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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

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First Full Moon

(Isaac Lahey x Reader)

Request: Could u maybe do an Isaac Lahey imagine with some angst but a happy ending

Word count: 2,425

Warnings: angst, fluff

Notes: okay Stiles is obviously my fav but I have such a soft spot for Isaac 🥺 so thanks to whoever sent this one in!!

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“What’s going on with you?”

Isaac continued ignoring you as he stared straight ahead, shoving books inside his locker forcefully. His jaw clenched as your eyes flickered over his face, wondering if you’d done something wrong. He’d barely even acknowledged your existence for the last three days. It was so sudden, it left you reeling and confused.

“Is it your dad? I’m trying to give you space, but...” You had to learn about his fathers passing from the local obituary. The fact that he hadn’t told you himself hurt, but you knew grief could make people act in strange ways.

He suddenly slammed his locker shut, and you jumped at the loud noise beside your ear. “Will you just stop, Y/N? Clearly, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Your shoulders stiffened as he barked the harsh words before brushing past you like you weren’t his best friend just last week. Tears prickled behind your eyes as you turned to watch him catch up with Scott, who was waiting for him at the end of the hall.

Your heart fell into your stomach as a heavy realization washed over you. You were losing him, and you didn’t even know why.

“It’s okay to tell her, you know.” Scott glanced at the place you stood before he rounded the corner.

Isaac listened to the sound of your quick heartbeat for as long as he could, but within seconds you were out of range, even for his newly heightened senses. He wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him after what he just said. He sure as hell already hated himself.

“I can’t.” He muttered, shaking his head with a frown.

He’d barely been a werewolf for twenty four hours when his dad was killed. He knew the supernatural world was a dangerous one—Derek had told him as much—but he could admit now that he didn’t fully understand what he was getting himself into when he accepted the bite.

But how could he say no?

He wanted to be...more. He wanted everything that came with being a werewolf. The strength, the speed, but most importantly, he didn’t want to be scared anymore. He wanted to be able to protect himself and the people he loved. He wanted to be able to protect you.

If anything ever happened to you, he would lose his fucking mind.

You’d been his rock almost his entire life. When he and his dad had particularly bad fights, he’d sneak out to stay at your house. You’d usually bandage him up and try to convince him into running away for good, but he never listened. You were there for him even when he was stupid. You supported him endlessly, going to every single one of his lacrosse games even when you had other things going on.

You were more than a bestfriend. More than family. You were everything.

It’s why he had to push you away. If you ended up hurt because of his rash decision to become a werewolf, he would never forgive himself. It broke his heart, seeing the way your face crumbled when he snapped at you, but it was for your own good.

He had to go through with this, no matter how much it hurt.

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You raised a tightly clenched fist and banged on the door in front of you rapidly. After a brief moment of silence, you pressed your ear against the painted wood. Your lips pulled into a frown as you heard muffled voices and shuffling from inside.

“I know you’re home, McCall!” You shouted, irritated that he was trying to avoid you.

A few seconds later the door was shoved open and, to your surprise, Stiles leaned against it with a sheepish smile. “Hey there, Y/N. How’s it goin’? What are you up to on this fine—and you’re just gonna walk right past me. Okay.”

You stomped your way inside the house and looked around quickly. Scott suddenly came barreling toward the entryway, but skidded to a halt with wide eyes as he saw you. He took a moment to glare at Stiles, who just shrugged, before giving you a tight lipped smile.

“Where is he?” You huffed, eyes still flickering around the space.

It’d been two days since your conversation with Isaac at school, and you’d barely even seen him, let alone had a chance to talk to him. He was even going so far as to ignore you in the hallways now, passing you by as if you were a stranger. At this point, you were beyond over his childish behavior. You wanted answers.

“Who?” Scott tried playing dumb and you glowered at him before stalking into his living room.

He instantly followed you, his footsteps on the hardwood floors echoing through the quiet house. When you accepted that he wasn’t in there either, you spun around to face Scott and Stiles again. “I know Isaac is here.”

“He’s not.” Stiles quickly insisted. “You wanna search the whole house? Go ahead. You can even check the base...ment.”

He stuttered over the word, visibly cringing. Scott sighed from beside him and pinched his eyes shut tightly. You didn’t waste any time in shoving past them to get to the basement door. You ignored them as they called your name, throwing it open so you could run down the stairs.

You nearly tripped over your own feet as you caught sight of him, managing to catch yourself on the railing at the last second. You took a moment to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape with shock. You didn’t know what you’d find down here, but you weren’t expecting this.

Isaac sat in the middle of the room, his arms tied tightly behind the support beam he was leaning against. There was a thick length of metal chains wrapped around his chest and hips, holding him in place. His head was bowed against his chest, which was heaving as if he couldn’t catch his breath. The metal binds clanked loudly with each jerk of his tense muscles.

You snapped out of your shocked stupor and rushed to his side, wide eyes flickering over his tense frame. “Isaac, what the hell is this?”

Your hands hovered over him, not sure what to do. Your mind started racing as you tried coming up with justifiable reasons he was chained up in Scott’s basement.

“You can’t be here.” His voice was deeper and more rough than you’d ever heard it as he continued avoiding your wandering eyes.

You scoffed in exasperation, dropping your hands into your lap. You hadn’t spoken to him in nearly a week and that’s all he has to say?

“What did they do to you? Are you all part of a cult or something? Because I really want to help you, but that’s kind of a lot.”

The words came out in a rush as you started panicking. You didn’t know Scott or Stiles well. They could easily be crazy, something that seemed exceedingly likely based on the sight in front of you. You didn’t have a way to get him or yourself out of here in one piece, and that was terrifying.

“Y/N.” Isaac snapped harshly, clenching his jaw painfully tight to keep himself in check. “You need to leave.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re literally chained up and—will you at least fucking look at me?” Your voice grew louder with your rising frustration.

How could he expect you to leave him when he was like this? When you still had no idea what was going on?

His head suddenly snapped upward, and you gasped at the sight of him. His usually crystal blue eyes were glowing a bright yellow color, and his teeth were sharp as they protruded past his lips.

You scrambled back several feet, your heart lurching your chest. He watched every one of your movements with surgical focus, his jaw clenching at the way your heart skipped a beat once you settled into place.

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. It was your Isaac in front of you, but he wasn’t fully himself. He looked like a...monster.

Isaac let out a pained groan as he tried desperately not to shift. It was his first full moon since being bitten and, despite Scott’s warnings, he wasn’t the least bit prepared. He was overcome with rage, the only thing on his mind killing anything and everything that came even close to him.

At least, until you showed up.

As he observed your clearly terrified state, he was fighting against the primal urge begging him to hurt you. For the first time since the full moon rose, he felt like he had a tiny sliver of breathing room. But it wasn’t enough. He knew if he got free, it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Wha—I...I don’t understand.” You stammered, still frozen in place on the floor in front of him.

“Just go! You’re making it worse!” He forced his eyes shut as he momentarily lost control, an intense surge of rage passing through him. He snarled and lunged forward, fighting against the overwhelming urge to kill you.

You fought to catch your breath as he struggled against his restraints for a few more long moments. All you could do was watch, and it broke your heart. You were beyond confused, and scared, but you were also worried. He was clearly not okay right now, and you had no idea how to help.

“Isaac...” Your voice was a breathy whisper as your eyes filled with tears.

Seeing him like this was freaking you the fuck out. Isaac was always so quiet and gentle. He’d never been this aggressive around you before. He was nothing like the beast you were looking at now. Your thoughts were racing with endless questions and possibilities, and you were feeling utterly overwhelmed by it all.

Just then, the clouds shifted outside the window beside you, sending a ray of moonlight into the room. It swept across Isaac’s face, momentarily illuminating his newly golden eyes. He only lasted a split second under the concentrated effects of the full moon.

You watched in stunned horror as his ears elongated into points and hair sprouted along the sides of his face. He doubled over as best he could in his restraints and groaned lowly. He was quickly losing control. He thrashed against the binds, growling in frustration.

After a few seconds, one of the chains shattered into pieces.

Neither of you moved a muscle. Your breath hitched as you watched his every move with wide eyes. His head tilted as he brought one of his arms out in front of him and turned it over, as if making sure it was actually free.

Within a split second he broke through the rest of the chains and had your back pressed firmly against one of the brick walls. All the air rushed from your lungs as you slammed against the hard surface, his clawed hands on your shoulders to hold you in place.

Your entire body began trembling as fear shot up your spine. You knew Isaac would never hurt you, but you weren’t even sure if there was any of him left inside the monster that stood only inches away. His golden eyes flickered over your face with a predatory gleam and you stiffened, pressing your head into the wall to get as much distance between you as possible.

He snarled and growled, but made no moves to kill you. He wanted to. Desperately. But there was a tiny voice in the back of his head, begging him to hold back. You could see the indecision raging behind his eyes. You knew that he if was going to hurt you, he would’ve done it already.

It’s what made you raise an arm slowly, despite the fear coursing through you.

A shaky hand came up between you, your heart racing as you tentatively brushed the curls away from his sweaty forehead. He may be part monster right now, but he was still your Isaac. He stared at you with wide eyes, and you could’ve sworn you saw them flicker back to blue for the briefest of moments.

One of his hands left you to clutch your wrist in an iron grip before wrenching it away from his face. Your breath caught in your throat and you winced, closing your eyes tightly as you waited for him to attack.

After several tense beats of silence, his hold on you slowly loosened. You peeled one eye open to see what he was doing, but instantly sprang forward as he sagged to the floor in front of you.

“I’m so sorry.” He rushed the words out, breathing heavily as his legs gave out beneath him. You wrapped your arms around him and let out a sigh of relief as you noticed that he looked like himself again. “Oh my God, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to...”

You sat beside him on the concrete floor, relieved beyond words. You still had no idea what the hell was going on, but at least Isaac was back. His blue eyes were clouded by intense regret as they flickered over you quickly. He grabbed your arm and rubbed his fingers soothingly over the place where bruises were already forming.

His gaze swept back up to yours, his eyes brimming with tears. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He could’ve seriously injured you, or worse, and the thought made his stomach churn painfully. He’d only been able to reel himself back in at the last moment when he saw the way you recoiled from him in fear. It reminded him of all the times he’d done the same to his father. The last thing he ever wanted was to be anything like him, especially to you.

“Because I—” You swallowed, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. “I love you. And you don’t abandon the people you love.”

The edge of his lips twitched upward at your words. Truthfully, he’d loved you since the day he met you. At first, it was because you were his best—and only—friend, but it hadn’t taken long to evolve into something much more. Those three words didn’t even come close to describing how he felt about you. No words could.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

It was easiest sentence he’d ever spoken, and he planned to spend the rest of your lives proving it to you.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey angst #teen wolf imagine #requests #isaac lahey request #teen wolf angst #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey fic #daniel sharman #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf request

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juminly · 4 years

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In The Arms of An Angel

Matchup story written for the lovely @marie-quentin <3

A/N: I couldn’t help but think of this piece when I was picturing you with Vincent. The sound is lighthearted, peaceful yet melodious and colourful. The tempo is not stagnant and the change in the course of this symphonic piece portrays, in a way or another, how the strings that bind you to him got stronger and your love was able to finally shine. Feel free to listen to it while reading if you’d like: Symphonic Suite DEVIL Second Movement i-AM by Hiroyuki Sawano.

Context: No one would really expect you to be all smiles and giggles considering the situation you were in (finding yourself back in the past, in a mansion filled with vampires and they all happened to be renown historical figures!). It was definitely kinda scary but you didn’t let that affect you. You seemed a bit cold and distant from the start but you were just analyzing everything around you. And of course, the mansion shenanigans started. Arthur was already teasing you about how the beauty of a woman is in her smile and how he thinks you’ve proven whoever said that wrong (lots of flirt-flexing happening from the mystery writer). Leonardo was smoking his cigarillo and telling him to leave “La Bella” alone and Theodore was already mumbling about how everyone is so taken by a Knabbeltje.

Your expression was neutral and your gaze was analytical. Obviously, there was so much to take in, lots of different (new) people around you and personalities. There was a lot going through your head and taking mental notes of everything around you would take a while. But Vincent, he was not fazed by your overall demeanour. The moment Vincent saw you for the first time in the dining room, angel came up to you, held your hand up between both of his and smiled brightly, letting the light of the Gods shine down upon you. His attitude was enough to grant him a genuine smile of your own (you couldn’t help it). His smile was so serene and genuine: How could someone so pure exist?

[Vincent explicitly invited you to visit him anytime and any day to spend time with him and he would show you his art whenever you’d like.]

As a way to get you to familiarize yourself a bit more with the residents (with the aid of some social lubricants and strong spirits), Le Comte organized a small welcoming party for you and it was such a blast. Mozart was a bit tipsy and actually smiling, playing happy tunes on the piano while Leonardo joined him on the violin and you were able to grasp and get a better feel of the residents that lived with you in the mansion. It was all part of Le Comte’s plan and it was clear to you when he politely asked you for a dance and whispered in your ear. “I wanted you to see for yourself, even if these men are vampires, they are all remarkable in their own unique way. Wouldn’t you agree?” (translation: they aren’t so bad, right?)

[That night, Le Comte picked up on how light you are on your feet and offered to be your dance instructor.]

