are far more pleasant thoughts than Enola’s discovery of two bodies with their throats slit.

Someone claps their hands right in front of his eyes and Tewkesbury flinches back, startled. He squints irritably at Enola, who glares right back at him. “What was that for?”

Enola’s scowl has been perfected over practice. “You’re not focusing. I’ve been talking about only the weather for the last three minutes and you never even noticed the abrupt change of subject.”

Tewkesbury frowns. “That would explain why I was suddenly thinking about storm clouds. It is supposed to rain later tonight, though. Excellent observation.”

Enola just huffs, vexed. “I had made several other excellent observations if you were in the habit of listening to me, which you’re not, obviously. So what’s up with you, then?”

He blinks at her in surprise. “What, sorry?”

Enola waves a hand at him in consternation. “You’re pretty clearly preoccupied with something else. What in the world could possibly be more important than another murder case? Has Parliament passed another bloody terrible law, then?”

Tewkesbury shakes his head. “No, not that. Well, yes, they’re always making awful compromises, but that wasn’t what I was thinking of.”

“Then what was it, then?” Enola asks. “Spit it out so we can get back to business. Otherwise you’re just going to go back to thinking about it again.”

“Wise thinking,” Tewkesbury admits. “Very well, then. I was thinking about someone I like.”

He can’t help but smile as he says it at the thought of this particular person. He waits for Enola to do something Enola-like such as swat him on the shoulder or complain to the heavens about why she was burdened with such an easily distracted partner in solving crime, but neither reaction occurs. Instead, she just shrugs and says she figured as much.

It’s funny, he can still remember a time in which Enola would vigorously tease him for so much as mentioning a conversation between himself and someone he was thinking of courting, but no more, it seems. She’s grown up. He has too. They’ve had no choice in the matter, not after what they’ve been through. Time comes for everyone, you either survive or find yourself buried alive in the past. Tewkesbury has been doing his best to continue outrunning the boy he had been, and it appears that Enola has been sprinting just as hard as him.

Regardless, he’s pleased by it. Tewkesbury recently bruised his shoulder and he doesn’t think he’d appreciate a swat aimed in its general direction any time soon. 

“So?” Enola prods. “Who’s the mysterious person? I want details. Do I have competition in the solving of crimes? Because if so, you’ll have to let them know that they have to find someone else. I’m not interested in you for a courtship, of course, but I’ve already gone to the trouble of telling you all my clues, I don’t want to have to train anyone else in the matter.”

Tewkesbury snorts. “You’ll have no worries on that front. No, I’m not solving mysteries with this person, and yes, I am courting them. You’re safe on both counts.”

Enola’s brow furrows. “If you’re not solving crimes, why are you possibly interested in them?”

He just barely manages to turn his laugh into a polite cough. “Not all of us are quite so tempted in stabbings and lacerations, Enola. She’s a perfectly lovely person, we get along splendidly. They listen to me talk about plants and I love walking about the town with them.”

She narrows her gaze at him. “You haven’t mentioned a single name thus far. Who is this mysterious interest of yours?”

This time he does snort in disbelief. “You’ve got to be out of your mind if you think I’m telling you any identifying information. You’d stalk them or something.”

“It would only be for your own good,” Enola frowns, “Shame, though. I was sort of thinking about setting you up with one of my friends. They’re tough as nails and very clever in the whole investigation business, I would have thought you’d like them. Perhaps they were too good for you, though, since you won’t take any of this as seriously as you should.”

Tewkesbury rolls his eyes. “I’m sure. Okay, you’ve wrung me of information. Go on with your clues, I’m paying attention this time.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, suspicious.

“Of course I’m sure,” he tells her. He’s not. Mere moments after Enola turns back to her tracings of plaques and hastily scribbled down house addresses, Tewkesbury is thinking fondly of the time they’d walked through the gardens east of this place. There had been the most beautiful medicinal herbs, and absolutely no murders. Truly a wonderful experience.

It would have been a better use of Tewkesbury’s time to have focused, though, because as Enola is reviewing her information, she gasps with a sudden realization and then they have to take off through the streets in search of a key eyewitness they had previously overlooked. That eyewitness turned out to have been behind it all, and then Tewkesbury blinked and found himself being held at gunpoint. How joyous.

The guy’s damn near crazy, leading to Tewkesbury to wonder again why on earth he keeps finding himself mixed up in all of this. He and Enola are both trying to reason with the guy, goading him into dropping his guard at least just a little bit so Enola can get the jump on him, but every time their attacker’s hand dips a millimeter, he raises it just as quickly.

There’s no getting out of this, or so it seems, at least. Every minute, the guy seems more and more inclined to shoot them both and get rid of any evidence that he’d been involved in all this. Out of the corner of his eye, Tewkesbury catches a flash of motion, but it’s probably just wishful thinking. The two of them had set off in quite a rush for the eyewitness’ location in the hopes of hearing useful clues before the police or other investigators could catch up to them, which unfortunately means that no one will be coming to save them.

Or, perhaps that might not be the case after all. The flicker of movement comes again, this time not from Tewkesbury’s side but in front of him. A silhouette emerges from the gloom behind their attacker. Tewkesbury does his best to keep his gaze firmly trained on the guy waving a gun at him, which isn’t too difficult to do, just to make sure the murderer doesn’t catch onto their rescuer before any saving of lives can occur.

The blink of an eye; the shine of dim lighting on wood, and then their would-be killer is out like a light, limbs sprawling on the ground. The gun doesn’t go off, thankfully, and Tewkesbury kicks it under a nearby table and out of harm's way as soon as he can.

While he’s handling the weapon, he hears Enola’s voice rise with delight. “And here I thought we were the only ones in this case! Y/N, you’re the best.”

“Just like always, huh?” Their rescuer says, and then Tewkesbury’s whipping around, unable to hide the thrilled grin on his face.

“Y/N?” He asks, confused but wonderfully happy.

They’re grinning at him too, even more so when Tewkesbury rushes forward to wrap his arms around them, spinning them off of the ground in one excited loop. It’s not too proper of him, of course, but there is no one to see them here but Enola, and he really, really, likes seeing Y/N, especially when they’re saving him from death by bullet.

Enola is still definitely here, though, and she’s staring between Tewkesbury and Y/N as if she’s lost her mind. “I’m sorry, when did the two of you ever know each other? Least of all well enough to do all of that?”

Tewkesbury laughs. “I believe I forgot to do introductions. Enola, this is Y/N, the person I was speaking of earlier.”

Enola’s jaw drops. “You’re courting Y/N L/N? No. No, they would have told me. Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N just grins. “You’re the master detective, I assumed I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

Something is dawning on Tewkesbury, and he looks between Y/N and Enola with mounting levels of shock. “Wait, Enola, when you said you were sad to hear I was courting someone because you wanted to set me up with your friend, did you mean Y/N?”

“Yes,” Enola confirms, “I didn’t realize you were actually seeing them, though.”

He nods. “Do you take back what you said about them being too good for me, then?”

“No,” Enola says cheerfully.

Y/N grins. “I’m just glad to hear I’m highly thought of.”

Enola harrumphs. “Tewkesbury’s also highly thought of, apparently. Y/N can’t stop talking to me about this fantastic boy they’ve been seeing, how he’s just wonderful and courteous and brilliant and whatnot. They wouldn’t tell me a name either.”

Tewkesbury looks at Y/N with a grin, who’s conspicuously not meeting his eyes. “You said all those nice things about me to Enola? Really?”

“No need to bring it up again,” they whisper, but he couldn’t care less.

“I think we should bring it up more often, actually,” he tells them, “again and again. I’ll tell you all the wonderful things I told Enola about you. It’ll be a deal.”

Y/N is smiling at him again, blinding and beautiful, and it’s more than enough to convince Tewkesbury to ignore Enola in the back talking about how she’d rather get shot by the murderer than listen to the two of them keep up this nonsense any longer.

The comment does serve to remind Tewkesbury of their purpose here, though. There’s no reason to stick around any longer, and Enola heads out quickly to alert the police of the murderer trying to kill them. That leaves Tewkesbury and Y/N to leave the building by themselves.

Tewkesbury sticks his head out the door with a grimace. “It’s raining,” he tells them.

Y/N frowns. “Drat. I’d worry about my clothes, but I smudged them already trying to grab something heavy to beat that guy with.”

“And you did a marvelous job with the beating,” Tewkesbury promises them. “Completely worth the cost of the clothes.”

He steps out into the rain and extends a hand to them. Y/N accepts it with a smile, allowing him to pull them into a spin before coming to him again. They’ve danced with each other before at various functions and galas, but this time is more fun, more free. 

The rain drums on the rooftops, providing them with all the melody they’ll ever need. Tewkesbury listens to the patter of their feet on the road, the laughter echoing between the two of them. He watches Y/N’s arms raise as they spin, how their hand fits perfectly in his every time. He looks, and he smiles, and he thinks that he would be absolutely content with this being forever. He never wants to leave this moment, and for now, at least, he never will. The rain beats on, and the two of them dance.

enola holmes tag list: @mayfieldss

#tewkesbury #tewkesbury imagines #tewkesbury x reader #tewkesbury oneshot #enola holmes #enola holmes imagines #enola holmes x reader #enola holmes oneshot #enola holmes tewkesbury #enola holmes tewkesbury imagines #enola holmes tewkesbury x reader #enola holmes tewkesbury oneshot

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 0.7 | Jake Seresin x Reader AU

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst + eventual smut

…

“Do I look okay?” You ask, smoothing out the bottom of your dress. Jake rolls his eyes and checks around the two of you.

“If I say no, can we leave?” Jake mutters.

You smile slightly. If the answer was no, you know he would have just said that. That must mean that he does like the way you look. He does, but he isn’t in the mood to be paying you any compliments.

“Renegade for an emergency, then we can go - otherwise, just an hour. That’s it.”

It’s hard to keep friends when you’re essentially on hour arrest every couple of months. Every friend you’ve ever had has either used your position to help themselves, or become so inconvenienced by your lifestyle that they stop talking to you all together.

Blake moved into the neighborhood last December and had invited you to her housewarming party. You had fit in well with her friends, and so far, they’ve let you stick around. You don’t want to blow this.

“Wait, wait.” Jake sighs.

You turn, frowning, ready to defend yourself all over again. He grabs your waist and turns you back around, stepping closer to you. You flinch as he grabs the back of your dress and tugs hard, pulling the tag off.

“Oh my god.”

“You’re lucky I’m feeling nice, I could’ve let you walk in there.” Jake declares, turning the tag around, “Fuck - this is the price for one dress?”

“Come on.” You urge him, ignoring the comment about the price. The only way your father knows how to prove to you that you’re loved is by providing you access to his credit cards.

Besides, it’s not like you buy stuff like this often, since you rarely have anywhere to wear it. Jake checks around as he follows you into the house. It isn’t that busy here yet, it’s only eleven.

“You made it!”

Jake tenses slightly as you’re immediately grabbed the moment you’re through the door. A bubbly redhead drapes herself around you, you both giggle as you hug. The redhead looks past your shoulder and quirks an eyebrow suggestively at Jake.

He stares at her seriously.

“Is this my present?” The redhead smirks as she untangles herself from you and grins at him. Jake remains silent. You look between the two of them and smile.

“Jake, this is Blake - Blake, this is Jake. He’s my… friend.”

Blake sips at a martini glass and hums, nodding her head knowingly at you. “Men in black type friend, right?”

“Just here to keep me out of trouble.” You agree, smiling slightly.

Jake looks around the room, silently checking out how many people are here already. He looks back at you. You smile sweetly at him and ignore him trying to glare through you. This is going to be a long night.

Jake hasn’t been to a house party like this since he was in his twenties. The kind of house parties he’s invited to nowadays usually involve balloons and dozens of kids running around.

Still, he seems more comfortable here than you do.

Blake hands you a drink and then disappears to go and greet more guests. Jake follows you around for a bit as you sip nervously at it. Eventually you settle in the sitting room, beside a table of drinks.

You fiddle with the glass.

“What’s wrong, party girl? - I know you didn’t drag me up here to stand in this corner all night.” Jake teases, folding his arms over his chest. He catches a girl’s lips part in surprise, her eyes wide and focused on his arms as she passes him.

All these girls are great for his ego.

“I… I’m not going to stand here all night,” You tell him firmly, lifting your chin and letting out a breath. You swallow. “I just need a minute.”

Jake’s brows scrunch disapprovingly. He turns and looks around, then looks back at you and shakes his head. “You’re the only girl I know that’s brave enough to sneak out and too scared to misbehave once you’re out. You already did the hard part.”

He knows that he shouldn’t be encouraging this, but he just doesn’t get what’s holding you back. Your friends are enjoying themselves, and you’re standing here, alone with him.

You frown, shifting on your feet, leaning slightly closer to him.

“Look, your friends are shotgunning beers, go - be normal.” He points for you to go and join them, then nudges you slightly towards them. You stop, whipping your head around to frown at him for pushing you.

“Go.” Jake stands firm, pointing towards them again.

“I don’t know how.” You whisper through gritted teeth. Jake’s brows scrunch slightly. He looks between you and your friends, then shakes his head.

“I thought all of you rich kids were doing drugs in highschool, and you’re telling me you’ve never shotgunned a beer?” He scoffs.

“Don’t make fun of me.” You frown, hitting his stomach. Jake lets out a breath, unfolding his arms and staring at you. You shift closer to him as someone brushes past you.

“Wait here.”

“Wait, don’t leave me here.” You complain.

“I’m coming back, just don’t move.” Jake waves you off. You watch, biting the inside of your cheek as he walks over to the cooler and pulls a can of beer out. He walks back over to you calmly.

Jake pulls his keys from the front pocket of his jeans and lifts them, then hands the can to you.

“I’m going to show you how to do this once and we’re not ever going to mention this to your dad, okay?” Jake explains, holding the can up to you. Your lips part slightly.

Manny would have done this for you. Allen, on a good day, might have done this for you. Jake, you weren’t expecting this from.

“So, you tilt it, create an air pocket near the top,” He demonstrates for you, standing close so that you can hear him over the music. You lean into his side. “Don’t stab the can, you’re just going to spill it. They’re soft, you just need a little bit of pressure.”

He presses the tip of the key into the edge of the can and creates a hole.

“Wanna make it big enough for you to drink out of, don’t cut yourself on the edges.” He murmurs softly. You watch him do it for you.