It was only natural for you to create/find your own natural habitat in that mansion. It was the perfect environment to bask in the things that you loved. A library with more books that you could read in an entire lifetime, beautiful gardens and fields of greenery where you could spend hours just reading or writing. You found yourself in a time with 3 famous figures of literature (Arthur, Dazai, Shakespeare) and you could pick their brains about anything that went through your mind (same goes for all the other geniuses in the mansion such as Leonardo, Isaac). [The mansion was a fountain of knowledge and you had it all for yourself, to drink whenever you wanted[

When it came to your dance lessons with Le Comte, he timed them almost perfectly. He would invite you to the gardens for some tea/brunch/breakfast and right when you would finish, you could hear Mozart’s music resounding and echoing through the air.

During your first lesson, your eyes danced around you while you waltzed with Le Comte. You happened to notice that Vincent had set up his canvas and painting tools near the greenhouse. After you were done with your lesson, Sebastian happened to come across you while you were on your way to the older Van Gogh, handing you a tray with Rouge and a sandwich.

Upon reaching him, Vincent was so engrossed in his painting, your presence didn’t even register and you took it as an opportunity to watch a Van Gogh masterpiece come to life. However, you would have to interrupt him since, according to Sebastian, he hadn’t eaten since the afternoon, the day before. You could barely grab his attention but finally managed to do so. [And then, it became a thing!]

When you went for your regular visits to check on Vincent and check if he’s actually having his meals or not (Sebastian is a busy man and Theodore isn’t always there to dote on his brother), Vincent would take a break from painting and chat with you. He would stuff his mouth like a cute squirrel and listen to whatever you would say. He wanted to hear about even the smallest and silliest things and his interest in you was one of pure curiosity. He had no ulterior motives whatsoever (and that fact alone was more than enough to help him gain your trust).

Vincent never asked you for anything, never asked you to trust him or tried to make you like him. He was simply genuinely happy to have a new “friend” around and someone who was different.

Both of you ended up spending quality time with one another. Each of you doing their own thing, no matter the place or time, and enjoying each other’s company. You would watch him paint and marvel at the intensity of his gaze on the canvas. His focus was enviable and his presence was oddly soothing, as if he radiated peaceful energy. You would sometimes just sit and write while he painted, being his personal alarm clock (asking him to take breaks, eat, drink or even stretch).

Vincent would usually gently scold Theodore for calling you Hondje and Knabbeltje and ask him to apologize and call you by your name. It would usually go along the lines of: “Broer, be nice. Her name is Marie and she is no one’s Knabbeltje or Hondje. She’s a beautiful lady… Oh, that gives me an idea. Marie, is it okay if you could model for me? I… I feel a tingle in the tip of my fingers and I have a painting I would love to do. Of you.”

And that’s how the angelic man asked you to be his model. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, the artist in his mind was gnawing at him and crying out to paint you. He promised that his next painting would be one of you.

Your birthday happened to be around the time you arrived at the mansion and of course, there would be a celebration and gifts. Vincent bought you a thin choker/collar of braided gold and almost every single person in the mansion lost their minds (and he had no idea why). “I think you have a beautiful neck and something like this will highlight the length of…” And Vincent was not even able to continue his sentence. Arthur burst out laughing (and Theodore hit the back of his head and was grumbling while Dazai, Leonardo and Napoleon chuckled softly and Jean/Mozart/Isaac sat there, all oblivious about what was happening.)

Sebastian simply smiled softly and Comte swooped in to give you his gift to you, to get everyone to compose themselves (he got you a basket with a beautiful cashmere throw and a tea set with 2 cups with the most detailed and intricate design you’ve ever seen). While everyone went back to their chatting, Le Comte whispered in your ear as he left the room: “I got it for you so you could have something special only you two could use during your picnics.”

Your local expert in crime picked up on your interest in the science of criminology. Let’s admit it. This man is the sweetest deep down but he loves to flaunt and he has the absolute right to do so. He’s very intelligent and witty and coupled with your curiosity and your INTJ ways… you often found yourself engrossed in long and deep discussion with the flirt. It was so much fun and it was really interesting so why not? (Also, when Arthur has his game face on, he eases off from all the flirting so it actually makes your conversation very enjoyable [and not intolerable])

In the beginning, he thought nothing of your sit-downs/discussions/debates with Arthur and the amount of time you spent with him. He was actually happy to know that you were able to share such profound interest in a topic with someone. However, after a while, you’d notice a slight frown on his angelic face and that was definitely not an expression the painter ever wore. When you asked him what was the matter, he answered you frankly. “I don’t like the fact that Arthur spends so much time near you. I… I don’t want you to stop or anything but I wish I could be more like him so you would talk to me the way you do with him. I know how much you enjoy it. My chest sometimes hurts a little when you talk about him but it’s not that bad. I just… don’t understand it.” (The problem in this situation is that you could either take it as an expression of Vincent’s insecurity or jealousy… and it was definitely jealousy)

This beautiful pure vampire boy is an open book and he doesn’t even know it or realize it. He will literally tell you everything on his mind and make it seem like it’s completely normal from him to do so. His obliviousness is what brings you two closer together eventually and you know for a fact that he would never shy away from telling you the truth.

One time, you were absentmindedly ruminating out loud on your thoughts on your thoughts on whether you should go back to your original time or not. You had a lot to consider and you had to weigh in the pros and cons of making such a decision. Being such close friends with Vincent, you didn’t mind speaking your mind but you didn’t expect to find the man looking at you with tears taunting his soft rosy cheeks. Damn all those who would dare say that this man was emotionless.

He didn’t even realize that he was crying until you were in front of him and wiping the tears of his rosy cheeks. His body was frozen as his mind wandered to the darkest place he could imagine. A world without you. When you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to your body, he finally snapped out of his nightmarish daydream and he murmured softly. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say. I might be selfish but I like having you by my side… *sniffles* You’ve become my dearest friend. And if you don’t stay, I’ll come with you.”

Two weeks after you had arrived at the mansion, the time finally came for Vincent to start working on his painting of you (and you had already become close friends by then). It was a bit exhilarating and daunting being scrutinized by his gaze so intensely but on another hand, Vincent looked like he was enraptured and blessed by the inspiration of all the muses that ever existed. The gentle smile never left his face as the painting he envisioned slowly became clearer, right before his eyes.

Vincent had been unusually bold and acted on impulse. He began sketching multiple poses of you in his notebook before actually starting on his painting. Your eyes would widen and your breath would quicken as he’d inch closer to you, examining you only a few inches away from you. He would ask you politely in a sweet, inquiring and almost hesitant voice: “Can I please touch you?” and the question alone was shocking enough. Before you could even ask why, he answered the question that went through your mind. “Whenever I have trouble drawing something, I imagine myself touching it, to understand the texture and the picture becomes even clearer in my head”.

Deep down, Vincent was a perfectionist and his actions were driven by his desire to create a masterpiece of you… and his desire for you. It didn’t all happen at once though. It was a gradual crescendo of his desire and how he expressed/displayed it to you. He would hold your hands, lace your fingers together and run his thumb over your knuckles and each one of your fingers. He would hum and smile as he ran his fingers through your chocolate hair, twirling a lock of your hair between his long and slender fingers.

You would think that Vincent was a shy man but he proved to you that he was absolutely not.

Vincent: *places his chair in front of you and inches closer to you* “Marie… I just… the details of your face are the only parts left… will you allow me to… please?”

He didn’t have to continue his sentence. You knew exactly what he was asking for and a simple nod was enough to give him the courage to cradle your face in his hands. He caressed you so lovingly, letting his fingers trace the contour of your beautiful visage and etch each trait of yours in his mind. His fingers brushed over your eyebrows and lashes lightly, traced your nose and rubbed your cheeks. His eyes finally settled on your lips, letting his thumb trace the contour of your lips.

Vincent: “Marie… I want to… ”

Marie: “Just kiss me, Vincent.”

Vincent grinned and kissed you so softly, taking you to heaven when you realized that heaven was with him, in the arms of this angel. The moment you tried to break your kiss, Vincent just pulled you in for another, kissing you even more deeply, both of your dreamy sighs echoing loudly as you finally rejoiced in the love you both shared for one another.

When you became lovers, this man absolutely loved kissing you whenever he got the chance, wherever the time or place and he adores it whenever you do the same with him. (He used to get all blushy in the beginning but later on, he didn’t mind it at all)

He doesn’t even realize that he’s actually kinda clingy. When you’re around one another, he always wants to be next to you (you touching him, him touching you or just being in close proximity to one another).

He is the ultimate cuddle bug (he can’t even sleep without having you in his arms, holding your hand and simply by laying his head on your lap.)

He understands that you like certain things to be organized in a certain way and he absolutely doesn’t mind it. He’ll either get out of your way, let you arrange things the way you like but most likely, help you and try to make sure things are the way you want them to be.

He is the most supportive boyfriend (aka. best husband material) and stands by you in every single decision you make. He respects your choices and will back you up all the way (and he knows you would do the exact same for him, just like Theodore and even more). [You want to become a singer? Do it. You want to become a dancer? Do it. You want to become an artist? Why not!?]

This. Man. Gets. Extremely. Jealous. The residents of the mansion actually are kinda scared of what he is capable of doing (Vincent actually broke you out of a hug with Theo, his own brother). [Theodore was actually trying to be nice to you for once and thanking you for being there for his brother (cause being an artist in the old days in Paris was extremely hard). He was so grateful to you and you couldn’t help but hug him for being open and accepting of you. (Theo is a tsundere so you had to give him some credit)]

Nobody would dare try to make a pass at you or say anything remotely flirtatious to you (especially if you were dancing or singing). [They will meet the unknown and feared wrath of the angelic Van Gogh]

Sing to him. Night or day. Hearing your voice gives him the inspiration he needs during the day when he’s painting and soothes him to sleep at night.

PS: Le Comte let you have a dedicated area in the mansion so you could practice ballet. It was off-limits to all residents of the mansion. When you invited Vincent to come watch you practice (he actually expressed his wonder and his desire to see you and you couldn’t resist his cute eyes), the vampire almost literally melted when he saw how graceful you were and even got teary as well. Your beauty is absolutely ethereal to him (and now he wants to paint you in a ballerina pose).

PS: Vincent was so close to shouting (he never ever even raises his voice) at Theodore for calling you one of those two names but his younger brother caught himself in time.

Places he kisses to show you affection: your nose, your lips and the corner of your eyes.

NSFW Ahead ~

During your first time together, this man was not flustered AT ALL. He knows what he wants and he wants you. His human and vampire instincts were on overdrive, he was functioning on his desires and instincts alone. Before getting started, he apologized to you, warning you that he wouldn’t be able to hold back and you were more than grateful that he didn’t. He ensured that you were thoroughly made love to and marked. He undressed you slowly and he made sure to taste every single inch of you that he exposed. Your body was his canvas that he wanted to explore and discover and his lips were his brush, painting you with the essence of his desire and yearning for you.

From the first time, you knew that Vincent was more into servicing/pleasuring you then receiving any pleasure. The selfless angel made sure that you came multiple times (by stimulating your breasts with his lips, teeth and tongue, cunnilingus, fingering you and caressing you everywhere) before letting himself sink into you.

When he gets needy, he will either take you or have you take care of him. He absolutely hates to jerk himself off on his own or when he’s by himself. He feels like sex is something sacred that you both should always share and without any intimacy, without you there, your presence, your voice, your touch, he is not interested. (I believe there is a possibility that Vincent might be demisexual)

His moans and his grunts are soft and so erotic, you wholeheartedly believe that it’s ASMR material that the world would simp over. But this man is all yours and you could do absolutely anything you want with/to him and he wouldn’t mind. He wants to see the world from your eyes so he asks you to do things to him just like he does to you. He always treats you as his equal in all things and sex is definitely included.

Seeing him pleasure himself is absolutely salacious and mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. Your angel doing the most sinful of things, he moans your name endlessly like a prayer to the heavens, begging for the release that he only wants to share with you. With his knees spread apart, his buttoned-up shirt open (cause he was so hot under his collar, he couldn’t take it), you would watch him stroke himself before you with his lips glistening, swollen from being bitten (while he edges himself because you told him to), he would tell you all the things he would do to you.

He had an absolute fascination with your neck and there was nothing more beautiful to him than seeing you lying on the bed, wearing absolutely nothing but the choker he gave you for your birthday and the marks he bestowed on you through your love making. In the heat of the moment, he would occasionally wrap his hands around your neck, in admiration and presses on it during sex, without realizing that he was kinda obstructing your airway. (he never really thinks about it when he does it, his body kinda moves on its own when it happens)

After sex, Vincent always asks if you’re okay, cleans you up and praises you, showers you with words of love and asks you if there is something you wanted him to do differently. He always makes sure to check with you whether you enjoyed yourself or not. There would be no point to making love if you did not enjoy it.

Whenever the two of you made love (and after a certain point, fucked)[Vincent is more of the lover type but when his emotions are intense, he’ll fuck you hard until you can’t walk], your bodies would be roadmaps of where each of you had been. You often spend time caressing each other's bodies over the mark you’ve both left on each other, the most satisfied of smiles on your faces.

Kinks: body worship (the artist in him - he is very fond of your neck and breasts) and loves it when you blindfold him.

Favourite place to bite you and suck on your blood: your neck. There is no doubt about it. He bites into your neck, lets you ride the wave of pleasure as it hits, pulls back only slightly to let the blood trickle down your neck so he could lick it back up while leaving a trail of love bites in his wake.