Jake stands up straight and lifts the can towards you, “Put your mouth over that part, pop the tab. You ready?”

You nod at him. You tilt it like he showed you, popping the tab as your mouth covers the hole he just made. Jake's nose scrunches amusedly as he watches you.

He watches you struggle after three gulps. He chuckles, lifting his hand to touch the bottom of the can, keeping it against your mouth, “Ah, ah - finish it all.”

Your cheeks burn.

Jake turns his head to watch the selection of people that have realised who you are, and are watching you. He chuckles softly. You drop the can and throw your arms into the air, grinning at him.

Jake laughs as you drape your arms around his shoulders and whoop.

"Wasn't bad for your first time." Jake tells you, his lips are beside your ear, you can hear him just fine over the music. You squeeze your arms around his shoulders happily.

"Another one? — Will you do one with me?" You ask him.

"Let's give it a minute, can't have you puking on that pretty dress, huh?" Jake pats the small of your back softly, platonically, and untangles himself from you. "You wanna get a real drink to take?"

You nod at him and look over the table. Jake waits with you while you mix yourself a double measure of an unlabelled white spirit and sprite. Then, he turns and sticks his hand out behind him.

You smile giddily, slipping your hand into his and letting him lead you away. Jake squeezes your palm in his as he leads you out onto the back patio, your brows furrow slightly, wondering where he's taking you.

He glances back, then points to your friends sitting over by the bar and laughing together.

"Have fun. I'm gonna be just over here if you need me." His thumb brushes affectionately over the back of your hand. You glance down at the movement, then back up at his face. Your lips quirk up and you're certain you couldn't stop yourself from smiling if you tried.

"Why don't you come hang out with us?" You offer.

Jake smiles, but shakes his head, "Still have a job to do. I'll be right here. Now go." He releases your hand and gestures for you to go to your friends. You walk over to them and Jake watches as you're embraced by two girls, before being welcomed to sit in the middle of them.

He glances around him, glad for the breeze after the incessant heat the past few days. He considers that you're probably going to get cold in a while.

Your friends aren't the only ones outside, there are groups here and there, but it's far less packed than inside. Jake's grateful for the perspective.

Perspective. You, months away from so called freedom, ready to live this life that was put on pause seven years ago. Jake, who chose to step away from his old life and leave it on pause because he can't handle going back to it without her there.

You're so similar, really.

You're smart, you're great at what you do and you're confident about it. Jake knows first hand that those are dangerous features to possess. But suffocating you won't keep you safe, won't stop you from making his mistakes.

He watches you laughing with your friends and considers the big picture. Being hidden away in that big house in the hills isn't much of a life at all.

He stands with his arms crossed in front of him and surveys his surroundings periodically. You're safe. You're having fun. You can't stop thinking about his thumb swiping over the back of your hand like that, the soft smile on his lips, the look in his eye.

You glance back at him. He isn't looking directly at you, he's looking around, laser-focused. His eyes land on you finally and his lips quirk, he gives you a soft nod of acknowledgment.

"You're so lucky," Julia tells you as she leans in to your side. She’s Blake’s younger sister. You give her a quick look and find that she, too, is looking over at Jake. You scoff at the idea. If only she knew that this was the same man who had spent most of the past three weeks arguing with you. "I'd kill for a man to look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that." She clarifies, nodding her head in his direction. Jake smiles softly as you turn to look at him.

You look down at your drink, it's nearly empty now, you could probably do with another.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell her, pushing yourself up and crossing towards Jake. Jake raises his eyebrows as you reach him.

“Ready to go home?” He asks playfully. You shake your head, lips quirked up softly.

“Could you come with me to get another drink, please?” You say gently. Jake looks down at the empty cup in your hand, then nods, sliding his palm into yours. He weaves his fingers between yours.

You swallow softly, your eyes on his shoulders as he leads you back inside. You pull yourself closer to him and lean your cheek against his shoulder. Jake squeezes your hand.

He would brush you off, but the proximity makes it easier for him to keep track of you now that the party is getting busier. He pulls you to stand in front of him at the table.

“Get what you want. Your friends are dancing,” Jake notices, shooting a look into the other room as he passes a fresh red cup into your hand. This room is pretty busy. His chest presses to your back as someone brushes past him. “You gonna dance with them?”

“Maybe once I’m feeling a little braver.” You answer, talking loudly so that he can hear you over the music. He doesn’t have to talk loud, his lips are right beside your ear when he’s standing like this. “And you said you’d shotgun a beer with me.”

Jake groans softly.

“I’m not shoving through all of these people for a beer,” He grumbles. He reaches past you and rests his hand on the table, beside your hip. “Pick a drink, we’ll do a shot. One shot.”

You look back at him over your shoulder and grin. You reach for a bottle.

“Put that schnapps back right now.” Jake demands, shaking his head. “Embarrassing. Pick something worth it.”

You bite your cheek to keep from smiling as you reach for a different bottle. Jake scoffs. He reaches out, covering your hand with his, guiding your hand forwards until it’s wrapped around the neck of a bottle of tequila.

“There we go, fantastic choice.” Jake teases. His breath tickles your neck, you squirm and lean into his touch with a soft laugh. He shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s nice to see you relaxing.

It’s nice to see him relax too. He’s funny when he isn’t being mean.

You pour two shot glasses, then twist your torso so that you can see him, passing him his. Jake bumps the glass against yours, then downs it. You finish the shot and drop both of the glasses back onto the side of the table.

You shiver at the warm feeling spreading through your chest, Jake chuckles softly at the feeling of you shake against him. He grabs your cup and passes it into your hand.

He checks his watch, “Alright, it’s one-thirty. We’re leaving at two, go have fun.”

“Dance with me.” You turn and rest one hand on his arm, looking up at him through your lashes, a sweet smile on your lips. Jake’s lips quirk affectionately, but he shakes his head and turns you away from him.

“Go, be normal.” He urges you.

You shoot him a look back over your shoulder, jutting your lip out and pouting playfully at him. His lips quirk. He nods for you to go ahead. You’re welcomed by your friends giggling when they spot you, they welcome you into the middle of the group.

Jake moves over to the stairs, making sure he’s got a good view of you at all times. Standing and watching you, it occurs to Jake just how restrictive your upbringing has been.

Last week in D.C., you were about the only person there that was your age. It’s been that way for your entire life. Jake can’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up surrounded by such pressure, such a need to be so perfect.

Now that you’re more relaxed, you fit into this environment just as well as you fit into that circus last week. It’s a skill that Jake’s certain he wouldn’t have had at your age, it’s impressive.

You catch sight of him and grin. Jake watches as your hands skim up your sides, hips swaying as you move to the music. His lips twitch just slightly, he almost smiles. Blake’s arms drape around your waist as the two of you move together.

Jake loses track of time watching you have fun. He checks his watch and it’s almost three in the morning.

You look up and he jerks his head, motioning for you to leave. You nod at him, knowing that pushing your luck would be stupid right now. You say goodbye to your friends and you loop around to meet Jake by the front door.

It’s a short walk back to your place, Jake remembers the shortcut.

“Shit, I wasn’t expecting it to be so rocky.” You breathe out as the two of you step onto the dirt path. Jake reaches behind him and slips his palm into yours.

He guides you closer to him until you’re close enough to loop your arms around his. You rest your cheek against his shoulder.

“Did you have a good time?” Jake asks, squeezing his hand over yours. You’re surprised that he asks, but you nod. “Good. Because if you try to pull this shit again, don’t think I won’t drag you home.”

You giggle, but both of you know that he isn’t joking.

“Alright, now show me how you got out.” Jake demands, the moment the house comes into view. You whine and lean your head back.

“It’s hard and I’ve been drinking, can’t we just go through the front door?” You complain, hugging yourself closer to him as the breeze sends a chill through you.

“Nope, show me.” Jake pulls his arm out of your grasp. You groan. He follows you around to the side of the house and watches as you pull yourself up onto the flat edge on top of the wall, then over.

He winces as you drop down on the other side, realising he probably should have gone first. He curses softly, pulling himself up and dropping over with ease. This is bad - he did that too easily, and you managed it in heels and half drunk.

“You okay?” Jake checks.

“Uh-huh, this way.” You answer him. He falters for a moment, watching silently as you walk off ahead like that was no big deal. Jake’s lips part as soon as he spots it.

The steel artwork on the side of the house. It’s practically a fucking ladder. You’ve mastered getting up and down it, even in heels. Once you’re almost at the top, you shuffle to the far side of the balcony, then stand upright and stick close to the door that borders his room.

Jake checks the feed on his phone, you’re out of frame.

“Fuck.” He mutters. He walks around to the back door and lets himself into the kitchen, then locks up behind him. He passes through into the living room and flicks the lamp on, dropping down onto the couch and pulling out his phone.

Your heels tap on the stairs, then on the floor, then you’re dropping down onto the couch next to him. You lean into his side and look down at his phone, seeing that he’s already looking for contractors to tear that metal down.

You don’t argue with him, it’s a good decision. Your curl into his side, lifting your knees as you unfasten the straps around your ankles and slide off the heels, then rest your knees against his thigh.

“Thanks for tonight,” You say softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. Jake pats your knee softly, still searching through the list of emergency contacts. It’s almost four now, there’s a guy that can be here at six to get that thing torn down. “I really appreciate it.”

“Was nice seeing you let your hair down.” Jake admits, making sure the arrangements are in place for two hours from now. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, knowing there’s no point in heading to bed before the guy arrives.

Besides, he has a feeling he wouldn’t sleep very well anyway, knowing that he might as well have left your balcony door wide open these past three weeks. He squeezes your knee softly, mad with himself for not noticing sooner.

“You should get some sleep,” Jake decides. “I don’t want Allen or Manny to hear about this, and they’re going to be asking questions if you’re yawning all day tomorrow.”

You nod, he’s right, and you are tired.

“Okay.” You lean forwards and press your lips softly to his cheek. It’s pushing your luck, you know it. “Goodnight.” Jake doesn’t pull away. He turns his jaw to look at you as you move back.

Jake’s eyes bore into yours.

He isn’t yelling at you, which is a good sign. You scoot forwards and press your lips softly to his. Jake knows that he’s going to regret this in the morning. But he doesn’t right now.

He leans into you, his hand skimming up your thigh, coming to rest at the small of your back as he moves his lips against yours. You press yourself closer to him, your hands sitting awkwardly in your lap - afraid that if you move, he’ll stop.

Jake’s palm splays out along the base of your spine, firm and strong. His tongue brushes your bottom lip just slightly, slipping into your mouth the moment you part your lips for him. You press your thighs together.

Since your knees are resting against his thigh, Jake feels the movement.

You’ve been thinking about this since he had you pinned to your mattress back in D.C. - and it was worth the wait. Jake knows what he’s doing. He presses more firmly into the base of your spine.

He’s strong enough to guide you forwards, hooking his free hand under your kneecap, pulling it over his lap until you’re straddling him.

You hum softly, eagerly, into his mouth, finally bold enough to touch him. Your fingers slide around to cup the back of his neck, holding him against you.

Jake’s hands find your hips, pushing you down against him as he grinds himself up against you. You moan quietly, working with him as you grind yourself back down onto his lap.

This is the end of his career, he knows it. He’s smart, he’s a professional. He knows better than this. Neither one of you says anything, knowing that the second you stop, it’ll become apparent that you shouldn’t be doing this.

He pulls you tighter against him, caressing his tongue against yours. You push back slightly, sliding your hand from the back of his neck, down his chest.

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. Jake grabs your hips tight, pressing his chest against yours, flipping the both of you so that you’re on your back and he’s between your legs.

Allen’s room is twenty feet from the living room, you know that you shouldn’t be doing this, but that doesn’t stop you.

Your hands skim under Jake’s shirt, grabbing at his sides, pulling him closer against you. He plants one hand into the couch cushion beside your head, slotting himself between your legs, grinding his hips forwards.

Your dress bunches around your hips at the movement, you push yourself eagerly against him. He’s hard and straining against the denim of his black jeans, the bulge rocking softly against your underwear as you kiss feverishly.

Your fingers brush his belt, giving one soft tug at the leather and pulling it out of the buckle just slightly, before Jake catches your wrist.

“Don’t.” He says softly, dropping your arm back down to the side, cupping your throat with his palm as he drops his mouth to kiss at the curve of your jaw.

Breathless, you whimper softly as he nips at the spot below your ear. Your brows furrow slightly, as you lift your hand and tug at his belt once more. Jake grabs your wrist.

“I said: don’t.” He mutters.

You frown, confused. “What? - Why?”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” Jake breathes out. You frown slightly, eyes fluttering closed as he kisses desperately along your collarbones.

“Why not?” You complain, lifting your hips to grind against the bulge in his jeans. Jake groans softly and sits back on his knees. He skims his hands along your thighs.

“Because it wouldn’t be right.” He answers you like it’s obvious.

“I’m not drunk!” You insist, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Jake shakes his head, he knows that - he just watched you scale the side of a building.

“It’s not that.” He shrugs. He glances down, squeezing softly at your hips.

“Then what?” You frown up at him.

“I’d feel better about myself if we didn’t fuck.” Jake answers calmly. It’s true. He’s going to be here for another year, and it’s going to be painful if the two of you have sex a month in.

You stare at him. Jake lets the silence linger between the two of you, secure in what he said.

“You… would feel better about yourself… if we didn’t have sex?” You give him a chance to correct himself. Instead, he nods at you. You frown. Jake stares back at you.

“God, do you have to be such an asshole all of the time?” You sigh.

Jake frowns, “What?”

“You could’ve just said ‘I don’t feel like it’. Fuck, have you ever even talked to a girl before?” You complain, pulling yourself out from under him and kicking at his thigh.

“I’m being honest!” Jake tells you.

“So, making out is fine but sex would be too far?” You scoff.

“Yes.” Jake answers.

You roll your eyes at him. Jake listens to you walk away, sighing softly as he drops back down onto the couch. He runs his fingers through his hair and leans his head back.

That was a big mistake, he knows it already. He lifts his gaze and looks to the blinking red light in the corner of the room, sitting quickly upright, “Oh, fuck.”

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @the-mouse27 @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter

#operation apollo #jake seresin au #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #top gun smut

[beetlevsboy]

This rant will not be coherent I apologize in advance and there’s a chance this will be deleted when I wake up if I misspoke on any parts.