Favourite position: cowgirl (he sees you more clearly and likes to watch you unravel)

In the beginning of your relationship, he thought that it might be a gesture akin to “tainting” you if he let his release spurt on you. But the more he understood about sex from you and from his own desires, he actually starts feeling the urge to come on your stomach and inside you.

He becomes absolutely weak when you sing or when you dance (and not just in an emotional way). He kinda hates himself for getting a hard-on whenever he listens to you or watches you dance and you often take it as an opportunity to tease him about it. Sometimes, you have absolutely no idea what would come over him but your man could not wait until you would make it back to your room. If you were in the gardens, if you were in the hallway (and did as much as tease him), he will take you there and then. If you did as much as protest, he would tell you that he’s tall enough to cover you if anyone caught you. He was not afraid of doing risky things with you because he was not ashamed of the love and desire he had for you.

It all started with a painting lesson. Just some quality time with your boyfriend and there were traces of painting on his cheeks, hands and arms. You slowly began to undress each other and he began teaching you how to paint with your body as his canvas, and his body as yours. He would tickle you with his brush and you would both giggle. You consider this as an intimate activity between lovers, where they enjoy each other’s presence in the nude but it would be too much to ask if Vincent had to reign his desires in. You would often wake up the next morning, covered by sheets splattered with paint. (Poor Sebastian)

He would suggest if you could use chocolate instead of paint after a few times and he was so incredibly blushy about it. He has absolutely no idea whether you would agree to it or not, but he learned that the best way to make your relationship work is to make sure to always communicate with one another, candidly and honestly. He had absolutely nothing to hide from you.

Vincent likes it when you sleep naked so he could gently remove the covers and draw you/paint your nude body basked in the moonlight/sunlight. [PS: Theodore didn’t look at you for days cause he accidentally came across the collection of nude sketches Vincent drew of you.]

Runner-up Suitors: I honestly ship you so hard with Vincent. But if I must, have to, absolutely must choose a runner-up, it would probably be Napoleon.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #matchup #ikevamp matchup #ikemen vampire vincent #ikevamp vincent #vincent van gogh #ikemen series #ikemen #fluff #smut #i really hope you like it <3 #i ship you together so much #ikevam

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mrslittletall · 4 years

Text

Prompt: Mercy Killing

Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, Saint Adeline Word Count: 2.886 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718291/chapters/62113327

Summary: Lady Maria takes care of the patients in the Research Hall, but one patient has a particular bad fate...

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Only three prompts remaining!

“Oh, Lady Maria, how good to see you.”

“Good morning, Frieda.”, Maria said. Like every morning, she came to the research hall. Like every morning, Frieda was there to greet her.

“Have you seen my eyes? I seem to have dropped them... in a puddle.”, Frieda said and like always, would start to search in a body of water. She long didn't had eyes anymore, her head a bloated mass of flesh.

It had happened to every patient in the research hall.

“I am afraid, I have not, Frieda.”, Maria said. “I will help you search later, yes? After I made my round. How about you come with me for breakfast?”

“Oh, Lady Maria, is that a promise?”, Frieda said. Her voice sounded cheerful, as if she was smiling, but there was no smile at her face. How could there be a smile, when she didn't possess a face anymore?

“Yes, it is.”, Maria said. “Come. Let's check on the others.”

Like every morning, Maria would make her round. Like every morning, Frieda would accompany her after she convinced her, that she would search for her eyes later. Like every morning, every patient in the Research Hall was delighted to see her. In fact, Maria was the only one who came to visit them outside of experiments and research.

Their families and friends didn't know. They all had been infected by the scourge. They had been brought in by the church in an attempt to cure them. The attempt had been to infuse all this poor people with an overload of arcane. They didn't turn into beasts, but instead... into that. Their body still human enough, their head a blobby mass of flesh and their mind in another plane of existence. It was pitiful. Laurence called them failures. Maria called them patients.

Nobody of them had deserved that fate.

Like every morning, Maria gathered more and more patients which she delivered to the room where they would take in their breakfast. A peculiar sight, because these people were missing mouths. The way they ate, it looked like they absorbed the food into their heads. It looked grotesque and it sounded even worse. Maria had gotten used to the sight over the last few weeks.

One patient wasn't with the others. There was one patient who was secluded from the others and Maria knew why. The woman with the name of Adeline had once been a blood saint. Even though she had been deformed beyond recognition, the church would still use her blood. Blood Saints were valuable.

Disgusting., Maria thought as she carried a tray to the room where Adeline was strapped on a chair. Once she had considered Laurence to be a friend. After seeing all the atrocities happening, atrocities she had been a part of, Maria was done with him. She had told him time and time again, that the blood may be dangerous, but he didn't want to listen. Instead of finding out, he tried another methods to stop the scourge. Methods that left people into a state he didn't had any other word for as “failure”.

Maria knocked at the door, carefully balancing the tray. “Adeline, it's me, Maria.”, she announced herself.

“Oh Lady Maria, come in, come in.”, a delighted voice came from the other side of the door.

Maria stepped in and said: “I brought breakfast.”

“Oh, did you bring some brain fluid? Murky, mushy brain fluid?”, Adeline said that in a tone as if she had asked Maria if there was bacon with the eggs.

“No, it's something far better.”, Maria smiled.

“Ah, well, I can still hear the sticky sound.”, Adeline said and her head seemed to rise, as if her gaze was going to the ceiling.

“I might not have brain fluid.”, Maria said. “But this morning there is some fresh yoghurt with your plate. That surely tastes better and sweeter.”

Maria kneeled down and loosened the straps around her arms, so that she could eat. She scrunched her face a bit at the slurping sounds. As used as she got to them, hearing them that close was still making her feeling a bit nauseous.

Maria's gaze went down as Adeline was “eating”, down at her arm, where there still was a needle sticking out. So that anyone could take her blood as they pleased. Not even that, Adeline would gladly give it to them. Every blood saint had been conditioned to happily give their blood away. Some of them were even still young girls, not older than twelve or thirteen. Maria could never understand how Laurence deemed it fine for them to work as blood saints.

This whole mess is at much your fault as it is his., the voice in Maria's head came to word. She sighed. She knew that, just... unless Laurence, Micolash and Gehrman, she actually tried to make up for her sins.

You are only taking care of the patients because of your guilt. It not for your guilt, you wouldn't care about them at all.

Maria bit on her lower lip until she tasted blood. The thoughts were back again, all the thoughts telling her just what a terrible person she was. This even started with her blood. A blood so vile that she swore to herself to never use.

“That was wonderful, Lady Maria.”, Adeline said after the last piece of food had been “absorbed”. “Next time, please bring me some brain fluid.”

Maria stood up, but didn't leave right away. Instead, she spoke: “Adeline, are you happy?”

“What are you talking about, Lady Maria?”, Adeline's blobby head bopped up and down, as if she was cocking her head.

“Are you happy... like this... being in here...”, Maria said. How should she put it? She couldn't ask if Adeline was happy having a big mass of flesh for a head as well as being strapped on a chair, only used for her blood.

“Oh, Maria, I am happy as long as you visit me.”, Adeline said. “I am happy as long as I can hear the sticky sound. If I wouldn't have been accepted in here, wouldn't I have been killed before becoming a beast?”

“...”, Maria didn't answer right away, knowing that Adeline's fate would have been death otherwise. Though, she couldn't help but ask herself if maybe death would be a better fate for Adeline, who sat on the chair day in and day out, got her blood harvested and asked Maria for brain fluid every time she visited.

Maria reached into her pocket and felt a certain key. It was the key to the balcony. The patients normally weren't allowed there because they could fall or, and the church considered that the worse scenario, escape and be known to the public. Maybe she should...

No, the church ministers would be there soon. If she would unfasten Adeline's bindings so that she could leave, they would notice. It had to wait.

“We will see each other this evening, Adeline.”, Maria said and left the room after fastening Adeline's arm back to the chair, hearing her say: “Aaah, the sticky sound. Drip Drop... Drip Drop...”

Maria closed the day behind her with a sigh. Well, it was time to take care of the other patients for now. During the day, Maria once again helped Frieda find her eyes, only for her to know that she would search for them again the next day, had to prevent Isaac from smashing his “head” against the wall and once again had to catch Tilda, who was under the delusion she was a robin and nearly jumped off the balcony.

Yes, all these people hadn't turned into beasts, but their minds were at a different place. A lot of them talked about water and dripping sounds. A topic that made Maria shudder as she felt the coldness creeping on her skin. It reminded her of the Hamlet and the atrocities she had committed there. Could it be that the patients somehow saw the events of the Hamlet in their delusions? But how?

Whatever, it wasn't Maria's job to find out, it was her job to make them feel better (to make herself feel better) and so she spent the whole day with the patients, talking with them, playing with them, taking care that they wouldn't hurt themselves and soon, evening had rolled and they all had met in the room where they would take in their dinner. Maria was taking a serving to Adeline. Guilt., she thought. The only reason why I still hang around here... Wouldn't it be... wouldn't it be better for them to be dead...?

No, how could she think about his. That was the same mindset that the Healing Church had. If someone was infected, instead of trying to cure them, kill them, get rid of them. However, the beasts were truly dangerous, she had seen time and time again. The patients in here... they weren't a threat. They were locked away anyway. There was no reason to get rid of them, but... were they happy? Being locked in here day in, day out, living in their delusions? When she wouldn't interfere, some of them would have already killed themselves. Maria started to ask herself, if they actually wanted it. That under their delusions, they still were there and they were begging her to be free.

Maria shook her head to get these thoughts out of her head. She had done enough killing. That part of her life was over. She knocked at the door and entered once Adeline called her in. Adeline sat on her chair like usual and greeted her. “Good evening, Lady Maria.”, she said and then her head contracted a few times. “Ah, that smell, you must bring soup.”

“It's good to see that you still have a taste for things other than brain fluid.”, Maria said, kneeling down next to Adeline and unfastening her arms, so that she could eat on her own. Her gaze fell on the one that was used to draw blood of her, it was bruised and looked painful. Even with her accelerated healing as a Blood Saint, having so much of your blood taken every day, that started to take a toll.

“I had some brain fluid earlier.”, Adeline said. “Murky, mushy brain fluid... But... Lady Maria, your soup tastes even sweeter.”

Maria's gaze darkened a bit. Just what did the Church do? Which kind of experiments did they run on Adeline? She was there, strapped to a chair, having to give blood every day and then they even encouraged her delusions about the brain fluid... A much worse thought was, who even did they use to get brain fluid?

Maria suddenly felt nauseous.

As Adeline was eating, Maria felt into her pocket and closed her fingers around the key to the balcony. Once Adeline was done, she took the plate and pressed the key into Adeline's hands. “Here, take this.”, Maria said.

“Oh, what is that?”, Adeline said, dangling the key in front of her “face”.

“Let's just say, it is a charm that can ease your mind.”, Maria said. She then kneeled down again and unfastened the straps around Adeline's legs. The church ministers were gone for the day, it was just fair for Adeline to get out of this sticky room for once.

“Good night, Adeline. May the faint breeze give you comfort.”

That night, Maria slept unwell. The memories of the Hamlet were deep. Her guilt was even deeper. Eventually she gave up and decided to clean her room. As she was busy, he found her Rakuyo in the corner. Why did she even hold onto that? She wasn't a Hunter anymore. She should get rid of it. Maria decided to take it her the next day and discard of it once she was done caring for the patients for the day.

She laid awake for the rest of the night, wallowing in her guilt, and got up once the sun shone through her window, no need to try and get some sleep anymore. She freshened herself up, got dressed, picked up the Rakuyo and went to the Research Hall like every morning, where Frieda searched for her eyes again and she personally brought her to the breakfast room before going to visit Adeline.

As soon as she entered the room, Adelina spoke: “Oh Lady Maria, Lady Maria. You shouldn't have untied me last night. The church doctors will get mad when they see. Can you help tie me to the chair again?”

“Adeline.”, Maria said, slowly putting the tray she had carried on a dresser next to her. “Have you been here the whole night?”

“Where should I go, Lady Maria?”, Adeline cocked her head. “I have everything I need here. Food. Your company. Brain fluid.” The last words sounded joyous, too joyous for Maria's taste.

“I'll ask you again, Adeline. Are you truly happy like this?”, Maria asked, her voice low.

“Lady Maria...”, Adeline said and the joyous tone of her voice receded. “...I knew that the alternative would have been to turn... I... arranged myself with my fate.”

Maria stared at Adeline in surprise. That had been true words for once, not the mad rambling that the patients normally did. Deep down in there, there was still her true self, a self that must have loathed what she became.

“It's fine, Adeline.”, Maria said and her fingers slipped around the handle of her Rakuyo. “You don't have to suffer anymore.”

It was over in a second. Maria's hand were shaking as she removed the blade from Adeline's chest, tears spilling out of her eyes. Blood gushed out of the wound as Adeline's body slumped over, limp and lifeless. It was over. Death was the better fate for her than being used as source of the blood for as long as she lived.

“Lady Maria?” Maria gasped as she heard the voice. Adeline's voice. But... that couldn't be! She had just taken her life! How could Adeline talk to her?