Sososo sick of some kakashi/ kakagai fans who don’t acknowledge Gai’s trauma or compare it to kakashis/ others in the series because they refuse to treat him as his own character and not a kakashi accessory. Gai grew up in war, he lost his parents, he was treated differently because of his skills in Jutsu, he lost countless friends in the war (kakashi was just as lost as the dead at that point and gai would never complain but it must have took so much dedication to just fight for someone who barely fought for themselves) then Neji, someone like a son to him, as well, and was finally injured to the point of having to use mobility aids for the rest of his life. Fans acting like kakashi is the only person in their dynamic who needs reassurance patience, and care, before and after loosing his leg, creates this horribly unhealthy situation in their relationship that they’ve grown past so much since their teen dynamic where Gai was the initiator in most of their interactions despite it being for the good of kakashi always. Like!! Kakashi has been far from a good friend, rival, or love interest at times but after anbu especially, he’s tried to be there for Gai in the ways he can let himself at first, but also in ways that push boundaries for him thatd he’d never even approach for others. From that, another critique in the context of their relationship is a lot of times kakashi is made into this always uncaring character to Gais endless love and affection. Like?? No?? Yes, Kakashi was extremely depressed and traumatized and closed off for years, the mere notion of putting a name to their relationship a step pushing his boundaries too far, but that didn’t mean he never cared about Gai. Through out the show Kakashi showed his feelings in actions, comfortability, and trust he has with no one else, the trust and connection and allowance to open himself to Gai and allow vulnerability growing even more after Kakashi can finally allow himself to name their relationship. The naming being so special because him and Gai have finally gotten to this point of healing where their affections and actions for each other can overlap. This is so so important to kakashi’s relationship with his (and Gais relationship with kakashis) trauma and healing as well as their relationship but a lot of fans see it as less just because it’s not Gai’s more physical and verbal expression of affection. They love each other!! They’ve both struggled!! Together and apart!! Love takes time and energy and the ability to be your own individual person while looking out for the well-being of someone else!! I love the idea of their domesticity and ability to exist in peace as much as anyone else but some fans need to stop acting like their relationship isn’t consensual, loving, and patient both ways

#kakagai #gaikaka #maito guy #gai maito #kakashi hatake #naruto

[levithestripper]

Patience Is a Virtue

summary:

stuck in winchester due to a quicker-than-usual winter and confined inside king ecbert’s castle with nothing to do, ragnar finds himself trailing behind athelstan, being strung along to god knows where. but his little priest promises it's worth it, and ragnar makes good on athelstan’s promise.

warnings: fluff, smut, porn with a sprinkling of plot, corruption kink, god complex, church sex, oral sex, semi-public sex (?), religious imagery and guilt, degradation kink, praise kink, aftercare.

length: 7.6k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

a/n: born of a thought i had with @grantairescurls :) the brainworms consumed me while writing this and i somehow managed to finish it before the new year. ending the past two years with an athelnar fic may become a tradition around here who knows. ANYWAYS i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did while writing it. doubles as day 16 of my three year old kinktober series i'm struggling to finish lmfao.

Winchester is a fascinating place. The landscape is similar enough to Norway’s, albeit missing the country’s magnificent mountains and rolling hills that Ragnar has somehow grown bored of. It has grown even closer in similarity these last few months, with winter bringing heavy snowstorms, covering the courtyard in fluffy white snow that glitters in the cold sunlight.

Free of King Ecbert’s all-knowing gaze, he walks beside Athelstan, eagerly waiting to see where his priest is leading him. But he’s known for being impatient, voicing his restlessness to Athelstan, a man who has enough patience for the both of them. “Where are you taking me, little priest?” Ragnar asks, trying to push the right buttons to irritate him, but it fails. 

“Patience is a virtue, Ragnar,” he replies, a knowing look on his face.

Ragnar rolls his eyes with a dramatic groan, earning himself a quiet chuckle from his friend. “Well, are we close, at least?” 

Athelstan doesn’t answer him on purpose, knowing it’ll annoy him further. Before Ragnar can continue to complain, Athelstan announces they’ve arrived at their destination. “We’re here.”

They stand in front of two giant wooden doors at the end of the long cobblestone hallway they found themselves in. The black metal handles make it look like the entrance to a dungeon. 

Ragnar looks at Athelstan with confusion. Ath must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere! Ath surely can’t be serious when he says this is what he is so eager to show him! “Didn’t realize you’re a comedian, Athelstan,” he smirks. “Come on, where are we going, truthfully?”

Athelstan turns to meet his gaze, unaffected by Ragnar’s cockiness, far too used to him and his shenanigans. “I told you, patience is a virtue.” He leaves Ragnar’s side, walking up two pointless steps, and takes hold of the cold metal handles, pulling both doors open in a grand reveal of what lay behind. Light flooded the dark hallway, causing Ragnar to raise a shielding hand to his brow. 

Through squinted eyes, what he sees takes his breath away. Larger-than-life stained glass windows filter the massive amount of winter sunlight into a rainbow of colors across the beautiful stone floors. Despite the colorful sunlight, the room is still relatively dark. The ceiling is taller than the hallways’, at least three stories worth of height between the two, the top coming together at a point. Hanging from the pointed ceiling is a fancy—and expensive-looking—candlelit chandelier, adding to the specific atmosphere in the room that Ragnar can’t find a descriptor name for. In the center of the room is a marble statue depicting what appears to be a stable of some kind. The wall behind the statue hangs a large wooden cross with a bronze man nailed to it. 

“This is what I wanted to show you.” Athelstan looks as if he is in his God’s heaven. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Ragnar slowly trails behind him, head craning back to absorb everything before him. “Is this what you talk so much of back home? What is it called…” he mumbles under his breath, searching for the word in English. “A… church?”

Athelstan smiles at the effort Ragnar is putting towards getting the correct answer all on his own. “Close. A chapel,” he says in Norse, then repeats the new word in English.

He nods, trying to commit the phrase to memory. “What is the difference?” he asks, returning to Norse. 

“A chapel is a place for private prayers, while a church is for congregations led by a priest.” Ath lets Ragnar take his hand within his callused one, keeping him close. 

The Vikingr’s eyes light up at the mention of a priest. Finally, something he knew something about! “A priest? A priest like mine?” 

Ragnar’s words cause a red dust to bloom across Athelstan’s cheeks. “I’m not a priest, Ragnar.” 

He shrugs. “They’re basically the same thing.” Ragnar turns and points at the marbled statue in the center of the room. “What is that? It’s not like anything you’ve told me about.”

Athelstan looks to where he is pointing and pulls Ragnar towards it with the hand the Vikingr still held onto. “This is a nativity scene!” 

He looks at him with a confused expression, suddenly lost again. “A nativity scene? What is a nativity?” Ragnar asks, the English word feeling foreign and unnatural on his tongue.

He gnaws on his thick bottom lip as he mulls over the easiest way to explain it in Norse. He sighs. “A nativity is the place of someone’s birth. And a nativity scene is a depiction of that.” Ragnar circles the statue, looking at it from every angle imaginable as if he were sizing an opponent up for a fight. He crosses his arms over his chest, pressing his elbow into the meat of his forearm, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“Why?”

It’s Athelstan’s turn to feel puzzled now. “What?”

“You heard me, Ath. Why? What is the point?” 

Ath moves to stand beside him. “It’s a recreation of the birth of our Savior.”

Ragnar interrupts him. “Our savior?” he questions, voice full of snark.

“Shut it and listen,” he smacks his bicep. “It’s how the faith celebrates the birth of the son of God all year round. Every year around this time, churches will put together beautiful masses to commemorate the birth of Jesus. It’s an important symbol in the religion, making the Lord tangible for all the world. Etching it into stone makes it permanent, ensuring parishioners never forget that He was once a helpless babe like they were.” 

He doesn’t respond immediately, absorbing Athelstan’s words and attempting to understand them to the best of his abilities. “God’s son?” Ragnar squats in front of the marble baby. The stone infant slept in a pile of straw compiled within a trough, surrounded by who Ragnar assumed were his parents and extended family. Ragnar trails his finger across the babe’s cold forehead, feeling the finely chiseled details against his skin. “Is this the eldest son?”

Athelstan sits cross-cross next to him, nodding.

“Like Thor?”

Ath makes a face. “I suppose so.”

“Who are your god’s other children? Why are they not here?” Ragnar shifts to sit as well. “Why dishonor his other children this way?”

“Jesus is God’s only son.”

Ragnar chuckles. “Your god must be stupid, then. Betting everything on one son, only for him to die before having sons of his own.”

“Everything was a part of His plan, making Jesus’ death far from stupid,” Ath counters, leaning against Ragnar’s shoulder. 

The Vikingr sighs deeply. “Do you worship him still? This Jesus.”

Athelstan shrugs. “I see the Lord in the blooming of spring flowers, but I hear Thor in my ears when I run into battle beside you. I feel the Lord in the summertime breeze, but I pray to Freyja to protect my norse sisters when they enter motherhood.”

“You’re a confusing man, Athelstan. No matter how much I learn about you, you never fail to reveal something I’m incapable of understanding.” Ragnar’s words earn him a giggle from the man beside him. 

Ath turns his head, his chin digging into the soft tissue in Ragnar’s shoulder. “You’d be bored if I were any different.” Ragnar’s silence is telling, confirming Athelstan’s statement as correct. 

Ragnar doesn’t stay silent for long. He never is quiet for long, always spouting the first thing that comes to mind. “Why is there no table?”

“Table?” Ath questions. 

“The table!” he repeats as if that would clarify it. He gestures with his hands, trying to visualize the image in his head by drawing it in the air. “The table the priest hides behind!”

Ragnar’s words finally clicked inside Ath’s head. “Oh! You mean the altar?” He nods. “Chapels don’t have altars since they’re designed for individual prayer.”

“That’s a shame,” he says with a coy smirk, a devious glint in his icy-blue eyes.

Athelstan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh, yeah? Now, why is that?” Ragnar invades Ath’s personal space, noses just barely touching. It doesn’t startle him in the slightest, having grown quite used to it in the past handful of years being Ragnar’s partner.

Teasingly, he licks the tip of Ath’s nose. He leans in, whispering hotly in his ear. “If there were a table,” Ragnar refuses to call it by its proper name, purposely to irk him, “I could bend you over and fuck you on it.” He finishes with a sultry drag of his tongue up the shell of Athelstan’s ear, biting the lobe when the younger man shudders underneath him.

Athelstan’s expression looks as if he can’t decide between being aroused or being appalled. “Ragnar!”

“What, little priest? Does the idea of fucking on your god’s table make you uncomfortable?” Ragnar slides a rough hand over one of Athelstan’s thighs. “Or does the thought of defiling your Lord’s precious altar fill you with an embarrassing feeling of desire?” Ragnar’s words are hot against his ear, drawing another shudder from him.

“Ragnar!” Athelstan exclaims, his face a bright shade of red. 

His smirk broadens as he drinks in Ath’s reaction. “Hm? Did I strike a nerve in you, my love?” Ragnar goads, teasing his hand further up Athelstan’s inner thigh, fingertips sending tingles straight to Ath’s slowly hardening cock. “Maybe I should take you right here instead, take you apart piece by piece in front of your beloved stone nativity.”

Athelstan grasps his wrist, halting his hand from edging along any further. “We can’t—I can’t. Not here.” 

“Then explain why your cock is telling me a different story, my love,” he hums, breaking free of Athelstan’s hold to cup the man’s groin in his palm. Ragnar feels his own cock twitch against his thigh. “Let me show your god exactly how I worship you.” Ragnar closes the barely-there gap between them, lips pressing against his messily, hungrily. Athelstan practically melts under his ministrations, just like always. He grips Ragnar’s wrist again, trying to keep himself grounded, or else he feels as if he might float away. 

“Ragnar, we can’t, it’s wrong!” Athelstan isn’t sure if he’s saying it to convince himself or Ragnar. Maybe both. When he’s kissing him, he can’t be sure of much. “Seriously,” Ragnar kisses him again. “We shouldn’t—” Another kiss. “We can’t!” Another kiss, this one sloppier than the rest.

Ragnar mocks him teasingly. “We can’t! We shouldn’t! It’s wrong! You should give me a real reason, little priest.” He moves to kiss down Ath’s neck, sucking on the spot he knows will make the man whimper and shiver. “Don’t try and hide how badly you want this. You know I can see right through your little disguise, sweetheart.” Ragnar squeezes Ath’s quickly thickening cock, pulling sweet, embarrassing noises from him. Athelstan’s resolve is quickly deteriorating, much to Ragnar’s pleasure.

“This is no fair; you’re no fair, Ragnar,” Ath complains, forgetting to add malice to his insult. His blush has spread down the column of his neck, making Ragnar want to suck pretty purple bruises into the soft skin there. Ragnar’s quick to act on his impulses, leaving an impossible-to-hide bruise in his wake. “What—What if someone walks in?” Ath manages to stutter out.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating in his chest. “So what?” he snickers, kissing a line down Ath’s neck, roughly tugging on the neckline of his tunic so he can continue along his shoulder. “Who cares if someone finds us. It wouldn’t stop me.” Quickly finding the blue fabric irritating, Ragnar pulls it over Ath’s head and tosses it behind them without a care. Taking off his own shit as well, Ragnar pushes him to lie on his back, shoving his tunic underneath Ath’s head as a makeshift pillow. “So what if your beloved god watches me fuck you? He should be honored to watch one of his creations be so thoroughly taken care of,” he hums, his words sending another wave of sparks through Athelstan’s body.

Athelstan doesn’t have a response for him. And even if he did, he doesn’t think he’d be capable of speaking without stumbling over every word. So he stays silent to keep from embarrassing himself further. The lack of any comeback made Ragnar grin maliciously.

“Not talking, my little priest?” he asks coyly. “Now, now, why could that be? I know you’re good with your words.” As Ragnar speaks, his deft fingers quickly begin unlacing Athelstan’s trousers. “Perhaps,” he licks his lips enticingly, his grin morphing into a familiar cocky smirk, “perhaps you want me to turn you into a dirty little sinner. Maybe you just don’t wanna admit how hard the thought of defiling your beloved god’s house makes you. ‘Cause then,” Ragnar leans down to whisper in his ear, his breath hot against his lover’s skin, “you’d be a filthy heathen like me.”

All of the willpower Athelstan had mustered up ‘till down crumbles around him at Ragnar’s words, the thought alone making his pretty pale blue eyes roll backward in his skull. “Fuck, Ragnar,” he groans, his voice shaking as if he might start crying any minute. “Fuck it, fuck everything, fuck God—I need you right now!” Ath exclaims, wiggling out of his trousers and kicking them away. He fumbles with the ties on Ragnar’s pants, desperately trying to push them down his thick, muscled thighs.

Ragnar cheekily nips at the shell of his ear before helping Athelstan relieve him of his pants, leaving the pair in just their undergarments. “Didn’t hold out for as long as I thought you would, sweetheart. Are you that desperate for me to defile you? To ruin you in front of your god?” Ragnar kisses down his sternum, laving his tongue over the sparse freckles he found dotted across his lover’s chest. He teases his fingertips along the waistband of Athelstan’s underwear. “Is that right, Athelstan?” 

Instead of words, Ath whines pathetically, embarrassment flooding his senses. He felt his cock throb and leak beads of pre at the sound of Ragnar saying his name in such a lustful, inappropriate manner. “How long do you truly expect me to hold out for when you seduce me like this?” He unties Ragnar’s ponytail but leaves the braided sections alone, running his fingers through his now mostly loose locks. “You should leave your hair down more often.”

“Only if you promise to pull on it,” he says with a smirk, earning himself a deserved smack on the shoulder. With a giggle, Ragnar unceremoniously tugs down Ath’s underwear, watching intently as his cock slaps against his lover’s toned abdomen. Laying between Ath’s now spread legs, he mouths over his jutting hipbones, kissing everywhere but where Athelstan so desperately wishes he would. Ragnar lifts Athelstan’s legs to rest on his broad shoulders as his rough, weathered hands wrap around his thick, supple thighs, keeping him from squirming away. Nipping at his inner thigh with his teeth, Ragnar slowly makes his way down to Ath’s groin, littering small kisses as he goes. 

Slowly regaining his confidence, Athelstan teases him right back, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Starting to think your bark is worse than your bite, Ragnar.”

He cocks an eyebrow at him. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re going so slow it’s almost like you’ve got cold feet or something,” Athelstan smirks, egging him on.

Ragnar returns his gaze with sharp eyes, telling Ath everything he needs to know with just one look. If he wasn’t before, he’s sure in for it now. Ungentle hands spread the globes of Athelstan’s ass apart. The rush of cool air to the newly exposed skin makes his whole body shiver with anticipation. Ragnar licks a hot, thick stripe from Ath’s hole to just below his balls, drawing an unexpected yelp from him. The yelp soon turns to moans as Ragnar continues, each lap of his tongue sending his nerve endings into overdrive. Slowly working his hole loose, Ragnar slides a free hand up Athelstan’s chest, stopping when they reach his red, bite-swollen lips. “Go on, pretty boy, make them nice’n wet for me.”

He wastes no time, opening his mouth for two of Ragnar’s fingers, sucking on them fervently. Ath licks them from base to tip, acting as if they were his cock and not mere fingers. Once Ragnar deems them wet enough, he pulls them from Athelstan’s lips, a string of spit connecting them briefly before it breaks, now sticking to Ath’s chin instead. “Good job,” Ragnar hums, sliding his spit-slick fingers down Athelstan’s taint and over his entrance. “Do you feel your god? Can you feel him watching us? Watching you?” he taunts with a click of his tongue. Ragnar presses the pads of his fingers against his entrance, threatening to sink inside but never following through with it. 

Athelstan nods, embarrassment bubbling to the surface once more. 

“I don’t think he’ll still be your god after this, little priest,” he licks over his top teeth with a gross wet sound. “I think I’ll be your god instead.” With that, Ragnar presses two fingers inside him, and Athelstan’s jaw drops in a silent scream. The sudden stretch burns slightly, but he likes a little side dish of pain with his pleasure. 

Ragnar sits up, folding his legs underneath him. Athelstan’s legs are still propped up on Ragnar’s shoulders, stretching to stay up there as he moves. He unhurriedly thrusts his digits in and out of Ath’s tight hole, watching smugly as a lewd expression spreads across his lover’s face. Using his free hand, Ragnar holds Athelstan’s left leg steady, peppering light kisses along his meaty calf. 

“You can—fuck—you can add another finger; please add another finger,” he begs, fighting to keep his eyes open and focused on Ragnar. 

He chuckles, but it sounds like it came from the Vikingr’s chest instead of his throat. “What if I don’t?” The pads of his fingers just barely brush against Ath’s sweet spot, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “Weren’t you the one just lecturing me about how patience is a virtue?”

Athelstan huffs in frustration, mildly upset that his words were successfully being used against him. He chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on the first question posed to him instead. “I’d be upset.” He looks up at him with a devilish gaze as if he were daring Ragnar to go through with his threat. They both knew he wouldn’t. Ragnar enjoys taking him apart far too much to deprive him of it just to fulfill an empty threat. 

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we? A God has to keep his subjects happy, after all.” Ragnar slips out of him, wetting his ring finger with his own spit before pressing all three inside. Athelstan blesses his ears with a moan that sounds almost as pretty as he looks. “There we go,” Ragnar mumbles, spreading his fingers apart methodically, occasionally curling them against Ath’s sweet spot. After a few minutes, he deems Athelstan’s hole to be loose enough and pulls out, his knuckles glistening with a combination of their spit. Ragnar removes Athelstan’s legs from their home on his shoulders, motioning for him to sit up.

Quick to obey, he braces himself on the heels of his hands. Ragnar meets him the rest of the way, bending over slightly to kiss him. It’s sweeter than their previous kisses, but it’s not that way for long, Athelstan taking the lead and licking into Ragnar’s eager mouth, turning the sweet kiss into a sloppy makeout. Athelstan anchors his hands in Ragnar’s hair, tugging on it harshly, earning himself a low grumble from the older man. “Let me suck you off, love?” Ath whispers, lightly dragging his teeth down Ragnar’s neck.

He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest handsomely. “Like you need to ask.”

Athelstan wastes no time swapping positions, pulling Ragnar’s underwear down before settling between the man’s spread thighs. He doesn’t beat around the bush, far too eager to get his mouth around Ragnar’s thick cock. Laying down on the cold stone floor, Athelstan presses his face against the crease where Ragnar’s inner thigh meets his pelvis. Breathing in his scent, he lifts his head up and kisses the tip, licking a bead of pre-come off and swallowing. Holding Ragnar’s gaze, Athelstan slowly took him into his hot, wet mouth. Unable to keep his head up, Ragnar closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of Ath’s lips around him. 

“Didn’t know you had such a sinful little mouth, Ath,” Ragnar groans out, putting all his effort towards not fucking his lover’s throat ‘till he can’t speak correctly.

He simply hums around him, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to his core. Sinking down to the base, Athelstan chokes slightly when the tip hits the back of his throat. He gradually quickens the pace as he loosens his jaw, allowing for more of Ragnar’s cock to fit down his throat. Returning the favor, Ragnar yanks on Ath’s dark brown curls, keeping him from pulling off for a few seconds. Spit and drool drip from the base of his cock and down his heavy ballsack, eventually pooling on the gray stone beneath them. Ath’s chin is also slick with spit, his beard damp and curling even more due to the moisture. 

With each bob of his head, the room echoes with sounds of him slurping and the occasional gag. One would think Athelstan had no idea he was in a church based on how he was acting, slobbering around a heathen’s cock as if it were what he was put on this Earth to do. He tongues the thick vein running along the underside of Ragnar’s cock, drawing a strangled moan from the man. Ath does it again before moving upwards, focusing all his attention on the overly sensitive head. He teases the slit he finds there, eagerly lapping up all the pre-come that had begun to dribble out. The action causes Ragnar’s cock to throb and his leg to twitch, and he’s quick to tug on Athelstan’s hair again, a silent warning that he’s close. Noticing this, he promptly pulls off with a wet pop sound. His chest heaves as he quickly tries to catch his breath.

Somehow, Ragnar looks in worse shape than Athelstan does, long hair matted against his sweaty forehead, his cock a deep shade of red and oozing pre-come. The perfect depiction of Satan’s temptations laid out in front of him, just begging for Athelstan to come and take a bite. He doesn’t think twice about going against his Lord’s wishes or what it would mean for his soul, far too enraptured in the delicious spread before him to care about some pretty garden his Lord had to offer when he could have Ragnar Lothbrok instead. Not even the King of Kings can win a fight against the King of the Northman. Ragnar beats everything his Holy Father offers him with little effort. Athelstan looks him up and down, drinking in the sight of him as if he were about to devour him whole.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Athelstan shuffles on his knees to straddle Ragnar’s hips, his cock bobbing enticingly in front of Ragnar’s face. The Vikingr gazes up at Athestan, taking in the beauty before him. His rough hands grab greedily at supple hips, thumbs meeting at a belly button surrounded by a thick trail of coarse hair. Ragnar feels Ath’s hungry eyes on him, an unneeded boost to his severely overblown ego. “You look good enough to eat, my love,” he digs his teeth into his bottom lip, returning Ath’s hungry gaze with one of his own.

“Good enough for a God?” Athelstan asks, voice dripping with lust.

Ragnar pretends to contemplate the question as he rolls his hips upwards to grind against Athelstan’s. “Depends on what His sinful little disciple can offer Him.”

Licking his lips, Ath splays his hands over Ragnar’s chest, tracing over long healed scars with his fingertips. “He can devote his life in service to Him.” Athelstan can’t articulate why, but speaking of himself in the third person like this stirs something within him that makes a pleasurable heat pool in his abdomen. “Devote himself to loving Him, serving Him, obeying Him.” He leans down as he speaks, slowly coming nose-to-nose with Ragnar. Athelstan shifts further down Ragnar’s abdomen, ass now nestled just above Ragnar’s cock. “Would He like that?”

Ragnar’s mouth curls in a devilish grin, grinding against his plush ass. “He’d have to renounce his previous Lord. This God doesn’t like to share with others.”

He kisses the edge of Ragnar’s mouth, knowing how it drives him mad. “Will his new Lord take care of him for eternity?” Ragnar turns Ath’s head to face him properly, his pointer and middle fingers holding his chin as he captures Ath’s lips in a heated kiss. The passion within his embrace serves as Ragnar’s answer, something Athelstan effortlessly picks up on. 

Ragnar pulls away enough to whisper against his lips, switching back to first-person language, his brain too addled with lust to adequately phrase sentences that way for any longer. “How about you make yourself nice’n pretty for your new God?”

“How does He want me?” Athelstan nips at Ragnar’s ear before kissing it, almost like an apology for biting him.

“On all fours, face down,” he slaps Ath’s ass, and Athelstan yelps in surprise, “ass up like you’re praying.” Athelstan gets off of him, but not without a furious red blush flooding from his cheeks to color his pale chest beautifully. Sitting up, he watches how quick Ath is to obey his request. It merely fuels the flames of Ragnar’s ego, making him even more eager to take Athelstan apart piece by piece and put him back together in his own image.

Ath makes a show of bending over, swaying his hips as he goes, and arching his back, making him the picture of temptation. “Like this?” he asks innocently, spreading his legs and looking over his shoulder at him, resting his weight on his forearms. 

Ragnar settles behind him, shamelessly running his hands over the globes of Athelstan’s ass. “Mmhm, just like this. Such a sinful little worshiper you are. Defiling your previous Lord’s house, throwing away your chance for holiness without a second thought.” Ragnar fists his cock, spitting on it to get it wet again. He taps it against Athelstan’s still loose hole, watching it clench desperately around nothing. 

Athelstan’s cock throbs pathetically at Ragnar’s words, sending a whole body shiver through him. He presses his ass into Ragnar’s hands, silently pleading for Ragnar to bury himself deep inside. All it accomplishes, however, is getting the Vikingr to smack his thick cock against him again. 

“I think,” he hums, pausing solely to draw out Ath’s torment, “you should beg your abandoned Lord for forgiveness.” Ragnar presses his cockhead against Athelstan’s entrance, barely dipping inside before retreating. “You are sinning in his house, after all.” Athelstan gasps at his proposition, and Ragnar takes advantage of his lover’s shock, deciding it to be the perfect opportunity to push inside him. He bullies his way inside, not stopping to give Ath time to adjust until his balls are pressed against Ath’s thighs.

“Ragnar!” he yelps, the sudden intrusion knocking the breath from his lungs. On top of having been a while since they last laid together, Ragnar’s cock is far thicker than the three fingers he prepared him with, so there’s a slight burn in the stretch as he bottoms out. “Fuck, you’re so stupidly big!” Ath whines, gripping the makeshift pillow in an attempt to stay grounded. 

He tsks at him. “That’s no way to talk to your Lord, Athelstan. Don’t you think?” Without waiting for a response, Ragnar pulls out nearly all the way, leaving just the tip. He grips Athelstan’s hips roughly, the pads of his fingers squeezing the soft, unmarred skin there.

He panics at the sudden empty feeling, immediately backtracking, determined to be a good boy for Ragnar. “No,” he choked on his words, his brain moving faster than his mouth could keep up with. “No, it’s not; please forgive me!”

“I’m not who you should be apologizing to, remember?” Ragnar goads as he sinks back inside at a gruelingly slow pace. “Or should I pull out to help jog your memory?” Keeping one hand on Ath’s hip, Ragnar sinks his right hand in Ath’s dark brown curls, tugging his head up to force him to look at the cross directly behind the nativity scene before them. “You tell me stories of how Jesus died for your sins, only for you to shame him by sinning in his chapel.”

Athelstan whimpers and whines, shamelessly canting his hips back on Ragnar’s cock. “Please don’t pull out,” he begs, sniffling. Despite how he sounds, Athelstan doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused in all his thirty-five years of life. Made to gaze upon the man he had once dedicated his life to serving, on his knees in mock prayer, but it wasn’t Jesus he was praying to this time. It looks unlikely he’ll ever pray to the Heavenly Father or His son again after this, having found something much sweeter and far more rewarding. Something more real to Athelstan than the figure on the wall or the marble Blessed Virgin Mother in front of him ever will be.

The unmistakable sound of Ragnar snarking breaks him out of his thoughts. He’s remained unmoving since bottoming out a second time, providing a deep-seated, pleasurable pressure within Ath’s abdomen. “I’m not above using you as my own personal cockwarmer until you start begging, darling,” he threatens, only this time Athelstan knows it’s not an empty one. 

Unfortunately, Athelstan’s bratted too close to the sun more often than he cares to admit. This might end up one of those times if he doesn’t play his cards correctly. “What do you want me to beg for, Ragnar?” he questions cheekily, playing dumb, knowing exactly how to get the reaction he wants from Ragnar. 