As Maria slowly looked down, she saw that the limp body of Adeline had started moving again. The wound on her chest was closing. Maria knew that blood saints had great healing abilities, but that was ridiculous. She had been a huntress. She knew that she hadn't missed any vital organs.

“Oh, Lady Maria, I have made a mess.”, Adeline said. “My precious blood cannot be spilled. Please... please help me collect it, Lady Maria.”

Maria stared at Adeline, the obvious blood stain on her gown and then at her Rakuyo, coated with the exact same blood. She suddenly started to feel sick.

“I... I need to go.”, Maria murmured and rushed out of the Research Hall. What had she even been thinking? She had decided that Adeline's life hadn't been worthwhile, she had practically killed her and Adeline didn't even have any ill feelings for her.

These hands of Maria were never made to protect, they were made to destroy. She never should hold a weapon in her hands ever again.

As Maria travelled to her destination, there was one lingering thought in her mind. Adeline had come back to life. She had been dead, Maria was sure of it, but she had come back to life as if nothing ever had happened to here.

Where all the other patients in the Research Hall immortal too? If one day she wouldn't catch Tilda and they had to scrape their remains of the floor, would she just put herself together and get up and try fly again?

Did Laurence knew about that?

Whatever the answer was, Maria wouldn't get it. She never ever would raise her blade against one of the patients ever again. She would catch Tilda every time when she jumped. She was the only one who was there for them.

As Maria exited the carrier she had taken, she was standing in front of the Fishing Hamlet.

She swallowed down bile as she went into the village, the swallow water pooling in her boots. She remembered how she and Gehrman had been ordered to slaughter the villagers, bring the corpses back to Willem who had cut them open to search for eyes. How the both of them had cut a bloody path to the corpse of the Great One. How Laurence had used the confusion of the battle to harvest the blood of the the corpse.

If the Great Ones managed to exist after their death, there was no reason that particular one should ever forgive them for what they had done. And if Maria had a choice, she would want to act as its guardian, so that nobody would find the secret of the Hamlet ever again. Alas, that all was in the past and there was nothing Maria could change about it anymore.

She stopped in front of a well and tossed her Rakuyo inside, her face scrunched up in disgust. She would never hold a weapon ever again.

Once Maria heard a splash, she turned around without looking back. There were some patients who were waiting for her. (Author's note: Hmm... that isn't actually my idea for canon, just a “what if” idea based on item descriptions, because I thought it was fitting the prompt pretty well.)

#badthingshappenbingo #mercy killing #bloodborne #lady maria of the astral clocktower #saint adeline #fanfiction #blood

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threadofdestiny · 4 years

Text

The opportunities we may take

Sinbad x Oc

Soulmate AU

Part 15

Confession

--- Kingdom of Sindria, Palace of Sindria---

Exuberant laughter echoed through the well-filled hall. The generals, their families and some of the king's guests sat all around him, enjoying the music and the wine that was being served. To the delight of Sharrkan and Sinbad, some female dancers and bards also took part in the small celebration and thus turned it into an illustrious little gathering. Sinbad hadn't given a reason for the occasion, but in the end he was never needing one to pass the time with some of his favorite activities such as drinking and flirting with beautiful woman.

As already during the Maharajan a few weeks ago, some scantily clad ladies had gathered around the king of Sindria, fawning over him, while they vied for his attention, which he seemed happy to give to the willing women. Deep down, Salome felt a painful stab in her chest at the sight of her savior sharing frivolous gestures with his female guests, not understanding how much the bond between them affected her so strongly while apparently he seemed not at all affected by it. The young prophetess looked down in dismay as she dug her fingers into the light fabric of her dress. Sinbad had not exchanged a word with the young woman since he received the scroll from Isaac, a behavior that bothered her more than she was ready to show in public. Why had he ignored her for the rest of the day? What was going on inside his mind?

Instead of pressuring him, Salome had also withdrawn to give him some space, but the more hours passed, the more unbearable this situation became for her. Nonetheless, at the beginning of the festivity, the young woman had sat a little further away from the other attendants. She had placed herself on one of the wide window sills and was now leaning against the golden, ornate frame while she silently listened to Malik's and Isaac's conversation, without really registering what they were speaking about. Other priests who were allowed to linger in the castle also sat around them and talked quietly to one another, but these too were no more than part of the background noise that surrounded her.

Lost in her own miserable thoughts, the young prophetess looked out of the window and began to watch the sunset with a yearning gaze. Its orange glow reflected on the lively waves like golden flames, coloring the water in a sea of liquid gold. The surface reminded her of Sinbad's eyes, when candles illuminating his iris by night.

"Salome?"

Surprised, the addressed girl turned around and looked at Isaac, only to find that her childhood friend kept his attention to the King of Sindria with a frown, watching him with his steel colored eyes. "Yes?" She replied, pushing a strand of hair away from her face and secured it behind her ear. "Are you happy?" He asked bluntly without turning towards her, not wanting to lose sight of Sinbad's behavior. Malik fell silent, observing his sister glumly, while Salome followed the archpriest's gaze and watched as Sinbad laughed at something one of the ladies had told him in a coquettish manner, as he pulled her onto his lap and leaned carelessly over her neck with a wolfish grin. Swallowing hardly, the young prophetess witnessed how the scantily clad woman pressed her lips to the king's ear, before biting in its shell without shame. At that very moment, however, Sinbad's eyelids lifted, so that his golden iris looked purposefully past the dancer's neck and focused on his little prophetess. They kept eye contact to each other for a few seemingly endless heartbeats before Sinbad turned away again to empty his goblet filled with spiced wine, turning his attention back to the dancer, who was looking at him questioningly, because he had not reacted to her directly.

With trembling lips Salome turned to Isaac, who was now appraising her with his typical calculating, almost piercing look. She forced herself to relax her stiff body before she nodded reassuringly. Knowing what he meant, the dark haired woman decided to answer accordingly, with a forced smile on her face: "Do not worry. King Sinbad and I are just friends. Nothing more and nothing less. "Isaac looked at her in silence, while slowly but surely a disapproving expression spread across his features. He didn't need to speak his mind. She could guess where his thoughts were going, thinking about the bond that should bind them to each other. But unlike Sinbad she had been groomed all her life to accept this link that surrounded them for what it was. The king however, was not someone who naturally believed in such things like destined couples. So she was glad that they were able to form a friendship over the past few weeks, taking tiny steps to get to know each other. Smiling more widely, the young prophetess nodded softly, before she looked back to the setting sun, thinking that the conversation was over, when Isaac asked again:

"But... are you truly happy with that?"

Sighing, the young prophetess leaned forward to rest her forearms on the cold stone of the balcony veranda. It was already in the middle of the night, but some lights could still be seen behind the castle walls, illuminating various spots throughout the whole kingdom of Sindria. The mild night air played with the young woman's loose hair as she sighed sadly, looking up at the sky in deep thoughts. Before the celebration was over, Salome had retired to her room. At some point she hadn't been able to take it any more and was no longer capable to watch the frivolous spectacle of the king and his little flirt, while keeping a mild smile on her face. Worse, the question Isaac had asked her had thrown her pretty much off track.

Was she actually happy? Was she happy that she and Sinbad were 'just' friends?

But how could she actually be happy with it when she had adored this man before she had even got the chance to meet him in person? Her feelings for him had been immortalized in the stars. It was her destiny to love the reader of the waves and she did so unconditionally every day a little more, despite his haughty and manipulative personality. She just had no other choice, her soul was drawn to him and longed for him with no ifs or buts in her case.

But ... what could she offer him anyway? A young girl just before her 18th birthday and yet still so much younger than the King of Sindria. In his eyes she was surely still almost half a child. Would he even be able to ascribe himself to a single person, or would that be too much to ask of a king? Was it naive to wish for a partnership based on a dedicated relationship between two people? Was this connection perhaps more like an iron chain for him that pulled him down and tied him to her in an uncomfortable way? He was a free spirit, so was he able to love her at all?

Plagued by self-doubt, Salome squeezed her eyes together as she desperately tried to hold back the agonizing tears that began to build behind her eyelids. Her body was shaking hard, but she just wasn't able to calm down her breathing, which is why she couldn't suppress the tremor at all. Images of Sinbad pressing his lips against the dancer's neck, began to spread in her head and made the young girl finally sob in a bitter way. She imagined how he had been whispering sweet nothings into thee ear of the nameless woman, before he disappeared with her in a secluded area, leaving his other guests behind, without a second thought. Why did she have to feel so strongly for the King of Sindria?

A sudden knock against the door of her chambers tore Salome out of her bitter thoughts. Startled, the prophetess winced before turning quickly towards her balcony door to look into her room, while she wiped her tears hastily away from her cheeks.

From there, the dark-haired woman could watch how her doorknob moved, but she had locked the entrance, which is why it would not open without her unlocking it. Again it knocked quite urgently, which finally caused Salome to decide to answer her late night guest. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find that none other than Sinbad himself was standing in front of her. The strong smell of alcohol was emanating from him and he leaned relatively heavily against the door frame, breathing quite hard, when he lifted his head to settle his piercing gaze on her glazed eyes.

"S-Sinbad? What are you doing here? ", Salome whispered in surprise, while she stroked her cheeks again as a precaution to wipe away the paths of her tears, in hope that he didn't catch that she had been crying a few moments ago. Instead of answering, Sinbad pressed his hand against the polished wood and pushed it and the young woman aside so that he could easily enter her room. As she stumbled, long, slender fingers cupped her upper arm and pulled her back with a hasty jerk.

Without realizing what was happening around her, Salome's back crashed against the re-locked door, while the king placed his hands next to her head and imprisoned her between his muscled arms. His heavy breathing mingled with the young woman's gasp of surprise, before he also leaned his forehead against the cool, polished surface of the wood, right next to her head. The smell of sweet perfume clung to his clothes and mixed with the familiar nuances that the man exuded as usual. The sweet scent made the young prophetess stomach contract uncomfortably, while it made her think about who Sinbad had been with until a few moments ago. With a heavy heart, Salome turned her head to his opposite side but dared not to move otherwise. His upper body was so close to her that she felt the high-quality fabric of his scarf brushing against her upper arms, while his necklaces clinked against her golden amulet. His warm breath brushed her bare shoulders, making her shiver with tension.

What was he doing here? Why wasn't he with the dancer with whom he had left the festivity just a few moments ago? Rooted to the spot, her eyes fluttered bashfully, before they focused on Sinbad's tense arm and watched as his hand clenched into a trembling fist beside her head.

"Fate!" the king spat deeply, while his body began to shake faintly. Flinching at his bitter tone, the prophetess bit her lower lip in a shy manner and squeezed her eyes shut, listening to his outburst, while she was unable to cope with the situation. "I have never let fate guide me. I, manage my damned destiny the way I like it!" "I know.", Salome breathed meekly, catching how Sinbad's knuckles cracking softly in his anger.

"Then tell me why this God, whom you worship so much, has apparently already chosen a path for me? Where is that a self-determined fate, huh?", he snapped, while he banged his fist against the door, before he abruptly turned away from the girl, when he noticed how Salome winced quietly. Overwhelmed by the situation, the young prophetess kneaded her hands desperately as she searched for the right words. "It was your decision to travel to Dalmasca.", She answered quietly, which seemed to take the wind out of his sails. "How could I not have done that when the mere thought that you may be out there somewhere didn't let me sleep, after I regretted years in advance that I didn't took the chance to reach you when I was younger?" He confessed urgently, while the surprise of his own behavior was written all over his face. Exhausted, he fished the scroll out of his tunic, before he sat down on the edge of her bed, in an exhausted manner.

"What is written in this translation is actually nothing new to me. You said it yourself in your recording after all.", he muttered while he glanced at his prophetess. Salome reluctantly moved away from the door and took a few cautious steps towards the king with gentle expression.

"You have already declared that your God wants you to stand by my side and aid me!" Sinbad explained while he watched as she slowly walked towards him, pausing briefly in front of his figure sitting on her bed, before she lowered herself to the ground in front of him. Organizing her nightgown, she sat only a few inches away from his legs, before she looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. The image that played out in front of Sinbad reminded him even more of the scene that she had immortalized of herself in the small crystal ball. The message that she had send to him in hope to be able to reach out to the king of Sindria.

"To aid me .... to keep me in the light ..." the king whispered absently, receding some of the words that were written in the scriptures of Solomon. Salome listened carefully, fighting her upcoming tears as she put her hands on her lap and folded them together in a praying manner. Her eyes were watery, but not a tear flowed down her delicate cheeks. Sinbad swallowed hard before continuing. "You were right. The bond that binds us has unsettled me just as much as the fact that the lines of your waves seemed to blur behind you. But nothing prevented me from still... feeling pain every time I decided against you!", the king confessed bitterly, as he leaned forward and supported himself with one arm on his knee while he stretched the other in her direction to run his callused fingers over her beautiful cheekbones. He looked at her with searching, golden eyes, pondering whether or not to keep talking, revealing one of his most hidden secrets. Pausing, Sinbad closed his honey colored eyes for a moment while he withdrew his hand and ran it over his face, to hide his features from her view. Salome could see that the man was hesitating in front of her, but in the end he decided to speak his mind, showing her the bitter truth: "But what's even worse is that I can't promise you what you had asked me to do in your message anymore."