Ragnar yanks on his hair as a warning. “You’ve been good up ‘till now, little priest,” his deep voice rumbles low in his throat, words sticky with pent-up desire, the little self-control he has left quickly deteriorating with every passing minute. “I wouldn’t go fucking it up now if I were you.” He emphasizes it with a slow, punishing roll of his hips, cockhead brushing against Athelstan’s sweet spot. “But if you don’t want me to fuck you after all, keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

The moan Ath lets out is utterly sinful, and Ragnar hasn’t begun to fuck him in earnest yet. He briefly debates his options, but it wasn’t a hard decision. Solidifying his gaze on the nailed God before him, Athelstan began to pray for the Lord’s forgiveness. “Lord, I seek Your forgiveness and healing. Help me to release the weight of the guilt and shame that I carry.”

“Aww, there we go, little priest. Beg to your nailed god,” Ragnar taunts. He pulls out again and truly starts to fuck him now, thrusting into him quickly. The hand on Ath’s hip squeezes tightly, sure to leave bruises later. Ragnar tugs Athelstan’s hips back on each thrust he gives. The chapel echoes with sounds of skin slapping against skin and Athelstan’s choked, moaned prayers. Sweat slides down the ridges of Ath’s spine and pools in the divots at the end of his tailbone. “Imagine how disappointed he must be in you, Athelstan,” he says with a yank of his hair. He drapes himself across Ath’s back so he can whisper into his ear. “Once a pious little monk,” Ragnar delivers a particularly harsh thrust, hitting a pleasurable bundle of nerves inside Athelstan. “Now reduced to a devilish sinner by a blasphemous pagan.”

Athelstan wonders briefly about where in the world Ragnar could’ve learned that word, but the arousal thrumming through his body made any coherent train of thought impossible. He was barely managing to get out his prayers, let alone anything in addition to that. “Grant me strength, ‘O—oh fuuck—‘O Lord, to learn from my previous mistakes and help me grow,” Athelstan stops mid-sentence, interrupting himself with a slutty moan. “Ragnar, Ragnar, fucking hell, you’re so deep,” he whines, rolling his hips back on each thrust he gives.

His lips curl in a cocky smile. “How’s it feel, sweetheart?” The hand in Ath’s hair twists, making him groan loudly.

“It feels s’good, Ragnar!” He moans, white-knuckling Ragnar’s abandoned tunic. Ath fights his eyes from rolling back in his head, desperate not to appear as how slutty he feels. It doesn’t work. “Harder, Ragnar, please!” He almost forgets to continue his prayers, but a perfectly aimed thrust to his prostate reminds him of his orders. “‘O Lord, I thank You for even though I am a sinner, in the kindness of Your mercy!” Athelstan feels shame flood over him and the omnipotent eyes of Jesus Christ boring into him from across the room. Judging him, condemning him, and casting him down from the light of heaven, sentencing his soul to the fiery pit of hell for eternity. But that humiliating feeling is accompanied by a shameful pleasure that greedily spreads throughout his entire body, making his extremities tingle.

Ragnar is more than happy to oblige, fucking into him at a punishing speed, hips moving at a godlike speed. Each thrust hits Athelstan’s sweet spot dead on, ripping a loud moan from him every time. “You’re still so tight, Ath.” He bites the fleshy junction of his shoulder and neck, leaving a blotchy red mark in his wake. “It’s like your god made you to be wrapped around my cock like this.” He releases his hold on Ath’s hair, moving to fist Athelstan’s red, leaking cock instead. His hand nearly engulfed his cock entirely, just the tip peeking out from above his fingers. “What do you think, hm? You think he made you just for me?”

Ath manages to nod, biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds. He’s given up praying for forgiveness now, his mind all-encompassed by Ragnar and the arousal coursing through his veins. “Just—Just for you, always been just for you!” He cants his hips into Ragnar’s hand, needy for any and all friction he could get against his poor, neglected cock. “Please, please, please, Ragnar!” he begs, unsure exactly what he’s begging for, just that he needs more of whatever it is. 

“Please, please, please!” Ragnar mocks and Athelstan can practically see the conniving smirk he wears in his mind’s eye. “Please what, little priest? Can’t give it to you if I don’t know what it is.” Athelstan’s whole body shudders from his next thrust, eyes quickly rolling back from the intensity of it.

He opens his mouth to respond, but all that comes out are incoherent moans and slutty whimpers. “Please—oh, right there! Please, just, more, more of—fuuck—everything, please, Ragnar!” Ath’s arms give out from underneath him, his weight resting on his shoulders, cheek pressed against the cold stone floor.

“More, hm?” Ragnar slows his movements, earning himself a pathetic whine from his lover. “Even with all your pleas for forgiveness, you still want more?”

Ath nods with another high-pitched whine.

“Do you think your precious nailed god would approve of that desire?”

He shakes his head no.

“Perfect,” Ragnar growls, standing up straight once more, drinking in the sight before him as if it were the perfect cup of ale. He takes his hand off Athelstan’s cock and places it on his hip, spreading his cheeks apart with his thumb and forefinger. Reestablishing the pace he had previously, Ragnar watches his cock disappear inside him, a creamy white ring of pre-come circling his base. “I hope he’s watching when I paint your pretty insides and fully claim you as mine,” he pairs his words with a punishing thrust, far harder than anything else he’d delivered previously. “Watches me take you from him for good this time.”

Each thrust is like electricity, sending tingles from his toes to his fingertips. “Yours, Ragnar,” he hiccups, “Yours, make me yours!” 

Ragnar lands a harsh smack to Ath’s asscheek, a slightly pink handprint blooming across his pale skin. “Always have been mine, little priest. Ever since I stole you from your comfy little monastery.” He angles his hips so he hits Ath’s sweet spot with every thrust. “I wanna hear you say it. Tell your beloved god who you truly belong to.”

“You! I belong to you!” he cries, voice bouncing off the walls, echoing his shame for all close enough to hear. 

He yanks Ath’s head up, forcing him to speak directly to the cross instead of begging into the floor. Ragnar hoists him almost entirely off the floor, now barely able to graze the stone with his fingertips. “Look him in the eye when you speak, sweetheart. After all, you can’t disgrace him further by being rude, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” Ragnar’s words are soaked with liquid sin, the droplets burning a hole in the consecrated floors of this sacred building he’s corrupting with each passing minute. 

Athelstan hums a yes and repeats himself, staring into the cold, metal eyes of Jesus, his former savior, who died to atone for humanity’s sinful souls. Even though it’s only a statue, Ath felt as if it were Jesus himself nailed there, flesh and blood dripping to the floor with cold splats. He can practically see him there, gold and brown colored metal morphing into pale skin marred with rivers of red. “I’m sorry, ‘O Lord! Please bless me with your kind mercy!” he cries out in his thoughts, but deep down, he knows it’s not a genuine apology. He knows God knows as well. Ath doubts his soul will be cleansed, but he can’t doesn’t care any longer. He has a new God. 

“Tell him who you belong to.” Ragnar’s thrusts don’t let up, somehow gaining in force instead. 

Ath swallows thickly before speaking, eyebrows pressing upward, his face screwed together in overwhelming pleasure. “You! I belong to you!”

Ragnar twists Ath’s curls in his fist. “Who? Say my name, Athelstan. He might believe you’re talking about him.”

“You, Ragnar!”

“Hm? I can’t hear you, Athelstan; you’ve got to speak up, or else he won’t hear you, either,” Ragnar goads, grinding his hips hard against his ass. 

The curve of Athelstan’s spine is nearly pornographic. Ath scrambles to find something to hold onto but comes up empty-handed. “I belong to Ragnar! You, Ragnar!” he yells, stretching his arm backward to grip the back of Ragnar’s head, fingers anchoring in his hair. “Oh, my God—oh, my god fuck—I’m close, Ragnar, please!” 

Ragnar releases his grip on Ath’s hair to wrap his arm around Ath’s stomach, holding him closer than believed possible. He presses his sweaty forehead against Athelstan’s shoulder, his thrusts growing uneven and sloppy as he approaches his limit as well. “Fuck, Ath-Athelstan,” he stutters, the mask he wore cracking at the edges, revealing just how desperate he really is. “Fuuck, yes, that’s it, you’re so fucking hot like this, baby. Fucked open and needy, just for me and no one else.” Ragnar splays his fingers over the tensed muscles of Athelstan’s stomach, pressing down gently.

“No one else, all yours, my love,” Ath babbles, leaning his head back to rest on top of Ragnar’s. His chest heaves with each gulp of air he takes, the lower half of his ribs showing slightly every time his stomach sucks in. “Gonna—oh, fuck, there—gonna cum!” 

“Cum for me, Ath, make a pretty mess all over my hand, fuuck,” Ragnar moans out, words warbly and uneven as he does his best to speak without stumbling over everything. “You’re so pretty, so good for me.” His thrusts quickly lose whatever rhythm they had left as he reaches his climax, spilling his cum deep inside Ath’s spasming entrance. 

Athelstan’s cock throbs and twitches when he feels Ragnar’s orgasm, his own cum spurting all over his stomach and Ragnar’s hand. His legs shake violently, toes curling and uncurling in tandem with each spurt of his cock. The short nails of his left hand rake across Ragnar’s back and side, making the man shiver. As they both come down from their highs, a mix of Ath’s cum and sweat drips wetly onto the floor. He can feel Ragnar breathing heavily against his back, finding his equally exhausted presence comforting.

As his cock softens, Ragnar carefully slips out of him, a rush of cum quickly following. Shivering, Athelstan shuffles to turn around before Ragnar does. Now face to face with his lover, Ragnar kisses him gently, as if Athelstan would break if treated too roughly, a stark difference from how Ragnar was manhandling him a few minutes prior. He tilts his head to one side and cups Athelstan’s unmarred cheek with his clean hand, thumb stroking his sweaty cheekbone. Ath licks into his mouth, nose pressing into Ragnar’s scarred one. The kiss lasts for both years and only a handful of seconds simultaneously. Neither knows who pulls away first. “Are you okay, Ath?” he asks, rubbing his nose against Ath’s.

He nods with a hum. “Are you?” Ragnar nods, too. “Didn’t know you had that in you, baby.”

Ragnar snickers, kissing the tip of his nose. “And this surprises you?”

“Nothing about you surprises me. Not anymore.” Athelstan scrunches his nose cutely after he kisses it. “We’ll have to be quick about cleaning up; someone might come looking for us.”

Ragnar snags his tunic off the floor and uses it to wipe away the cum dripping from between Ath’s legs. “Did you mean what you said? About belonging to me and only me? Forever?” he asks somewhat quietly, the insecurity he shows uncharacteristic of him. 

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Ragnar,” Ath says softly, his voice soothing, like a wool-lined blanket on a cold winter’s night, calming any worries Ragnar might be harboring within him. “You know that.”

Dropping his now-soiled tunic, Ragnar wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, corded muscles flexing beneath his skin. “Good; perfect. You’re perfect.”

Athelstan drapes his arms over Ragnar’s shoulders, hugging him back just as—if not more—tightly. Ragnar traces shapeless designs into the skin of Ath’s lower back, pressing soft, grounding kisses along the column of his neck. He kisses the bite mark he left, which is now starting to bruise. They slowly sink to the floor, Athelstan sitting in Ragnar’s lap, legs on either side of his waist, head resting against the lower part of his shoulder. “I love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you, too,” Ragnar says, almost as if he’s been saying it to him for decades, not years. As if every time he’s said it, it’s always been for Athelstan, even before he knew him. As if his love is reserved for Athelstan and Athelstan only. He lays his cheek on the top of his head, careful not to dig his chin into Ath’s skull. “When we go home in the spring, we’ll hold the biggest feast our halls have ever seen.”

Ath gazes up at him the best he can. “What for? What’ll we be celebrating, other than a successful return like always?”

Ragnar holds his hand, lacing their fingers together. “A wedding.”

“A wedding?” Ath questions, getting a nod in response. “Who’s?”

Ragnar breaks his gaze, looking up at the ceiling. “Our wedding.”

Blindsighted but elated, Athelstan shifts to look at him properly, refocusing Ragnar’s eyes where they belong—on him. “Our wedding?” Ragnar calmly nods like he didn’t just propose to him. “You need to work on your proposal skills, darling,” he giggles as a stupidly wide, toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Is that a yes, then?” Ragnar asks, donning a toothy smile of his own.

Athelstan holds Ragnar’s face in his hands and kisses him. “You dumbass, of course, it’s a yes.”

Ragnar kisses him again, then litters small kisses across his cheeks, chin, forehead, and anywhere else he can easily reach. “Perfect,” he kisses Ath’s lips. “Next time I take you, it’ll be on our marriage bed.”

“Ragnar!” Athelstan gasps with a slight laugh. His words made his softened cock twitch in curiosity. “You can’t just say that!”

“Yes, I can.” Ragnar squeezes his waist. “We both know you love it,” he teases, pressing his thumbs into Ath’s soft abdomen, messing up the dark hair there.

He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, unlacing his hand from Ragnar’s so he can drape them over Ragnar’s shoulders again. Ath holds his own hand, lacing his fingers together. “You’re so insufferable, you know that?”

Ragnar grins cheekily, far too proud of the fact. “You love it, don’t even try and deny it.”

“What if I do deny it? What’ll you do then?” Athelstan asks, licking his lips and shifting his hips to brush against Ragnar’s cock, who’s making an effort to chub up again. 

He nips at Athelstan’s nose as a warning, a grin still spread across his face. “Something we can’t get caught doing in here, baby.” He reaches back to grab Athelstan’s tunic, blue eyes never leaving pale ones. Ath slips it over his head and stands, tugging on his trousers. Ragnar copies him, minus a shirt. They gather their things and clean their fluids off the floor as best as they can manage with the little supplies available. Once it looks like nothing sinful has occurred, the pair leaves the chapel hand in hand, eagerly heading for Ragnar’s chambers. 

taglist: @moonlighttfoxx, @demon-of-the-ancient-world, and @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics.

#ragnar lothbrok #athelstan #ragnar lothbrok x athelstan #ragnar x athelstan #athelnar #athelstan vikings #vikings #vikings ragnar #vikings athelstan #vikings fanfiction #vikings series #vikings tv #vikings tv show #vikings fic #vikings fandom #ragnar lothbrok fanfic #character x character #athelstan x ragnar #athelstan x ragnar lothbrok #travis fimmel #george blagden

[andiwriteordie]

Secret relationship Byler on a Valentine’s Day date that gets spotted by Elumax

Naturally chaos ensues

piper!

okay this was so fun, and i am a sucker for secret relationship byler (and elumax omg my whole heart)! hope you enjoy!