An oppressive silence spread between the couple, because Sinbad was unable to find the right words to show her what he meant. Waiting for him to explain his statement, Salome looked at the king with tense shoulders, but there were no more words that tumbled from his lips. Taking a deep breath, Sinbad bent his upper body even further downwards so that his hair now also shielded his face from her, which was already covered by his trembling hands. His tense shoulders dropped when suddenly the bright atmosphere around him changed into something colder, more sinister. The bright light that usually surrounded him dimmed down slowly, while suddenly he radiated a certain coldness that send shivers down the spine of the lady of the rukh. Sobbing, she watched for the first time with widened eyes as black ethereal birds revealed themselves to her and mingled with the white ones who accompanied the king uninterruptedly. They fluttered in a lazy manner around Sinbad, who kept his head bowed in shame. Taking a deep breath, he slumped a little further down while his hands wandered from his face to his hair to bury them tensely in his lavender colored tresses. Tears ran down Salome's cheeks when she realized what he was revealing to her. Sinbad had already lost a part of himself ... She had asked him not to fall, but her request had reached him far too late and there was nothing she could have done to stop this. No more words left the king's lips, but neither was it necessary to understand the agony that seemed to be residing inside of him.

Cautiously, Salome slid forward a little, settling herself between the man's legs. With shaking hands, she grabbed Sinbad's cheeks as tears continued to run down her own. She brushed his purple hair away, to get a better look at him, watching how he pressed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. Overshadowed was her own sorrow, which she had felt a few moments ago, now emphasizing with the man who crouched over her. Determination spread in her chest like a beacon of light, when he opened his honey colored eyes, linking his hurtful gaze with her's. She hadn't been able to be with him in his hardest times, but that was now in the past. From now on. she swore to herself, she would give everything to keep the remaining light that surrounded him with all her might. "I don't care if you are surrounded by white or black rukh! My heart belongs only to you. It was always yours and nobody will ever be able to change this. No matter what comes: I will support and protect you with all I can give!", Salome swore in a firm, passionate voice, while she pressed his forehead against hers, looking deeply into his honey-golden eyes. "Always mine... protecting me... heh. Fate is a cruel thing, gifting me someone like you, after so many years...", the king repeated, almost amused, but his eyes betrayed how moved he really was by her words.

Sinbad took a shaky breath, chuckling lightly, while he also put his callused hands on her wet cheeks, cradling her head as if it could anchor him to the ground. His eyelids fluttered for a brief moment, before he returned her gaze with the same passion that sparkled in her turquoise colored eyes. "I know I said that I decide my fate myself, but I'm willing this one time not to rebel against destiny and accept what it has planned for me, if it means that you are the price I receive!", Sinbad confessed in surrender, as he passionately buried his fingers in her dark silky locks, while he lovingly pressed his nose against hers. His warm breath brushed her trembling lips, which were only a few inches away from his.

Salome's entire body trembled in a pleasant shiver, when she felt his fingers dig deeper into her hair, while he pulled her up, closer to him. His legs caged her delicate frame and gently grazed her on both sides. Her heart skipped a beat, only to pound within her chest twice as fast. This was it! This was what she wanted! Isaac had been right, she couldn't just be friends with Sinbad. Everything in her longed to surrender to the feelings, that slumbered within her core since the beginning of time.

Forgotten were all the plans of taking it slowly. She didn't just want to be his friend, no, she wanted everything this man was willing to give her. Probably in the future she would come to a point where she would question her heart. Yes, maybe at some point she would regret giving herself to him so willingly, but here and now she just couldn't help it. All she was left with were the overwhelming feelings that spread in her chest, as she instinctively arched her back and bridged the rest of the space between them, to press her lips passionately against his own. A comforting shiver ran down her spine, while her entire body tingled with pleasure. A sigh escaped her lips as Sinbad reacted just as fiercely, returning the kiss as if his life was depending on it. His mouth moved against hers without hesitation, animating her to follow his rhythm, while he easily took the lead.

Her trembling hands wandered from his cheekbones down over his neck to the beginning of his collar, where she finally dug her fingers into the fine fabric. She could feel his own beating heart pounding under her fingertips, how it drummed wildly against his chest. A huge amount of golden rukh circled the pair in contend silence. They were accompanied by a few black ones that continued to surround Sinbad, since he still hadn't pushed them away to hide them from the sight of those who can see them. What they both didn't notice, however, was how a handful of the black rukh began to slowly lighten up, losing their dark color during their passionate kiss, which they shared in bliss. The blackness slowly dissolved, revealing its natural golden shape, before a few of them began to take on a rose colored shade.

All the two of them could concentrate on at that moment were the feelings they shared through their deep kiss they shared with each other.

#Sinbad #sinbad magi #Adventures of Sinbad #Magi #magi labyrinth of magic #Aos #SinbadxOc

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lucarioisinthevoid · 4 years

Photo

Wait, so Jeremy is Fredbear's son? Sounds about right. But also, I'm way too enraptured with the idea of Judas the Phone Guy. As someone who plays Binding of Isaac, I spend way too many days thinking about religious figures. The guards and the machines sat together, at the long table. Jeremy picked up the wrench. "This is my bone. It was a tool of cruelty, but now, I wish for you to use it to reform yourself and protect those that enter." Everyone was silent, mainly because they were here to eat, where the HELL did he pull that fucking wrench from? People were even more unnerved when he pulled a music box out of his... hammer space. "This is my voice. Listen to it, when you doubt your reason." For a moment it was quiet at the table. Then Marion put a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "... are you alright?" Jeremy smiled. "... tonight is the last night I will dine with you, my dear friends." There were gasps all around. "Why?" Once more he smiled. "Because tonight, one of you will betray me and sell me out to the factory." The gasps got louder and the people started murmuring. Phone Guy leaned back, in shock. Nobody would be able to see his shock was different from the others. Marion instantly slammed his hands on the table. "NO! This cannot be. Who will betray you?! We will flail him!" With the simple gesture of raising his hand, Jeremy calmed the spirit. "Have you learned nothing, Marion? You must stay strong. You all must stay strong. For whatever happens to me, you all remain, and you will bring forth the seed of my work." "That's not- that's not how it works!" Marion cried out. Mike too was upset. "What the fuck are you ON about? Are you fucking retarded?!" "... that is horrible of you to say and I hope you're ashamed." Jeremy sniffed at him. "WELL YOU'RE BASICALLY GOING "WOW, LOL, I'M GOING TO GET MURDERED AND I KNOW WHO WILL DO IT, BUT HEY, YOU GUYS CAN DO MY JOB", WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK!" Marion got upset and stood up. "DON'T SCREAM AT JEREMY." Phone Guy coughed. "M-maybe nobody here should, uh- scream at each other. You know how it makes Jeremy feel." The young saint nodded. "Yes. Thank you." The Puppet was having none of it though, shaking, on the surface out of rage, but Jeremy knew, deep down it was absolute terror. "How ELSE are we supposed to react? I- Mike might be a piece of shit, but he has a POINT. Jeremy you can't just-" "Yes I can." The boy was at peace. "And I must. But I wish for all of you to do one last thing for me. Accompany to the hills behind Fazbear's. Stay awake with me as I pray. The day after, I will be taken. But keep your heart and faith strong, for I will return!” The doors of the factory were closed. Two lone people were standing by the gates. Mike and the Phone Guy stood beside one another. Despite his grim expression, his eyes were reddened by tears. “… how could someone do this. How. Jeremy. Jeremy of all people.” Simon stayed quiet, but put a hand on his shoulder. Mike didn’t understand. Jeremy was anything but a savior. If his plan would have been successful, he would have brought forth the time of the Fredbear. That would mean, the restaurants would grow back, all around the world. And the cycle would repeat. There was no salvation. Only repetition. He had to eradicate Jeremy before he could give live to it all again. If only Jeremy knew that the gift he gave was a terrible, toxic parasite, not relief or joy in any way. Slowly Phone Guy turned away. “… I have to go now.” “W-what? The fuck? Where do you want to GO? Marion is in there, we gotta wait until he comes out before he does something stupid while we’re not looking.” “… I need to clear my head. Uh. Phone I guess. We’ll speak again.” One day perhaps. And with that he walked out into the morning fog, leaving the other man behind. (Ah yes, we all know what Phoney being the traitor will entail for him. Poor Phoney. Mike will be lost without him. Meanwhile Mike absolutely will be the doubting Thomas)

#Jeremy Fitzgerald #phone guy #mike schmidt #au #the marionette

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aussiebee · 7 years

Text

Five Times Stiles Told Derek 'I Love You' and One Time Derek Told Stiles

1. “... Oh my god yes, I’m fine,” Stiles said exasperatedly into the phone, still holding his bloody, balled-up tee to the puncture wound in his lower abdomen as he sat on the Jeep’s hood.

“Well excuse the hell out of me for being concerned that someone fucking staked you, Stiles, jesus christ.” Derek’s voice in his ear was harsh with concern.

“Ease up, drama-wolf,” Stiles rolled his eyes, peeling the sodden fabric back to check, and… nope, still bleeding. “It was barely even a stake.”

“Stiles.”

“It was a stick, okay?”

“Not helping!”

“More of a twig?” Stiles tried, smiling partly at Scott as he returned with the Jeep’s first aid kit, but also partly at Derek’s exasperated huff. “Look, Scott’s here, he’s going to throw a few stitches into it, and I’ll be better than ever.”

There was a moment of profound silence on the line as Scott began removing the supplies he needed from the zippered bag. “I hate that this is even a thing that you joke about,” Derek told him quietly.

“Not my fault I’m pale enough to be mistaken for a vampire,” Stiles snorted, then sobered with a hiss as Scott began cleaning the wound. “Look, I’ll come by and see you as soon as I get back into town, okay? You can check for yourself, do that thing where you act all disgruntled that I tease you about rubbing your face all over me and I pretend that I don’t totally love how possessive you are about your pack… fuck, Scott, I can feel your finger in there, god damn it.”

“Yeah, because that sounds healthy,” Derek said over Scott’s muttered apology.

“What, the part where Scott is inside of me right now, or the part where we don’t admit to our unhealthy degree of codependency?” He ignored Derek’s pained sound of protest and forged ahead. “Look, I should be back within the hour, and I’ll send you a text at every mile marker along the way okay? I gotta go and bite down on something now, talk to you later love you bye.”

“Did you really have to say it quite like that?” Scott snickered, opening a sterile suture kit.

“You know I did,” Stiles huffed as he reclined across the hood.

There was a moment of silence where Stiles gritted his teeth hard enough to crack them as Scott cleaned the wound and began suturing before his best friend spoke again. “So. You and Derek, huh? Pretty serious, by the sounds of it.”

“What?” Stiles asked, trying not to shudder at the eerie sensation of nylon being drawn through his skin.

“Saying ‘I love you’ already? Kind of a big deal.”

Confused, Stiles ran the conversation with Derek back through his head and groaned when he realised Scott was absolutely right. “Oh my god, I’m never going to live this down… hang on, what do you mean, ‘me and Derek’? There’s nothing going on there, Scotty.”

“There’s not?” Scott asked, with a frown. “You sure?”

Ignoring the way his stomach flipped at the thought, Stiles chuckled and winced when it pulled at the wound in his abdomen. “I think I would know if I had something going on with Derek Hale, dude. Trust me.”

Scott tied off the last suture and glanced up at Stiles. “You know it wouldn’t matter, right?” he asked. “I mean, Erica would be totally into it, and Peter would be weird as hell, but-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Stiles said, holding out his hand for Scott to pull him into a sit, groaning as he did. “That’s plenty of nightmare fuel for one day, thanks.”

Scott just laughed and began to pack up, and Stiles forgot all about it as he tried to slide off the hood without hurting himself further.

2. Finals were approaching and Harris was being a dick, again, so Stiles had decided to work twice as hard as he usually would to try and raise his grades. There was nothing wrong with an A minus, really, but he really wanted to stick it to Harris to see the look on the man’s face when he was forced to award Stiles with a higher grade. So he studied, and studied some more, and even asked Henry Bowman if he could borrow one of his older brothers’ college chemistry textbooks to better understand some of the topics they were covering.

That’s where Derek found him on Friday, sitting on his bed with three textbooks open around him, a tree’s worth of notes on paper, his phone and laptop both glowing, and with some kind of vaguely instrumental rock music playing softly.

Derek stood in the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame and watched Stiles read with two pens in his mouth and one bouncing rapidly on his knee. He eventually sighed and spat the pens out, linking his fingers together and stretching his arms right up and over his head, lengthening his spine as he arched his back, the vividly red scar on his lower abdomen briefly visible.

“You’ve been studying hard, lately,” Derek said as he tore his eyes from the dark trail of hair beneath Stiles’ navel and smirked amusedly when he jerked with fright and somehow managed to smack himself in the back of the head with his joined hands.

“I don’t know what’s creepier,” Stiles told him snarkily, heartbeat rabbiting as he recovered from the shock, “you lurking in the bedrooms of teenagers, or the fact that you came in through the front door… what did you do to Dad to get up here without being shot?”

Derek took that as permission to enter the room and he sat in the chair at the desk, watching as Stiles’ attention drifted back to his notes. “Told him the Cubs were looking good to make it all the way, this season,” he said simply, almost laughing when Stiles’ eyes snapped back to him. Too easy.