—

7: i loved you in secret 

Will Byers has a secret.

It’s not a bad secret—actually, far from that. It’s actually a really, really good secret, and it’s one that makes Will smile to himself and kind of giggle like a kid when he stops to think about it. It’s that kind of secret. 

Will Byers has a secret.

And his secret? 

It’s Mike Wheeler.

Yeah, so nobody knows this secret except for Mike himself, but Will has been dating Mike for… a little over a month now. The two of them got together on New Year’s Eve actually, when Mike caught Will off guard and kissed on at midnight while the two of them were getting some fresh air. Since then, not that much has changed between the two of them, other than the fact that they kiss and cuddle and do other “couple” stuff now. They’ve always spent all their time together, but now… now, they get to do it as boyfriends.

The only thing is Mike isn’t actually out to anyone yet, and that’s fine, of course. It’s difficult being gay in the eighties to begin with, and even though the Party lives in California now for college, it’s still a bit of an adjustment to remind themselves that this isn’t wrong. It’s not wrong for guys to love other guys or for girls to love other girls or for people to love both or neither. It’s not wrong, but undoing all the shit they’ve heard growing up is hard.

So, they’re taking their relationship slow and keeping it a secret until Mike feels ready to come out to everyone. He’s getting there, Will thinks, and just based on conversations the two of them have had recently, Will thinks his boyfriend will probably be ready to tell the Party soon. 

Until then though, Will is honestly fine with keeping their relationship a secret. Honestly, it’s a little bit fun, especially since the other Party members can be nosy as hell. With their relationship a secret right now, they can keep this just for the two of them. Their relationship is just for Will and Mike—not for anyone else. They don’t have to worry about prying questions or nosy best friends when nobody knows about their relationship. They can just be together.

And for Will, that’s all that matters.

But being in a secret relationship does pose a few extra hurdles to get past—namely trying to figure out how to go on dates without getting caught by their friends. It’s actually kind of difficult, since most of their favorite places to frequent also just so happen to be the Party’s favorite places to go to together.

So, that’s exactly how Will finds himself in a little Italian restaurant over an hour away from campus, dressed in a nice dress shirt and dress pants and a fucking tie—because Mike had insisted upon taking Will out for a fancy, grown-up date.

(His words. Not Will’s.)

Somehow, he’d even managed to snag a couple of fake IDs for the two of them, and so, Will is a little bit tipsy on champagne that is way too fucking expensive and doesn’t even taste that good. But honest to God, he doesn’t care, because Mike keeps smiling across the table at him, and his cheeks are flushed from the wine and from the flirting, and Will is just so happy that he could cry.

Never ever in a million years did Will think he could have this—with Mike least of all—and never ever did he think he’d be brave enough to be out here in public with his boyfriend. But then again, after surviving a hell dimension, the end of the world, and an interdimensional war, Will thinks he’s probably braver than he gives himself credit for.

At the end of the day though, it’s Mike who gives him the strength and the courage to keep going. Mike and the love he has for Will is something that makes Will feel brave—brave enough to survive the most terrifying place Will has ever been in, brave enough to keep going even though the odds were stacked against them, brave enough to fight monsters and horrors no one should ever have to face, and brave enough to sit here, in public and smile and laugh and just be with the man he loves.

His relationship with Mike is the best thing that’s ever happened to Will. And this night—getting dressed up and pretending to be older than they are and actually getting to be themselves out in the world together—is definitely one of the best nights of Will’s life.

…

Until it isn’t.

Because when Will is about halfway through his way too fancy Italian dish, the front door of the restaurant opens.

His sister walks into the restaurant.

And Will nearly chokes on his food.

“Shit,” Will coughs, sinking lower into his seat. “Shit.”

A confused look forms on Mike’s face. “What?” he asks, voice full of concern. “What’s wrong? Will? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Will reassures, and he glances back at the door, wincing as El goes up to the hostess and starts talking to her. “But look who just walked in.”

Mike’s brow furrows, and his line of sight goes to the front door. All at once, his eyes widen, and his face turns bright red. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he whispers, sinking lower into his seat just like Will is doing right now. “Lucas and Max are here?”

“What?” Will spins around again, and sure enough, Lucas and Max are walking into the restaurant now, their arms linked together. “I was talking about El! What are Lucas and Max doing here?”

“No clue,” Mike says with a wince, “but I, uh… I think they’re all together actually.”

Will’s eyes wide, and again, he turns around just in time to see Max and Lucas walk up to El. Max places a little kiss on El’s cheek, and Will watches as his sister beams, looking happier than he’s ever seen her before. 

Then, in a move that’s even stranger, Lucas does the same, planting a little kiss on El’s cheek and then on Max’s, and Will’s jaw drops open.

“Holy shit,” Will whispers, turning back around to his boyfriend. “Are the three of them together?”

Mike shrugs slightly, and he reaches for his glass of champagne, taking a small sip and scrunching his nose. “Kinda looks like it,” he remarks. “That… actually makes a lot of sense.”

It does, in fact, make a lot of sense. El and Max have been close for years now—ever since that summer with the Mind Flayer—and when Max was missing in the Upside Down, El and Lucas grew a lot closer too. Will supposes it’s not that hard to imagine the three of them would end up in a relationship together.

What is hard to imagine is that El didn’t tell him.

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” Will grumbles, glancing back at his sister. Currently, her arm is linked with Max’s, and she’s bending down slightly to rest her head on Max’s shoulder. “I had no idea!”

A quiet laugh escapes Mike’s lips, and Will turns back around to see his boyfriend smiling in amusement. “Will,” he chuckles, “I really don’t think you’re in a position to get mad at El for keeping a secret relationship from you.”

Warmth rises to Will’s cheeks. Okay, that’s fair, but still, it’s the principle of the matter. He imagines El will probably be upset when she finds out Will kept his own relationship from her, so… Will’s going to let himself have this.

“Oh, shit,” Mike mutters. 

“What?” Will blinks, and he looks around in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“The hostess is bringing them this way,” Mike says with a wince. “You don’t think…”

His voice trails off, and he glances at the empty table that’s right next to theirs. It’s set for four people, and if they have a reservation for three, it would make sense…

Oh, shit.

“There’s no way we’d be that unlucky,” Will laughs nervously. “Right?”

Mike winces again, and he looks around the room. “Uh… considering there’s almost no other open tables…”

Will curses under his breath, glancing over his shoulder. The hostess is almost to the empty table now, with Lucas, Max, and El trailing after her. “We could leave,” Will offers, just to be helpful. “Maybe they won’t see us? I mean… I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell them if you aren’t ready.”

The look on Mike’s face softens, and he smiles back at Will, soft and sweet. “We’re not leaving,” he says, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’m letting those three ruin our date. Besides, we were here first.”

He pauses here and shrugs slightly. “And if they ask about it,” Mike muses, “I’ll just tell them the truth. I mean… I was thinking about telling the others soon anyways, and I think I’m ready… so, it’s okay, Will.”

There’s something so genuine in his voice and something so soft in his eyes, and Will can’t help but smile at his boyfriend. Pride blossoms all inside his chest, warm and gentle. Coming out is never easy, and so all Will can feel right now is so much pride and so much love.

“Okay,” he says softly. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Mike promises, reaching his hand out for Will to take. “I love you. And I don’t care who knows about it.”

Will’s stomach does a nervous little somersault, and he smiles again, taking his boyfriend’s hand. “I love you too,” he whispers back.

Then, before he can say anything else, the hostess finally sits Lucas, Max, and El down at the table right next to them. Both Lucas and El clearly look surprised to see them, and they barely pay any attention to the little spiel the hostess gives about their waiting coming over soon. 

Finally, the hostess leaves, and Will smiles awkwardly, lifting his free hand in a little wave. “Hi,” he greets, looking directly at his sister.

“Hi,” El says slowly, her eyes darting back and forth between Will and Mike. “Um…”

“Early Valentine’s Day date,” Mike explains, and surprise forms on all three of their faces. “We wanted to beat the crowds and get away from campus.”

Lucas and El exchange a look, while Max squeezes El’s hand. An understanding seems to pass between the three of them, and Lucas offers a sheepish smile. “Us too,” he admits. “Figured it’d be easier to…”

“Hide your secret relationship?” Will guesses with a teasing smile.

All three of them have the audacity to look a little embarrassed, so that certainly makes Will feel a little bit better. “Yep,” Max confirms, her cheeks bright red. “Same with you?”

“Yep.” Mike nods. “What are the chances?”

“What are the chances,” El echoes faintly, and she glances over at Will, offering him an apologetic smile.

I am sorry, her expression seems to say. For not telling you.

Will just gives her one in return. It’s okay. Me too.

“So… I, uh… I guess we’ll let you guys get back to your date,” Lucas says awkwardly. “Sorry for… bothering you?”

Will can’t help but laugh, and he picks up his glass of champagne, taking a small sip of it. “All good,” he promises, even though he feels probably just as embarrassed as Lucas, El, and Max do. “Um… enjoy your date?”

“You too,” Max says with another awkward smile. 

An uncomfortable silence settles over both tables, and Will glances back at his boyfriend. There’s an amused look on Mike’s face, and when he catches Will’s eye, he raises an eyebrow, as if to say, That could’ve been worse. Will just nods in agreement and takes another sip of his champagne, ignoring the way it burns just a little when it goes down.

“Um, guys?” 

Will looks up at the sudden interruption, and he looks over at the table full of his best friends. “Yeah?”

“How are we going to tell Dustin about this?” Lucas, who had spoken up first, asks with another wince. “Or do we just… you know…”

His voice trails off, but the question doesn’t go unasked.

Do you still want to keep this a secret?

Mike purses his lips together, as if considering what to do with this situation. “We can figure it out later,” he says finally. “For right now…”

He glances over at Will, a soft but mischievous look in his eyes, and he squeezes Will’s hand again. “It’ll be our little secret,” Mike decides.

#andi's asks #byler #byler ficlet #elumax #andi writes not dies #rip sorry dustin

[toukatan]

i need loid and yor to fall in love already and kiss bc this slow burn is killing me (but i love it tho). we're already at 60+ chapters and we've only had crumbs, except maybe for that almost (fake) kiss. but i guess it's already been established that they've got a loooong way to go. especially since loid keeps holding himself back bc, as frankie said, with their job, they're not supposed to form (genuine) relationships. however, i hope there'll be some shift in loid soon, bc im dying for some romantic development

sigh aren’t we all waiting for them to kiss and fall in love anonie? you know, despite there only being 60+ chapters so far i am absolutely loving the slow burn between loid and yor. there are moments here and there but they really are meaningful and hold weight to them.

since we’re here can we just talk about a few loid moments ? because i think we can all agree that yor is somewhat there but let’s go on about loid being all “it’s for the mission” yeah sir my ass that line between fake and true is blurring.

the communication between the two is everything. the way loids was having some doubt in his ability to be a parent but yor reminds him that anya gave him a perfect 100 points— and then yor starts panicking saying it’s not her place to tell him what to do but loid interrupts yor and tells her this is exactly her place. he relies on her to be everything that he is not. the communication between them is so freaking good. tears.

the whole playing the perfect mother/wife role. loid doesn’t want yor to have to live up to that role as the way society expects someone like to her to be, how those ideas constrict you and you lose yourself — he just wants yor to be exactly who she is, who she’s always been. (he understands this well)

and after that frankie’s comment ‘don’t tell me you feel guilty for doubting her?’ comes to his mind, perhaps he did feel guilty for doubting her and her intentions.

loid’s always reassuring yor that she’s doing enough, there’s nothing more than he can ask of her and it’s all true. hell even fiona could see that he was being genuine. WISE? their greatest agent? twilight? telling truths and smiling genuinely while doing so? who would’ve thought.

and then we have the whole meal, chapter 35. god i love this chapter, there was a vulnerability here that loid displayed to yor when he was talking about his past, his mother specifically. how he spoke so fondly of his mum and how he always felt a sense of security being held by her. now he sees it in the same way yor cares for anya, it reminds him how he felt and knows anya feels the same way but with yor.

loid twilight whoever he is never speaks about his past, so for him to share this with yor— tears.

small moments too. they’ve been together for a while now that both he and anya do feel a little lonesome without her. they are family your honour. do not separate.

loid noticing when somethings wrong with yor: when yor came home with bandages on her hands, going straight to bed and not eating with them

when her injuries were visible from missions of course. he sure is v attentive when it comes to his girls.

i’m just gushing at this point and could probably go on forever but these were some of the moments that came to mind when writing.

but the development between the two is slow, steady, it’s gentle, it’s subtle. it’s just so them. i have to say it: their love languages are— words of affirmation, quality time and acts of service. and i’m certain in the future we’ll see the two of them finally come to terms with how they feel. as of now it’s obvious that they are care for one another, i understand loid (twilight) forming genuine relationships while being a spy is dangerous. you’ll end up either hurting yourself or those around you.

but little does he know that this “fake family” bond is already looking real. loid needs them as much as they need him.

(plus you know what slow burn means? angst, angst is gonna be there before any of these grown dorks get it together, we love pain. once thorn princess gets assigned to twilight it’s over for us)

#fake marriage or not this bond is real your honour and the day these two fall in love it’s over for all of us. #i just can’t get over the way they communicate sometimes #🥺🥺 #spy x family #loid forger #yor forger #anon #replies #nitatalks #twiyor

[silvysartfulness]

top five favorite moments of Heaven Has a Road

I already got this question, but that just means I get to list 5 more, oh no... >.>

1. Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen looking for Song Lan in Muaishan (chapter 41)

The scene where Song Lan has finally had enough and nopes out, and both the other two panic a bit about it and bond together to try and find him. The way they fall into each other without thinking, once they have a common goal. Xue Yang unthinkingly being reassuring, Xiao Xingchen unthinkingly trusting him. The little quips and jokes – “Far as I know, I’ve never been your wife!” (Is that so?)

This is the first time they interact properly after Xiao Xingchen lost his memories, but it quickly becomes apparent that there is a muscle-memory to his emotions, his affection and intuitive trust. And Xue Yang, who’s been so torn apart reacting instantly to that, falling back into step with him without thinking, because this is how things are supposed to be.