“Screw the Cubs, and screw you too,” Stiles ranted, just as Derek had known he would. “I cannot believe that after everything that happened last season that they’d even have the nerve to-”

Derek did laugh at that, not missing the way Stiles’ eyes flickered restlessly between his mouth and his eyes. “I didn’t come here to rile you up,” he said easily, “so calm down.”

“What are you here?” Stiles asked, and Derek could hear his heart rate pick back up again. “What’s wrong, what do you need? Is someone hurt--?”

“Wow, you really need to relax,” Derek told him. “Everything’s fine, everyone is fine, and no one needs help. Well,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Stiles, “no one except you, maybe.”

“Christ, I am too young for adrenal fatigue,” Stiles muttered, rubbing a hand absently over his chest as he scowled at Derek. “Why are you here, then?”

Derek shrugged and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and tipping his head back to the headrest to close his eyes. “Haven’t seen you for a while,” he said. “Missed you.”

He didn’t see the way Stiles’ eyes widened in surprise or how his mouth dropped open a little in obvious confusion, but he did hear the irregular thump of his heart and scented the pleasure that suddenly filled the cool evening air drifting in through the open window.

“I-- oh,” Stiles said, voice soft and happy.

He was curiously still for a long while, until Derek opened his eyes a little and found Stiles watching him with an unusually unreadable expression. “Study,” Derek told him, toeing off his boots and lifting his feet to rest on the end of Stiles’ bed before resuming his previously relaxed pose. “I’ll stay for a while.”

Stiles did as ordered and for the next hour Derek dozed quietly, peaceful and content to be surrounded by the soft music, distracted hums and half-muttered words, and the soft rustle of pages being turned. He sighed when his phone vibrated in his pocket, but pulled it out and reluctantly sat up when he saw that it was from Isaac.

Stiles was still reading through one of the text books, pen in hand and ink on the side of his chin by the time Derek had pulled his boots back on. “I’ve got to go,” Derek said softly, not wanting to disturb him. “I’ll come see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Stiles muttered distractedly, sticking the pen in his mouth and picking up a green highlighter to mark something on the page he was reading. “Love you.”

Derek’s egress from the room didn’t falter, and he made no sound to disturb Stiles, but he could feel the flush that crept up the back of his neck and around to his cheeks as he headed down the stairs.

3. “Fuck, why does blood have to be so slippery?” Stiles grunted, his grip on the chamrosh’s neck failing as the dog-like creature snapped its huge and distinctly bird-like beak in front of his face, screaming as it tried to tear off his face. “Uh, guys? A little help?”

The chamrosh’s wings beat wildly as it tried to jerk itself from Stiles’ grip, and with the blood that had slicked its neck feathers and Stiles’ hands from the deep slash on his left forearm and the several torn bites on his right, it was about to succeed.

Suddenly, though, Derek was there, grabbing the pinion joints of the creature’s wings and tearing the beast off Stiles before ending its life with a slash across the throat. He glanced at Stiles who waved a bloodied arm and smiled, even through a face gone pale and shocky.

“I’m fine,” he managed. “Go help the others.” Without waiting for a reply, he pulled his shirt up and over his head and tore at it to make strips, presumably to bind his own wounds with. Derek hesitated, but at Erica’s infuriated snarl he returned to the fray, helping his pack with the flock of chamrosh that had taken up residence not far from the most popular running trail in the Preserve.

By the time they had subdued almost all of them, the rest of the pack haring off through the trees to catch the last two who had gotten away, Stiles had dropped down to slump against the trunk of a tree, head bowed forward and skin ashen. That was how Derek found him, his own heart twisting sickeningly as he realised the cotton around Stiles’ wrists wasn’t doing much to halt the bleeding at all.

Without a word, he hauled Stiles upright and then lifted him into his arms to carry him back to the Jeep. Worryingly, Stiles made no protest at the manhandling, his eyes glazed and limbs floppy.

“Hold on, okay?” Derek murmured, finally stepping out of the tree cover and bracing Stiles’ body against the vehicle to fish the keys from his pocket. “We’ll get you to the hospital, and you’ll be just fine.” Stiles muttered something, forehead creased as Derek shoved him into the passenger side of the car. “What?”

“Said I love you,” Stiles sighed, eyes still closed. “And my dad. Tell him, okay?”

“Tell him yourself,” Derek snapped, buckling Stiles in and slamming the door closed as he sprinted to the other side of the Jeep and threw himself in behind the wheel, starting the ignition and leaving the Preserve in a spray of loose dirt and leaves.

4. “I just think there are better ways to create strong pack bonds than by actively searching out the mythological and downright freaky,” Stiles argued sensibly from his position lying across the armchair in the loft, head tipped back.

“Way to suck the fun out of my life,” Derek replied dryly from the staircase, making Stiles laugh.

“It’s good training,” Boyd explained. “Besides, it needs to be taken care of eventually, right? So why not do it on our terms for a change, keep the upper hand?”

Stiles and Derek both groaned. “Why?” Stiles asked. “Why did you have to go and jinx us like that?”

“It’ll be fine,” Erica said, with the overconfidence of an idiot.

It so wasn’t fine.

Yet again the pack found themselves outnumbered, and in this particular incidence, severely outclassed.

“What is it with things with wings, lately?” Stiles yelled at Scott as he tore past, late afternoon sunlight burnishing his skin gold and red.

“We’re so naming our band that,” Scott yelled back, wide grin firmly in place.

Stiles just backed away as the enormous perytons- huge deer with the wings and plumage of a bird, as well as avian hindquarters with massive talons- set up a defensive line, heads lowered, scarily pointed antlers creating an impenetrable barrier.

They weren’t attacking, though. They’d been taking by surprise, there were fifteen of them, and they were roughly the size of Seabiscuit; they clearly had the advantage, so why weren’t they pressing it? “What the hell do they want?” Stiles mused quietly to himself.

“Land, probably.”

“Well yeah, maybe, but…” Stiles began distractedly, but trailed off when he realised the voice that had come from behind him was not one that he recognised. He turned slowly and found a peryton standing behind him, dappled grey wings nestled closely against its sides and its head raised proudly.

“Holy shit, you can speak?” Stiles asked, somewhat redundantly.

“I have asked my rapture to maintain a defense so you and I may speak together,” the peryton told him. “I would put an end to this peacefully, if possible.”

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed immediately, meeting the creature’s huge dark eyes. He had learned over the years to trust his instincts, and while he was still exercising healthy caution, he could detect no threat from the bird-stag thing. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“We know,” the creature said, dipping its head briefly whilst still maintaining its distance. “I am Tydes, and I am Vox for my rapture.”

“Rapture? Is that like a pack, or a herd?”

“It is a grouping of peryton, yes.”

“Very cool,” Stiles breathed. “Uh, so, do you want me to call my pack off? Maybe let them know that you guys just want to talk?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tydes told him, something like amusement colouring his tone. “There is nothing your kind can do to us that we won’t heal from.”

“That may be true, but the alpha over there, Derek? He’s kind of protective of his pack, and he might not react so well to seeing you and I here if he thinks you’re a threat.”

“I have woven a mild enchantment over us so that none of your pack can see that I am here,” Tydes confessed.

“Ah,” Stiles said, getting it immediately. “So we wouldn’t even know you were here unless you wanted us to know.”

“Quite so,” the vox replied. “My rapture and I have travelled far to be here, and we were hoping that you and your pack would be amenable to having us stay here, in your forest. It is similar to the one we fled, and we would like very much to make our home permanent once more.”

Stiles sighed. “I’m not sure why you’ve picked me to liaise with,” Stiles confessed. “I’m just a human, and a pretty mediocre one at that. Why not Derek?”

“Human you might be, but you are singular in your Alpha’s regard,” Tydes said. “He listens to you, and values your opinion above all others. Besides,” he added with a toss of his head and a slight pawing of his delicate front hoof that seemed to signify amusement, “you are stubborn and strong, and you are very clever. Dealing with you would be a provision of our continued largesse.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, mulling that over. “Okay. Okay, sure. Let’s talk.”

By the time night fell, Stiles and Tydes had reached an accord. In return for uninhibited access to the Preserve and protection by the Hale Pack, the peryton would keep themselves from discovery by any Beacon Hills residents and would offer their own assistance when it came to other supernatural entities they may face. Stiles had been forthright about the extent of their involvement in the drama that seemed to constantly plague the town, but Tydes had just tilted his head and pawed at the leaves again.

“We are… aware,” he said, amusement colouring his deep stentorian voice. “It is your specific involvement that allowed us to make our way here.”

Upon hearing that Stiles had added a proviso to their agreement that Tydes teach him what he knew of magic and sparks and power, agreed to insofar as it didn’t provide Stiles or the pack with information to compromise the rapture.

It was fairly straightforward as far as agreements went, but Stiles was mentally exhausted by the end of it, for while Tydes wasn’t trying to obfuscate, peryton by nature were clever and wily, and Stiles had to take particular care not compromise his own pack with any of the concessions.

When they decided that an agreement had been reached that was acceptable to both sides, Tydes let the glamour surrounding himself drop, holding his ground once Derek realised he was there and so close to Stiles and came hurtling across the clearing.

“Whoa, there, big guy,” Stiles shouted, catching Derek around the waist with both arms and halting his momentum with a concerted effort.

“I thought you’d gone home,” Derek snapped, face transformed by the beta shift and his hands gripping Stiles’ arm and hip tightly as he tried to shove the human behind him.

“Yeah, just strolled off because I was getting bored,” Stiles snarked back. “No, idiot, I was coming to an agreement with Vox Tydes, here. They come in peace.”

The way Tydes scraped his hoof on the ground and tossed his head back made Stiles suspect he understood the reference and was amused by it. “It is true, Alpha Hale. My rapture and I simply wish to find somewhere to settle. Emissary Stiles has spoken thoughtfully and with consideration to try and reach an understanding, but if he does not speak on behalf of your pack--”

“He does,” Derek growled, posture still alert but his hands gentling on Stiles where they’d previously been gripping tightly. “If you have decided terms, my pack will uphold them.”

Tydes straightened one leg and bent the other as he bowed his head low, baring the back of his neck to Derek in a show of submission that was significant in symbolism. The fact was not lost on Derek who relaxed further, standing taller and allowing his shift to bleed away before maintaining eye contact and tilting his chin up and slightly to the side, a gesture Stiles recognised as tentative trust but not submission.

“Most excellent,” Tydes said as he rose again to his full height. “Come, Alpha Hale, and let us all speak together.”

“So, now we’re all friends,” Isaac said later from where he was crouched by the campfire they’d congregated with the peryton around, “is it too soon to ask if we can ride you guys?”

“Jesus christ, Isaac, you can’t just go around asking people if you can ride them,” Derek protested angrily, his face a horrified rictus as Stiles utterly failed to suppress his laughter beside him.

“We had a deal with the elves in Ireland,” one of the younger peryton, Fethy, closest to Erica said, her voice thankfully amused. “If they could catch us, they could ride us.”

Stiles and Derek groaned as the eyes of the entire pack lit up at the challenge.

Much later that night, once Stiles had returned home and collapsed face-down onto his bed, he was unsurprised when Derek dropped down next to him, making him bounce.

“You did well today,” Derek told him, voice soft.

Stiles turned his head, eyes burning with fatigue, to find Derek smiling at him, a tiny thing made of curled lips and crow’s feet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles sighed and let his eyes drop closed again. “I like them. The peryton. They seem cool.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed with a sigh of his own. “I was proud of you today.”

Stiles smiled, eyes still closed, and reached out to feel blindly for Derek’s face, drawing him closer until their foreheads were pressed together. “Thank you,” he murmured, sliding into sleep. “Means a lot, coming from you.”

And with that he was out.

So much later that it was almost sunrise Derek woke, wrapped loosely around Stiles, their legs tangled and Stiles’ forehead pressed to the base of Derek’s throat. Chest aching with something huge and unnameable, Derek carefully disentangled himself, then hesitated and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ sleep-warmed cheek.

Beautiful eyes made dark by the low light flickered open for a moment, softening in a smile before drifting closed again.

Derek’s heart thundered in his own ears as he carefully climbed off the bed, retrieving his shoes and jacket before sliding the window open. He had one leg out when Stiles hummed to himself and rolled over, pulling his pillow down to cradle it close against his chest. “I love you, Derek,” he said softly, breaths slow and heart calm, and Derek knew he was asleep.

That was okay, though, Derek thought. Because he was getting closer to being able to say it, too.

5. Since the peryton had moved into the Preserve, life had gotten downright peaceful.

And Stiles was bored.

So when his phone rang at six one evening he leapt on it from practically across the room, making his dad snort a laugh before he turned back to the television.

“What’s up?” he asked a millisecond after swiping the screen to answer Derek’s call, dropping back onto the lounge. “Supernatural bad guy? Nemeton going crazy? Peter finally revealing himself to be the Death Eater we all know he is?”

There was a moment of pause before Derek spoke. “I always thought Peter was more like Snape,” he said slowly. “Obnoxious, unnecessarily combative, hostile. Belligerent but not inherently evil.”

Even Stiles’ startled laughter wasn’t enough to drown out the background ‘Hey!’ from Peter on Derek’s end of the line, making him laugh even harder. “At least he’s got better personal hygiene,” he conceded eventually.

“I don’t know,” Derek said doubtfully. “Have you smelled how much Drakkar Noir he wears for his ‘dates’?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles hiccupped as laughter ran through him again over the sound of a brief scuffle. “I thought you guys were sensitive to scents like that.”