2. Yingchuan reveals (chapter 43)

I love the combo KO of Song Lan learning that Xue Yang has been expecting them to offer him up as a sacrifice the moment they get to Jinlintai just about all along, and then right on top of that, the reveal that Jin Guangyao is dead, and all their plans – including the ill-advised willingness to self-sacrifice – are completely shattered. It’s just such a perfect storm of a mess!

Counting the following confrontation in Wangzhuang into this, too, when they finally drop that fact on Xiao Xingchen who gets to join in on the shocked yelling and nervous breakdowns all around. 🙂

And of course, being faced with the prospect of Xue Yang dying is where Song Lan first has to confront his own feelings for Xue Yang, and how strong they’ve grown, no matter how unwanted.

3. Demonic cultivation in Wangzhuang (chapter 44)

I just think this is a really cool one? Xue Yang who’s teetering between “kill” or “help”, but finally offering to help the haunted widow of Wangzhuang reach out to her long-dead husband's soul, to either meet his ghost again or getting closure on him being truly gone. Using all the lingering ghosts of that miserable place as willing fuel and dancing with the thunderstorm to finally give her an answer to the same question that haunted him all those years in Yi City - is there anything left? Any hope at all? Why won’t he ever answer when I reach out?

Xue Yang has a very low capacity for empathy, and certainly not on a conscious level - but this once he witnesses this grieving stranger’s despair and feels something resonate within himself. And so he decides to help, for shits and giggles, to prove that he can pull off this insane feat… but maybe also for the sake of his own past self, and to give grief and longing one big middle finger on someone else’s behalf, too.

4. Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen’s reconciliation in Hongqi (chapter 50)

Another scene I spent a lot of time thinking about for literal years before actually getting to write it. Xiao Xingchen having been given Song Lan’s “blessing” to court Xue Yang too, being giddy (and very, very horny) with anticipation, and Xue Yang not picking up on it. At all. Just sulking about being hungry and wondering why Xiao Xingchen insists on them waiting in the bedroom? When they could be having lunch? Why, Daozhang? :(

And then being utterly floored when Xiao Xingchen spreads his arms to embrace him, telling him how much he’s missed him. Completely blindsided. Not one single defense up and ready. Just breaking right down crying, 8 years worth of horror and grief and hurt exploding out at once.

Not what either of them had planned for that afternoon, but lancing that wound for both of them is where they can finally begin healing, not only as individuals, but starting to mend this broken, twisted but heartfelt love between them.

5. Song Lan’s final insight in Dushou (chapter 56)

I'm very soft for the scene in the last posted chapter where Song Lan wakes up resting on Xiao Xingchen’s lap with Xue Yang draped all over him, clinging possessively to him, being theirs. And acknowledging being theirs.

Accepting his own messy feelings for Xue Yang, even to himself, even out loud. And confessing that Xiao Xingchen’s dream of them all being together is something he wants, too.

It’s a hurting kind of love, and he weeps as he finally faces it, how much it hurts him to love this way and what a betrayal it is, in so many ways. But also realizing that fighting himself on this would only cause more hurt, for himself, and for the others. Accepting that love is a surrender and a triumph in one.

Giving the sleeping Xue Yang a tentative little kiss on the head, and holding him closer as he goes back to sleep, directing that final “I love you” to them both. ♥

Thank you so much for asking, truly! 🥰

#asksilvy #the happy songxuexiao roadtrip story #maybe if i get to talk about the story enough #my motivation will return from the war

[abyssmarked]

❛ 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 ? 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 ? ❜

the vampire spawn had asked to see her, really see her, in her truest form. she supposed it was just his curiosity, though, nepharia doesn’t think she looks too much different like this. and so here she stands, after the glimmer of a magical, red smoke cloud clears, secluded with him in the wooded area near their camp where they have been sneaking off together the past few nights, she shows herself to him fully. she stands at 5’10”, now an inch taller than the elf when she used to stand a couple of inches beneath him. her wings are wide and fleshy, pale and veiny, and one can almost see the moonlight shining through the thin skin. they have a few rips and tears here and there, but they are still fully functional wings. they widely stretch outward, having been tucked away for so long, it does feel good to give them some room. her body doesn’t change much, aside from the wings, but her claws have grown a bit longer, a bit sharper, same as her teeth. the second most noticeable change is her eyes. the whites turn a deep black, the pupils shine and glow a bright white in the darkness of the night.

nepharia is already studying astarion’s face, seeking a genuine reaction before he’s even able to speak. out of everyone here, the succubus is most comfortable revealing this secret to the vampire first, as though he might be able to empathize with her discretion being a “monster” himself. she can’t say she necessarily trusts the elf, but from what she’s heard from him so far, they seem to have similar traumas, though they haven’t quite gotten down to the marrow of their stories just yet. they’ve already had sex, but only once, since the next morning was equally rough for both of them. the sex was a partially a power move, but nepharia would be lying if she said she wasn’t the tiniest bit attracted to the spawn before her, which certainly made her a bit nervous. she suppresses that for now, because she feels as though astarion is using her for the same reasons as her. someone to trust in a time of great peril, someone to help keep her alive. call it intuition, but something about astarion’s entire front seems disingenuous, she just can’t place why. nepharia gives a small, slow spin, her gray, freckled flesh vaguely covered with the minimal fabric of red lingerie, then confidently offers him a fanged smirk, ❛ 𝐝𝐨 𝐢 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ? ❜ she asks as though she might be offended if his answer is no.

* closed starter | @vampiheir

#vampiheir #closed starter. #lemme know if i should change anything or write something different! c:

[nakianshuri]

Based on a few posts against Stancy that I’ve read in passing that last few months, I realized that to ship Stancy, you have actually have to believe Steve and Nancy’s stories as they are being told. Specifically, you have to accept two things: 1) Steve and Nancy have changed and 2) they have shared trauma (Barb’s death), and to complete their arcs, imo, they (specifically Nancy) must dissociate themselves from the shame connected to that trauma. 

Dealing with shame

Yes, Vecna tells Nancy that she killed Barb, but that’s just as ridiculous as him telling Max thinking she was to blame for Billy’s death. Vecna’s not a reliable narrator here. He’s a manipulator and feeds off people’s isolation, secrets, and shame. We saw that most recently in s4 with Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Max, who were all struggling with negative self-images based on past trauma.

Nancy once also told Steve that they killed Barb, but again, that makes just as much sense of Max believing that wishing for Billy’s death literally led to his death. None of that is true, but it is reflective of the shame they are both carrying, and both Nancy and Max have pushed their partners away (Steve and Lucas) because that shame has led them to think less of themselves and their relationships. 

Ultimately, Max is not to blame for Billy’s death. Nancy and Steve aren’t to blame for Barb’s death. Both Max and Nancy need to understand that to free themselves of Vecna and move forward (assuming Max gets out of her coma).

Accepting change

This is the hardest part for a lot of viewers online who are against Stancy imo. I’ve seen a lot of posts that have said Steve deserves better than Nancy or Nancy deserves better than Steve based on how they’ve treated each other in the past, which is more fan projection than anything to do with the story being told. Nancy hurt Steve, but he literally thanks her for it, and Nancy got back together with Steve even after his friends publicly slut shame her after thinking she was cheating on him with Jonathan. People may not like that she forgave him after that, or that she forgave Jonathan for the photos, but all of the characters have moved on from those events.

The only thing haunting Steve and Nancy is the baggage left after Barb’s death. Just as Lucas says he didn’t truly see Max or what she was dealing with, neither did Steve in seasons 1 and 2. Steve did not help Nancy in the way she needed it. He wanted to comfort her and keep them safe; she wanted to take action. However, that’s not the dynamic at all now. Nancy leads the charge against Vecna, and Steve follows as support. Steve now leaps into danger every season to protect people he cares about deeply. Steve and Nancy as they are now would function entirely differently than Stancy of season 1 and 2, which is why Steve doesn’t yearn for the relationship as it was but thinks they would work because they have changed. 

People can enjoy Steve in non canon relationships, prefer him in previous seasons as much as they like, or ignore his character development as much as they please, and they can have fun with Nancy in other non-canon relationships or imagine her as feeling differently than what they’ve show onscreen. There are all kinds of ways to engage in media.

But the show’s only obligation is to be consistent in the story it’s telling, not the story other fans are telling themselves based on their own biases, desires, and personal experiences. What the story the show has been telling us so far is that Steve and Nancy is that have changed and that carrying shame and negative self-evaluation based on trauma is detrimental to the traumatized person, their relationships with others, and their growth. That to me makes for an infinitely more interesting story than two people whose feelings never change, who never evolve, who define themselves by the shame they carry, and who can’t see each other for who they’ve grown to be. 

#stancy #nance wheeler #steve harrington #stranger things

[lemonyko0]

Is There Somewhere - jjk

try putting an unstoppable force (alcohol) and an immovable object (two horny teenagers) and you get me and jungkook making out at a party our freshman year of college.

» genre: fluff! angst, secret relationship, friends to lovers

» word count: 4.3k

» warnings: mention of blood, sex and profanity.

Is There Somewhere - jjk

There's always a certain fear that comes with having it all. The moment you realize you have something you couldn’t stand to lose, the notion all humans choose to ignore, that everything is finite, mortal, begins to creep into your mind. Some are fortunate enough to ignore this, to not let the fear of the future dictate their decisions. Others play it safe, or are completely driven by their fears and anxieties.

I sit around a campfire with several of my best friends. We’ve known each other for years, grown up together, went from playing tag in the schoolyard to drinking in our parents' empty house. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for a single person here, but telling them the truth is apparently the exception to that rule. Can’t I have the best of both worlds?

I believe deep down that they’d be supportive, that this wouldn’t be that big of a deal and they totally wouldn’t see it as breaking the rules or putting the group on the line. However the possibility that any of that is remotely true, is enough to turn me away from telling anyone. Ever. We’ve discussed our groups ability to withstand the tests of time for years, theories ranging from normal to psychotic depending on who's bringing it up (namjoon whose more than happy to give his genuine input or taehyung who merely wants to speak as much nonsense as humanly possible, at all times). The only thing we’ve all agreed about were three things. 1: arguments are resolved quickly and calmly, and never talked about again. 2: the “know your audience” joke, which is our kind way of reminding each other a joke may have been distasteful or too far. And the final 3: we don’t date each other.

“It just always seems like as soon as you have a couple in a friend group it's just bound to implode.” taehyung shrugs, rotating his double marshmallow inside the fire (we’ve told him they’ll burn, he is not concerned).

Mina frowns, “I don’t think so. A general statement like that is too vague, it really just depends. I think we could do it.”

Taehyung looks up surprised, “You and I?!”

Mina’s eyes widen and she looks at him bewildered, “No! Idiot, our little group. I think we could withstand it.”

He laughs at her, “You’re just a hopeless romantic and chronically single. You’re pro-love in any situation.”

She ass-eyes him and slouches in her lawn chair, “You’re mean. I like a good friends to lovers trope, I think it's romantic. Especially if they’ve known each other for years, I mean, come on, a single person knowing just about everything you’ve ever done, bad and all, and still choosing you? Who doesn’t want that?”

Taehyung lifts his charred marshmallows out of the fire with a satisfied smirk, “Perfect.”

Jungkook laughs beside him, joining him on the log bench with the rest of the s'mores fixings. “Jesus Taehyung, who's going to eat those?”

“Me.” He says admiring the food.

I watch the fire crackle and try to move past the conversation previously being held. I figured Jungkook of all people would also pretend to have no say or care, being my boyfriend and all.

In our defense, we did not see this coming. Try putting an unstoppable force (a horny teenager) and an immovable object (alcohol) and you get me and Jungkook making out at a party our freshman year of college. And I even consider myself a very rational human being. I put others before me, I make good decisions, I am a responsible person who makes responsible decisions. And yet, somehow, there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself from seeing Jungkook.

I make it sound simple, like we realized there was nothing to do and we did nothing, but damned did we try. The morning after the party was an awkward one. We hadn’t done any irreparable damage at that point, it wasn’t like we slept with each other, we’d simply had too many drinks. I would’ve kissed anything remotely human-like with that much tequila in me.

All I remember is waking up in my dorm room at the sound of gentle knocking on my door. “Go away.” I mumble through restled bedsheets.

“I brought you iced coffee.” Enough said. I leaped from my bed, not bothering to debate who actually was at my door, and especially not what I looked like or what I was wearing. This became obvious as I opened the door to Jungkook, who is always noticeably well-kept (unless you catch him in the mornings, but that’s an impossible task as he wakes up at ungodly hours to exercise). He grins and hands me the coffee, one of his own in his other hand. I thank him and close the door behind him as he invites himself in, admiring my room. “You finished decorating.”

I nod, sitting back down on my bed and groggily sipping on my drink. “Yeah, now I just need to hang those photos, but I need a step stool or a chair.”

He looks around before finding the string lights with clothespins but no photos attached. “You can’t reach that?”

I scowl at him, “No.” He chuckles, taking the pile of photos I have and halting them before handing them to me and standing on my bed. "Is there any specific order you want these in?”

I shake my head, “No, and you don’t have to do this, I was gonna try to convince the cute guy down the hall to do it for me.”

He narrows his eyes and begins clipping the photos, “Why have that cute guy do it when you could have this cute guy do it for you, and better?”

I look up at him but he pretends not to see me, busying himself with the task he gave himself. “Because it’s actually just a ploy to get him in my room so he can rail me.”

He winces and I laugh, having said it on purpose to elicit such a reaction, “Gross Y/N.” I join him by standing on top of my bed and begin clipping the photos he gave me. We work in silence for a few minutes, and apparently teetering back and forth and on my toes on my bed is not as easy as you’d think. I catch myself a few times and as does Jungkook, usually one of us moving throws off the balance of the other, until one fatal lean back to check if the photos in front of me were equidistant leaves me entirely unbalanced and falling (thankfully) onto my bed, but (not so thankfully) taking Jungkook right down with me.

I can’t give you the details of how exactly he fell, but however he fell he managed to drop face first, and his nose collided with my hip bone. I cuss and groan before looking towards Jungkook, who does not seem to find this half as amusing as I do, “are you okay?”

He finally looks up to me, eyes wide and panicked as blood runs like a stream out of his left nostril, “i-is my nose bleeding?”

I took him out of my room and to the nearest restroom I could find and instructed him to sit on the counter and lift his head. He grumbles and complains the entire time, “I know what to do, mom.”

I laughed as I wet a bundle of paper towels, “Oh yeah, you had a bloody nose like every day in middle school.”

He tries to shake his head and grins, “Yeah, it made me look cool and tough but I had to have missed a month's worth of recess.”

I hand him a paper towel and he plugs his nose with it. I jump up onto the counter with him and begin cleaning him off, “God you made a mess.” I mumble, wiping at his face and even his neck, “hope you didn’t get any on my bed sheets, I just bought those.”

“I think you’re forgetting I’m entirely in this situation because of you.”

I scoff, “I told you you didn’t have to help me.”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

I stop wiping and let my hand drop to my lap, “What about?”

He moves the bloodied towel away from his nose and looks down, and I make a mental note of how close I must have gotten when I was helping him, and he notices too, but we’re both too stubborn to move. By this point, I hadn’t decided what I was going to do if Jungkook brought up the night before. I was hoping, like me, he’d also pretend it never happened and move on.

I was wrong. There was no time to run through every scenario, I mean he woke me up for god sake. I had no idea what to do or what was going to happen.

“I mean, don’t you think we should talk about it?”

Out of all the possible things I could have done in that moment, I chose to lie. “A-about what?”

He looks at me with brows furrowed before his gaze falls to the tile below us, “So you’re going to pretend you don’t remember.” He chuckles, “You know, I thought you might, but I had more faith that you’d be able to reject me honestly than lie to me.”

His words break my heart, “Jungkook I-”

“No, don’t please.” He turns to climb off the counter and walk towards the bathroom doors, and I’m unsure what possessed me to do what I did, but with no ounce of hesitation I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. My method of stopping him had worked, but apparently my brain on a whim only thinks ahead five seconds, and as soon as he looked down at me I was absolutely speechless.

He turns to walk away from me again and I guess I was lucky enough to have one last chance, this time spinning him around myself and looking at him with just as much passion as he showed me, and I pushed up on my toes and grabbed the back of his neck, rather forcefully pulling him into a kiss.

It was not my finest moment, but it got the point across. I definitely caught him off-guard, but once he realized I had no intention of pulling away this time he quickly took control. It was as if we had both silently agreed to let go of the shackles just this once. I let him back me into the wall and lick at my lips, pressing against each other and kissing almost greedily. I let my hands run through his hair and his hands raked my body, trying to find a spot anywhere but never settling, like he couldn’t have enough of me.

It wasn’t until the bathroom door opened that we could pull away from each other. In walks a very disheveled looking freshman girl, whose face wrinkles in disgust upon the sight of us.

“W-we were just leaving, bloody nose.” I chuckle awkwardly and point at him, passing the less-than-entertained girl and dragging Jungkook back into my room.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding once I closed the door behind me, leaning against it and catching my breath as Jungkook does the same against the desk across from me, pulling out the chair and sitting on it. His nose begins to drip again and I chuckle, handing him a tissue.

He looks up at me before taking it with a grin, “thanks.”

Silence falls again. The tension built up in one tiny room could not be cut with a chainsaw. “So, that was something.”

I nod, tucking my lips together, “Yep, sure was.”

He sighs and runs his hands through his messy hair. It’s a mess because of you. “Y/N, c-can I just be honest? Because I’m tired of doing this.”

I furrow my brows, “Tired of doing what?”

He throws his hands down defeatedly, “I’m tired of pretending there's nothing between us!” He confesses, I stand silently, racking my brain, “I’m tired of treating you like a friend when you haven’t felt like one in months. I figured I just had a crush, a-and it would pass eventually, but it hasn’t and I can’t get you out of my head. You’re driving me crazy with all this joking and flirting and kissing me a-and not even entertaining the idea that you might like me back.” I stare at the ground. Radio-silence in my mind. I hear him sigh, “Is it too much for you? I-I mean, can you say anything?”

I open my mouth but all that leaves it is hot air, and I look at him, and suddenly the words spill out, “I like you too Jungkook.”

His eyes lighten but he doesn’t seem convinced, “So why have you been so, mean and indifferent towards me?”

I sigh and lean my head against the door, “To punish myself for falling for you. I didn’t mean to hurt you as well.”

He looks hurt, “Why would you punish yourself for liking me?”

“Because we can’t be together, Jungkook. In any way.”

He rises from his seat and stands in front of me, “Why not?”

I let my head fall and look up at him apologetically, “Because, think of the repercussions if we don’t work out. Not only is there a chance we lose each other permanently, forever, but there's also a chance we take our friends with us.” I laugh, “Hell, we could take the entire group down with us.”

He shakes his head, not believing a single word coming out of my mouth, “You always think the worst Y/N, us being friends only puts us in a better position to start a relationship, not a worse one.”

I stare at my socked feet, “There’s just too much to lose Jungkook, I-I can’t take that chance.” He exhales and lifts my chin. I can tell he wants to kiss me by the way he stares at my lips, and I know he’ll break me if he does. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head, “Stop me then.”

And I don’t, he presses our lips together and I don’t so much as push against him. I let him lift my arms around his shoulders and rest his arms against my hips. This kiss is entirely different to the last, or any. It lingers for minutes after he pulls away.

“Do you really want to walk away from this knowing you never even tried?” He asks, hardly parting from me to ask such a question, his lips brush against mine as he speaks, and he kisses me more the longer I take to respond.

I pull away this time, “I-I want to fight so bad, but I can’t take losing you, or anyone else.” I feel myself beginning to choke up, tears threatening to brim in my eyes at the dilemma presented in front of me.

He nods, “I understand, I really do, so I have an idea.”

I look up at him with eyes filled with hope, “What is it?”

He smiles and leans his forehead against mine, “Be mine, in private. We don’t have to tell anyone else, we can sneak around and do everything normal couples do, except we just don’t tell our friends.”

I bite at my lip, “That might work…”

“And if you’re right, we do end up not working out, that way no one knows and we can just go back exactly how it was before. Or at least, act like it's the same, no damage done to the group.”

I hum and think it over. I can’t think of a better compromise myself. Jungkook’s always been the mediator whenever arguments arose. He always finds a middle-ground, and I’ve always admired his skills. “Okay.” I whisper.

“What was that?” He teases.

I grin, “I said, okay, I-I’ll go out with you- oh!” I can hardly finish my sentence before he’s grabbing my hands and swinging me around my room and throwing us onto my bed in a fit of giggles.

“Good decision. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some stuff I need to do.” He says, lifting himself off my bed.

I pout and watch him grab his coffee, “You’re leaving already? What do you have to do?”

He smiles and takes a sip, “Need to eat lunch, finish unpacking, and I think I promised to meet Jimin in about three hours.” He checks his watch and leans against the desk, and I take that as an open invitation.

“Well for the next two and a half hours I’ll be your helper.” I jump up beside him and sling his arm around me with a grin, “Let’s go!”

And from then on out, for five months, Jungkook and I have been doing exactly as we discussed. A couple in private, friends in public. And as a testament to his skills and our sneak 100, everything has worked out.

But as the days wear on I can tell he gets more and more tired of the double-life. He’s asked several times about just telling them, and each time I argue it.

Today has only solidified my opinion, that our friends would not be as understanding as he thinks they’d be.

“What do you think, Y/N?” I hear Jungkook ask me over the fire crackling in front of me. I look up at him, knowing only he could read my expression as what it was.

“Think of what Jungkook?"

He nods, “What Mina and Taehyung were talking about. Do you think it would be a bad idea if someone in our friend group got together?”

I hum and stare into the dark abyss of the woods, “I think the fact that none of us have tried is a big reason why our friendship is as strong as it is.”

“That doesn’t mean the idea itself is inherently bad, though.” He makes a s’more and puts it in his mouth, fixing the other marshmallow while he finishes the first, “You know, we’ve talked about this a lot haven’t we?” He asks, looking at Taehyung, who laughs, “I guess.” Jungkook nods and turns his attention back to me, “Do you think there’s any chance that a relationship wouldn’t actually affect the group at all? Or that it may even be beneficial?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying my best to portray the message ‘stop fucking talking’ as best I could without outright telling him to shut up. “You never know.”

He grins, “That’s the spirit, you and Taehyung are so pessimistic.”

Taehyung chuckles, “You and Mina are deluded by your chronic bitchlessness.” Jungkook scoffs and shakes his head but Taehyung continues, “I mean Mina I get, but seriously when was the last time you got laid. It’s like you’ve been celibate since school started, I’m beginning to worry you’ve forgotten a major part of the college experience.” He’s obviously joking, and Jungkook usually laughs it off, but instead he says the outright dumbest thing he’s ever said.

“Two days ago actually.” He says confidently with a smug grin, which quickly falters as Mina and Taehyung’s head snap around and look at him.

“Two days ago?” Taehyung asks, Jungkook opens his mouth to make up some excuse but the damage was already done, “two days ago, and we’ve been on this trip for… three?”

He shakes his head and laughs, “No, no, the day before we left, i-it doesn’t feel like we’ve been here for three days already.” He laughs it off but they don’t seem to have entirely bought his act.

I’m in awe of his insensitivity and ignorance and quickly rise from my chair to say I’m going on a walk. “In the dark?” Mina questions but I ignore her.

I cool off for a moment but only get about 30 seconds of silence before I hear what's no doubt Jungkook running towards me. He breathes deeply and walks beside me, “I pissed you off didn’t I.” He states.

“You think?”

He sighs, “That’s my bad, I-I took it too far. I’ll drop it, I promise.”

I tug my blanket around my shoulders, “They’ve made their opinion pretty obvious, Jungkook. Maybe one day, but not now.”

He nods, “I understand, although it is worth mentioning the only voice of opposition is Taehyung, of all people. I take any opinion of his with a grain of salt.”

I quietly chuckle, “That’s fifty percent of that conversation, the rest didn’t chime in cause they weren’t listening, thankfully. Since your big mouth decided to tell the entire wilderness you had sex two days ago.”

He grins and scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll admit that wasn’t my finest moment.” He sighs and shoves his arms in his pockets and flips his hood up.

“Are you cold?” He shakes his head. “Go back to the fire.”

He smiles at me, “You first.”

I take a deep breath and look at him, “I want to be alone.”

He shakes his head, “My father raised me right, I can’t leave a pretty girl alone, especially not in the dark woods.”

I stop walking and eye him, “You’re annoying. Do you know that?”

He grins and pulls me towards him, “Absolutely. And the longer you stay out here the worse I will get, so for my sake and yours, let’s please go back to the fire.”

I sigh and turn us around and listen to him excitedly babble the entire way back. As we’re approaching the others he leans over and tells me, “I’ll spend the rest of the break making this up to you, if you let me, of course.” He grins charmingly, parting ways to sit down on opposite sides of the fire.

The conversation between all of us dies down soon after. All of us groggily, somewhat drunkenly staring into the fire.

Until one person giggles, then another, and another. Yoona, who’s sat beside Namjoon and was the first to laugh, gets nudged by him and he tells her to shut up. She shakes her head and defeatedly looks around. “I-I’m so sorry guys,” she cracks up, “I can’t take it anymore, it’s almost mean at this point.”

I look around and receive about a fifty-fifty in looks. Mina, Taehyung and Jungkook look at her like she’s insane while the others all hold back their giggles and grins.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Taehyung finally asks, annoyed they left him out of a joke.

She looks at Jungkook and then me, “You two do know that we know… right?”

Jungkook and I glance at each other and shake our heads, “What do you mean?”

Yoona sighs and leans forward, “We know you’re seeing each other, or fucking, we’re not sure entirely, its a running bet actually.”

“Yoona you’re such a buzzkill!”

“Snitch!”

One by one they all jokingly berate her, and I sit back absolutely dumbfounded. “How long have you known?”

She shrugs, “We all just kinda brought it up to each other, and Jimin and Namjoon were debating whether you guys were dating or just having sex, and frankly I am tired of hearing them whisper between me, so what is it between you guys, exactly?”

Jungkook tries to jump on her question but I’m quicker, “Wait, so, you guys aren’t like, mad? At all?”

They all look at me like I’ve lost my mind, “Why would we be mad? We’re your friends, we want you to be happy. All that debate about how we all stay friends is just that, debate. It’s just talk. Life happens, you don’t always get to decide who you’re attracted to.”

Yoona soothes my nerves and I have little time to relish in the relinquishment of my fears as Jimin eagerly jumps into the conversation, “But seriously please tell me you guys are just fucking and its not serious yet-”

“They’re definitely dating.” Namjoon intersects.”

They bicker back and forth until Jungkook throws an acorn at them, effectively hitting Jimin and silencing them both, “We’re dating, eat shit Jimin.”

He opens his mouth offendedly and Namjoon raises his arms victoriously, and like normal, they continue to argue like children.

Mina and Taehyung are the first to go, walking towards the tents and calling it a night, soon followed by most others. I don’t pay much attention to anything, my mind much too occupied by the events of the night as I stare at the burning firewood.

It isn’t until a hand reaches in front of me that my attention is drawn back to reality. I follow the tattooed arm up to see Jungkook’s smiling face, “Call it a night?”

I nod and take his hand, letting him lead me to our tent. I suppose now I notice they always let Jungkook and I pair, I always assumed it was what happens when there's only three girls, the thought never occurred to me that they could have done it on purpose.

We get comfy in our sleeping bags and I feel him reach a hand out, letting it dance across my back, “You wanna talk about it?”

I turn to face him and shake my head, letting a dopey smile spread across my face, “Nothing to talk about. Just enjoying that massive weight lifted off my shoulders.”

He kisses my head, “Good, you didn’t deserve to carry that.”

“I still don’t regret it. Kinda liked sneaking around with you.”

He hums, “I’m sure we’ll find other ways to keep things exciting.”

I close my eyes, letting myself slowly drift off, “I’m sure you’ve got a list of ideas already.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

figured i needed to sprinkle some fluff into my very smutty jjk list. here u go! as always thank u for reading and hope u have a serene day <3 - ara :)

masterlist | taglist

tag list:

@marvelahsobx @notbotheredtho @fragmentof-indifference @jwnghyuns @chl8e-blog @heronstairsxd @isab3lita @shescharlie (sorry this is a repost cause i messed up 1st one)

#bts #bts fic #bts jungkook #bts v #kpop #kpop imagines #oneshot #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook #taehyung x reader #jimin fluff #taehyung fluff #jimin x reader #kpop fluff #kpop angst #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #bts jin #bts hoseok