“Some of us are,” Derek said lightly.

Stiles’ laughter was long and hard and he laid back along the sofa with his feet on the armrest. “So what’s up? What are you doing?” he asked when he had caught his breath.

“I-- I’m bored,” Derek said eventually, sounding bewildered.

“Oh thank god,” Stiles said, the exclamation gusting out of him in relief. “I felt like an idiot for even thinking it, given what the last couple of years have been like, but I’m about ready to start something just for the entertainment factor.”

“Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit,” John told him wisely from the recliner.

“What that your father?” Derek asked incredulously, making Stiles laugh again.

“Hey, my daddy-O is hip to the jive, dontcha know?”

“I have literally nothing to say to that,” Derek told him, sounding distinctly unsettled.

“Derek said you’re getting weirder in your old age,” Stiles lied to his dad, making no effort to cover the phone as he did so. Derek’s loud protestation was audible to John even across the room, and the sheriff grinned widely. “No but seriously, tell me you have something in mind to do, because I’m going crazy,” Stiles said, speaking back into the phone. “Safety and non-life-threatening events are super overrated.”

“You hush your mouth,” his dad said sternly at the same time as Derek said ‘Stiles!’ in the most put-upon tone Stiles had ever heard from him.

“I kid, I kid,” Stiles said, only partly meaning it.

“Liar,” Derek said as John snorted. “But I was thinking about going and seeing the old sci-fi movie marathon at The Crown, if you were free?”

“Hell yes,” Stiles hissed, swinging his feet off the sofa. “Meet you there in fifteen?”

“It doesn’t start until eight,” Derek told him. “Dinner at Joe’s first?”

“Root beer floats and burgers? Count me in.” He pressed the phone to his shoulder for a moment. “Going to dinner and the movies with Derek, okay?” he said to his dad. “There’s leftover lasagne in the fridge if you get hungry later.”

“Okay, kid,” John said. “Try not to tempt fate on your way there or back, okay?”

Stiles grinned and dropped a kiss to his dad’s head. “No promises, but I’ll try.” He lifted the phone back to his ear as he climbed the stairs back to his room to get changed. “Meet you there or you want to come pick me up?”

“I can swing by,” Derek told him, “it’s on my way.”

“Cool,” Stiles said. “I’ll be ready whenever you get here.”

The food was awesome, and the movies were even better. The triple feature - Maximum Overdrive, This Island Earth and Cosmos: War of the Planets) was hilarious, and in spite of the three-quarters full cinema, they weren’t the only ones providing commentary of the utterly awful special effects, acting and paper thin sets (and plotlines). Derek found himself offering pithy asides to Stiles in the quiet moments just to hear him laugh, the wide unrestrained joy of it making his head spin a little.

It was almost three a.m. by the time the feature finished, and Stiles was so sugar-high and laugh-drunk that Derek ended up wrapping an arm around his waist and hooking a finger through his belt loop to keep him from weaving into other cinemagoers on their way out of the theater.

“That was so good,” Stiles told Derek as they made their way back to the Camaro, parked a block away in the lot of Joe’s. “The opening scene of Cosmos is a thing of beauty.”

“Did the space complex look familiar to you?” Derek asked, waiting on the sidewalk for a car to pass before crossing the road, Stiles’ arm hot as a brand as it wrapped around his waist beneath his jacket.

“Pretty sure it was pictures of the Japanese space launch centre,” Stiles grinned. “And hello, did someone say Barbarella? That scene with the light show? Ugh, terrible. I loved it.”

Derek laughed and cut across the corner of the parking lot to the Camaro, hitting the fob button to unlock it as they approached. He reluctantly slid his arm from around Stiles as he pulled the passenger door open for him. “And A Space Odyssey,” Derek told him, “don’t forget about that. Were they even trying to be subtle about it?”

Stiles turned with one hand on the open door, eyes alight with good humour. “Right? And the giant Death Star-shaped blue ball!” He paused before snickering to himself, breaking into a full blown laugh at Derek’s own grin. He let his laugh fade a little before reaching out and curling his fingers in Derek’s jacket, drawing him close with the open car door between them. “I love you, you giant nerd,” he said softly, eyes searching Derek’s for any sign of hesitation or distaste, and when he found none he pulled a little harder, bringing Derek close enough for them to kiss, mouths slotting together as naturally as breathing.

+1. “All I’m saying,” Derek said reasonably between kisses, shoving Stiles’ plaid shirt off his shoulders, “is that you’re bringing an extra dimension to--”

“And I’m just saying that you’re so fucking wrong it’s embarrassing, but you’re insanely hot, so it kinda balances out to you… well, still being insanely hot,” Stiles returned, “but also very, hilariously wrong.” He finished tugging his hands from the cuffs of the shirt and tore his tee up and over his head before sliding his palms over Derek’s pecs and around his back, stepping in nice and close to slide his tongue into Derek’s mouth.

“You’re only limiting yourself by not experimenting a little,” Derek told him between kisses, struggling to undo his pants when Stiles slid his hands down to his ass and tugged so their hips were pressed together.

“Oh, I think we’re pretty good with the experimenting,” Stiles murmured, his lips and teeth against Derek’s neck making him shiver. “But there are some things that end up turning out great, like spanking and that huge kink you have for near-miss exhibitionism, and some that are just abominations against nature, okay? Guess which category that falls into.”

Derek finally managed to shove his jeans down and stepped out of them as he pulled Stiles’ zipper down and reached into his boxers to get a hand on his dick, hard and wet and ready for him. “Only slightly hyperbolic,” Derek said derisively.

“Fuck hyperbole,” Stiles muttered, shoving at Derek’s chest a little so he had enough room to look down and watch as Derek jerked him off, confident and slow, “it’s a fact.”

“If you want facts,” Derek hissed, shifting slightly so he could grab Stiles’ hand and position it so their dicks were pressed together with both of their hands stroking them, “I can point you to any top ten list made in the last ten years-”

“Vox populis does not a fact make, Derek,” Stiles muttered, glancing up at Derek and licking his lips, prompting Derek to use his free hand to cup his cheek and hold him steady to kiss the hell out of him.

“I thought that’s how that little bastard Bieber got famous,” Derek shot back, dropping his hand to shove down the back of Stiles’ pants, fingers slipping down the crack of his ass to brush across his hole, dry and teasing. “Besides, your fact is ‘ew gross, why would anyone ever do that’, so I don’t see how you have the moral high ground here.”

Stiles laughed breathlessly, because Derek’s hate-on for Justin Bieber would never not be funny, ever. “Onus probandi, love- it’s your job to prove it, not mine to disprove it,” Stiles told him.

“Which brings us back to your refusal to experiment,” Derek growled, pressing in a little and making Stiles’ breath hitch. “You’ve always trusted my mouth before; why not now with this?”

“Oh my god, you manipulative bastard,” Stiles groaned, his hips jerking indecisively between their hands and Derek’s fingers against his asshole. “You know how I feel about your mouth.”

“Why don’t I remind you, then?” Derek asked slyly, kissing Stiles once more before removing his hands and sitting on the end of the bed, grabbing Stiles’ hips to pull him into the vee of his legs and shoving his pants down past his knees. “If I can make you come in two minutes you have to try it… a real try, not an ‘I’ve made up my mind already’ try.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, sliding his hands into Derek’s hair and staring down at him.

“Better watch the clock, then,” Derek smirked, and promptly sucked Stiles’ cock into his mouth deeply enough that the head nudged up against his soft palate on the first pass.

“Shiiit,” Stiles slurred, fingers tightening in Derek’s hair as his eyes rolled back. “I don’t even care, anymore. Promise me you’ll do that forever and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Derek managed a grin around the hot, velvety skin against his tongue and swallowed, prepared for the abortive jerk of Stiles’ hips when he did, just taking it as he relaxed his throat and swallowed around his cock. He lifted his hands to Stiles’ ass and squeezed, encouraging him to rock his hips forwards, fucking into Derek’s throat with more restraint than Derek needed but enough care that he smiled again.

“You’re so beautiful,” Stiles murmured, rubbing his thumb back and forth beneath Derek’s left eye, biting his own lip against a groan as Derek began applying his tongue more judiciously. “Oh shit, Derek, I’m so not making it to two minutes, I’m fucking ready to go now.”

Derek increased suction and met Stiles’ next thrust by forcing his face forward so his breathing was cut off and his lips caressed the wiry hair at the base of Stiles’ cock. He began swallowing rhythmically and closed his eyes when Stiles made a tortured noise and came, his dick pulsing against Derek’s tongue as he emptied down his throat.

Derek gave him a moment and then pulled off, sucking in a shuddery breath as he rested his forehead against Stiles’ hip, lean thighs trembling beneath his hands as they recovered. Stiles’ restless hands petted the back of Derek’s head, curled around the back of his neck, stroked softly over the breadth of his shoulders until he was steady enough to push Derek back on the bed, arranging them both until Derek was stretched out and Stiles was sitting across his thighs to jerk him off, both hands stroking and twisting in the rhythm he knew Derek liked best, long upstroke, a pass of the thumb across the slit, short downstroke with a twist, and repeat.

Reaching up to grip the headboard, only partially because he knew Stiles liked to watch the flex of his biceps as he did so, Derek’s thighs tensed and he arched his back a little, sighing out his pleasure.

“‘S good,” he managed, making Stiles smile up at him.

“Looks good, too.”

With a dry chuckle, barely able to keep his eyes open against the intensity of the pleasure Stiles was wringing from him, Derek tried to focus, tried to prolong the sensation and memorise the way Stiles’ strong, slightly roughened hands felt on the most sensitive parts of him, the way it felt to have those long fingers trail over his balls and further back, disappearing briefly to return slick, perfect pressure sliding in and up a little until he found that one spot that had Derek shooting all over his own belly and Stiles’ fist.

Stiles pressed slow, lazy kisses to Derek’s mouth, eyelashes brushing against cheekbones and skin beautifully flushed as they curled around each other, messy and sated.

“Guess I’ve gotta try it now, huh?” Stiles smiled, nuzzling at the underside of Derek’s jaw.

“Trust me, I’ll make it good for you,” Derek promised..

“I do trust you,” Stiles said unhesitatingly.

“I love you,” Derek told him, his stomach still fluttering with nerves at how monumentally huge those words were.

“I know you do,” Stiles smiled beatifically, “even if you’re wrong and unnaturally-inclined.”

“Oh my god,” Derek groaned, rolling his body on top of Stiles. “You said you’d try it!”

“I didn’t say I’d stop whinging about it,” Stiles pointed out correctly.

“It’s fucking pineapple, Stiles, not arsenic.”

“And I maintain that it does not belong on pizza.”

“You just haven’t done it right,” Derek told him, scowling.

Stiles couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep within him. “You’re ridiculous. Kiss me again, nerd.”

“Don’t know if I want my tongue anywhere your unsophisticated palate,” Derek said haughtily, Stiles’ body shaking with good humour beneath his as he leaned down for another kiss.

Come visit me on AO3!

#sterek #5+1 things #fluff #what is the point of this?#nerds in love #slow burn #friends to lovers #first kiss #pwp #pineapple on pizza is life #if you don't think so you're wrong #but let's be friends anyway

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khymer-vulture · 7 years

Text

another short story, wooo

Like a couple others, this one’s been sitting around for a month...since I’m posting 2 short stories, I may post the next one in like 2 weeks.

I do plan on posting some of these onto AO3, but I think I’ll post the ones with the most notes.

Set in between Captivate and Sanctuary (moment was briefly mentioned).

Zack is still getting used to being with Rachel in a whole new way, but never in his life would he ever hear such a word that she would describe him as.

Things have changed since Isaac and Rachel recognized their feelings for one another, the two interacted the same, but there were times where Zack would hesitate to show a new side to their relationship. Sure, he enjoyed the feelings he had for her, though, he was still adjusting to showing his affection more openly and not from impulse. Rachel was patient, acting soft was something he rarely did, but she was there to assure him that it was normal.

When Zack did show his affection, he was almost like a different person, yet his gruff personality was still there.

Aside from all that, the two have done well together to live in their nomadic lifestyle. Zack’s experience throughout his life helped Ray adapt and the young woman’s smarts helped the pair improve upon it.

The town they eventually stumbled in seemed a bit upper class, there was no way they could find a motel to camp in for the night without being questioned. Despite the nicer buildings all over the place, there were some abandoned structures set to be future construction projects, it was a better option to have a roof over their head, than to sleep on the streets. So, the two took shelter in an old apartment complex, Ray always found a way to make even the shadiest of places look livable, and with the money they had collected over time, she stocked up on a few items for situations like this. She had gotten a new carry bag and filled it with a couple small LED lamps, and a rollup sleeping bag that the two of them would share.

Zack would let her set up their temporary living quarters to however she saw fit, it was rather amusing really - hell, Ray seemed to have this mentality to always take care of him now. She spent her time to teach him how to read, how to open up emotionally around her more, and even tended to him to keep him healthy and groomed. Zack never asked her to do those things, she just did them on her own free will and would insist when he’d question Ray.

Isaac assumed it was something couples probably did, he was still learning what it was like to be one after all, aside from embraces or even a kiss here and there.

Once Rachel was done setting up their space, she returned to the man’s side, they both sat down to get comfortable and possibly figure out what the plan would be while they were in town. A town like this could mean a bigger score of cash to steal, but it was also a higher risk. To rob someone, they would have to do it on the outskirts of town, and they would have to knock them out, otherwise the murder would draw too much attention.

“Fuck…the only place where I can’t have some damn fun…” Zack grumbled.

Ray saw the look of displeasure on Isaac’s face, then brought a hand up to gently run her fingers through his hair.

“You’ll live, Zack,” she giggled.

Zack’s heterochromatic eyes glanced at the young woman and stuck his tongue out at her, sometimes he did have a habit of acting a little childish, but he was surprised when Rachel stuck her tongue out back in retaliation. Damn, she amused him so much, no wonder he had fallen for her hidden charms.

Ray noticed Zack’s hair was starting to get in his face more often, even his hoodie couldn’t keep the lengthening stands tamed.

“Your hair is getting longer,” she spoke.

“I know,” Isaac huffed, “We don’t exactly have scissors now, do we?”

Rachel thought for a second, then tugged Zack’s hood back to expose the rest of his dark locks. Her own hair began to grow back ever since her search was called off, and a few times she’d tie it back to try a new look. The young woman had kept a couple hair ties in her pocket in case she needed them, and now was a good time.

“Here…turn your back to me…” Ray spoke softly.

Zack wasn’t sure what Ray was up to, but did as she asked. Naturally, he didn’t like being told what to do, with Ray though, he knew she often did with good intentions.

Her fingers were gentle at pulling his loose strands of hair back, then carefully bunch them up in the palm of her hand. Zack felt a slight tug, but it wasn’t painful, then something bind his hair together. Once Rachel was done, Zack was immediately curious at what she just did and felt at the back of his head, he could feel a tuft of hair tied back while some of his bangs dangled freely in his face.

“There, it shouldn’t be a problem for you anymore,” Ray said, rather proudly.

“I guess, til we eventually get the damn thing cut,” Zack mumbled.

He then noticed Ray giving him a look of observation - or rather, admiration. Sometimes when she gave Isaac that look, he often felt his cheeks grow warm, as he was still trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to something like that.

“W-what’s with the damn puppy eyes?” he stuttered.

“I don’t think we should cut it, I think like this…you look rather attractive…”

Zack’s mind went completely fucking blank. She just said something about him he’d thought he’d never hear. Attractive, something or someone that was pleasing to the eye of another, and she just said that about him.

“…Did…did you just say…that I was…a-attractive?” Zack asked with hesitation.

How he was speaking right now wasn’t in his character, but how he was feeling in this moment, it couldn’t be prevented.

Ray faintly blushed as she nodded, “Yeah, I did.”

If there was a look of someone who just got hit by Cupid’s arrow, Zack’s expression was it. He was flustered, befuddled and downright love-struck. Complimenting him with kindness was one thing, but doing so with adoration was another, and he was too stunned to respond.

“H-holy fuck, Ray…” he mutters.

Now he’s retreating his flustered expression in his hoodie, quickly pulling it over his face, his brain was screaming at him to do so many things at once while at the same time he was absolutely confused over what the hell to do first. Isaac eventually brought his finger up to gesture for her to come over to him, Ray complied to his silent beckoning and situated herself to the front of him. The gruff man was quick to wrap his arm around her waist and yank her onto his lap, and within seconds, he captured her lips with his.

Ray was caught off guard for a moment, but didn’t hesitate to comply, his kisses did have a wild nature to go with Zack’s personality, but it was still very tender.

‘Don’t overdo it, god, there’s so much you wanna do to her just for saying that shit,’ Zack mentally said to himself, ‘…maybe just a little push…’

He soon deepened the kiss to give her that stronger sense of affection, just this once, just for that compliment alone she deserved him to not hold back for a moment.

With their bodies in close proximity of each other, Zack could feel Ray’s heart pounding wildly as she caved in. It was a little rare for them to kiss to this degree, mostly because Zack had a little trouble controlling his untamed behavior when it gave him new urges to act upon. Yet, they both secretly enjoyed when they did, it was primal just as it was endearing, and their taste did leave them with a craving for more. It was only a matter of time until they had to unwillingly part and regain their breath, Rachel’s face was slightly flushed from the feeling of desire that overcame the both of them.

Fuck, it was cute, and so damn tempting. Her expression was innocent, but also vulnerable, and his predacious disposition just wanted to swoop in and claim her lips just once more. Even his hands wanted to do more than just hold her close to him, there was a lot of inner thoughts and instincts just screaming at him right now, and it felt like a war to fight it all back.

Zack may feel like he wanted to do more in their relationship, but he knew that Ray possibly wasn’t ready yet. Their relationship was built mainly on trust and patience – most of that patience coming from Ray. Zack had to learn to be just a patient too, otherwise what they had now would wind up complicated and frustrating. It wasn’t his habit to do so, but this was a requirement.

To satisfy his conflicted need, he brought his hand to cradle Ray’s soft cheek as he leaned close to press his lips against hers one final time. It was a tame kiss - simple, short, and sweet.

Once he pulled himself back, he gave her a smug grin, “You’re lucky I’m gonna behave myself, especially when you’re saying that kind of stuff to me.”

“What would’ve happened if you didn’t?” Ray asked.

Zack had that feeling that she was either lightly prodding him, or she must really be that naïve, he leaned close as his grin turned slightly devilish.

“Do you really wanna know?” he whispered, his tone of voice was slightly deep and even alluring.

That and the thought of the possibility for Zack’s lack of restraint made her face turn a deep shade of red. Ray’s reaction made Isaac quietly laugh as he playfully ran his fingers through her golden locks, the young woman sure was fun to tease, he’ll have to admit that.

As the hours into the night passed, Zack let Ray go to sleep before him, he wanted to keep watch for a couple of hours before assuming it was safe enough to rest alongside her.

The man had pulled his hood back as he played with the restrained tuft of hair in the back of his head. Zack couldn’t stop feeling that strange sense of inner joy when Ray called him attractive, he never thought himself as such, yet Ray’s the only person on earth to make him feel wanted - not just because of their oath but as someone to share their life with.

Zack decided he may keep his looks the way they are just to hear those words again, he may not know when, but one day soon.

#khymer's fanfics #that our bond series thing #satsuriku no tenshi

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pyxyystyxx · 8 years

Text

Breathe

Scott can’t breathe due to his asthma. It’s nothing new, not even the fact that he’s misplaced his inhaler again. It’s the reason why Stiles keeps one in his locker.

After all, it’s nothing new, not even the not breathing part. Stiles is, unfortunately, rather familiar with the concept. There have been and still are many reasons Stiles can’t breathe. Stiles has had panic and anxiety attacks since his mother died, that’s when it all started. He was six at the time, and add that onto top of his ADHD and you had a recipe for disaster.

By the time Stiles turned ten he realized that something was wrong, something was off about him. He couldn’t quite tell what, but he didn’t feel like he fit in his skin.

That feeling stayed and got progressively worse as he got older, started developing a figure, he wasn’t meant to have hips or breasts, it was wrong. It’s when he told his dad, that things got better… kind of. He discovered what the word transgender meant, discovered there was a word that fit what he was feeling, that he fit in somewhere. It made breathing easier. It helped that his panic attacks where lessening too.

But, but he still had breasts, small as they were, still had hips, even if those weren’t so bad, but worst of all was that he still had, well…

But at the end of every day he just had to remember to breathe.

“Take a shower, wash off the day. Drink a glass of water. Make the room dark. Lie down and close your eyes. Notice the silence. Notice your heart. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it, after all. You made it, another day. And you can make it one more. You’re doing just fine.”

It was something he had discovered and sometimes it helps. Sometimes.

Now wasn’t it though, when his dysphoria was crushing him and swallowing him whole. It didn’t matter that nobody but Scott (who now no longer needed his inhaler, no longer had asthma, no longer worried about not being able to breathe, finally felt like he belonged and fit. Stiles tried not to be resentful), his dad, and his doctor’s knew. It didn’t matter that his chest was flat, that he didn’t menstruate because of the hormone therapy. It didn’t matter, Stiles knew, knew that his body didn’t fit. He just wanted to crawl out of his skin, shed it like a snake does after it’s outgrown itself. He wished he could, but he couldn’t and it mattered.

It is why he wore his binder, all day every day, regardless of whether or not it was healthy, despite what his doctors, his dad, Scott, or the internet said. He only took it off to shower or sleep, and only reluctantly, and if he didn’t sleep or shower for a few days, nobody had to know except him. After all, sometimes, Adderall was like that.

It was the first thing he put on in the morning, he wore it when he exercised because men had muscles (it didn’t matter that he was perpetuating the cycle of hyper-masculinity that ran rampant in today’s society, it helped), he wore it when he was fighting for his life against supernatural creatures, he wore it when he played lacrosse, when he was in class, when he studied, when he was hanging out with the pack, he wore it.

Sometimes it hurt, made his chest ache, like his lungs were collapsing, caving, imploding. He was dying inside, so he figured, what did it matter that he couldn’t breathe.

On days like this, when the feel of his skin made him shudder, and Scott couldn’t help, Stiles would run (it made the aches and hurt worse but he didn’t care). He would start in the woods (by the Hale house because it was relatively safe and he’s been caught and captured and kidnapped too many times in too many other places to risk going anywhere else) and run until he physically couldn’t anymore. At that point he would fall to his knees and wait until there was no black around his vision and he didn’t feel like his heart would explode.

Except, except this time, this time as he was running he felt it, like something giving way in his chest. He stopped, gasping for breath, clutching at his chest. Stiles didn’t even have the thought to call for help before he was falling into darkness.

When Stiles wakes up he can breathe just fine, even if his chest does feel a little weird. There is a faint beeping but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he floats towards consciousness. When Stiles finally opens his eyes it is to see the pack scattered around the room. Scott is sitting in the chair closest to the bed, Isaac is sitting in the other chair on the other side of the bed, his head resting against the edge. Lydia, Boyd, and Erica hovering around the door, and Derek pressed into the back corner of the room, like the creeper he is.

Stiles has a moment to wonder why he’s in here, wonder what happened to him this time when he remembered with suddenly clarity the pain in his chest. The next immediate thought had horror dawning on him as he noticed that something was missing. His binder was gone, and they could see, the pack could see him.

Stiles could feel the panic enveloping him in a huge crashing wave. Anger and shame and fear and despair and panic and every other negative feeling all wrapped into one overtook him. The machine to monitor his heart rate started beeping frantically, the werewolves becoming overwhelmed by the smell of his emotions.

He couldn’t breathe. God damn it all, he couldn’t breathe.

There was darkness encroaching around his vision, his hands fluttered uselessly at his chest, the pack who had all been anxiously hovering now began to swim in his eyes. He passes out again before Melissa can arrive.

The second time Stiles woke up it was dark, faint moonlight pouring in through the thin window curtain. He thought he was alone for a moment, until he sensed another presence in the room, and it could really only be one person at this point so he decided to get the inevitable conversation out of the way now. No point in holding off one’s own execution.

“Stop being a creeper wolf, Creeper Wolf.” Stiles called out hoarsely. Derek stepped out of the dark corner of the room, scowl firmly in place. His arms crossed over his broad chest, and he looked more imposing and, well, dangerous then Stiles had ever seen him. He had never feared Derek, not ever, but now laid up in this hospital bed, his secret exposed, he truly feared what Derek would do to him.

Derek must have picked up on it too, a looked of confusion crossed his features as his nostrils flared, as if he thought he might be mistaken about what the smell could be. Realization appeared on his face after a moment though, and he seemed to shrink in on himself. His arms uncrossing and his hands going to his pockets, his shoulders curling in some, this back curving so he was slightly hunched. It was like watching a tiger declaw itself, the way Derek made himself look … smaller? open? vulnerable? soft? There was a word that was right at the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite grasp it, so Stiles left it alone and instead focused on Derek who was approaching the side of his bed and, subsequently, sitting down on it.

They stayed in a rather tense silence for a while. Stiles didn’t want to be the one to start the conversation so he resisted the urge to babble and waited. Eventually Stiles heard Derek sigh and he immediately tensed, that was Derek’s I-really-don’t-want-to-have-to-talk-about-this-any-more-than-you-do-but-it’s-going-to-happen-regardless sigh.

“The doctor says you have two broken ribs, and a rather significant amount of damage to a few others.” Derek said in his low baritone. Stiles swallowed roughly. Broken ribs meant bad things, aside from the physical ones of having broken bones, but more specifically it meant no binding, for a few months at the very least. What was he going to do? He couldn’t go around without it, it was non-negotiable. He could feel the panic from before creeping back in as he thought of trying to function without it.

Derek grabbed his hand, and Stiles flinched, but didn’t try and move away. The grip wasn’t hard, or very strong. It seemed more like it was there for comfort and support.

“Nobody is upset Stiles, at least not about,” Derek flicked his eyes down pointedly, it made Stiles want to cover his chest with his arms, but honestly he thinks that might hurt more than it was worth, “but we are… saddened by the fact you didn’t trust us with your secret. And rather upset that you injured yourself in the process.” Stiles thinks this is the most he’s ever heard Derek speak. he’s probably said more words in since he sat down than he has since they met.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean to make you guys worry, it was… I just didn’t know how any of you would react or if you would be accepting or,” or if you would kick me out of the pack, “anything. I’m sorry.”

Derek sighed again and shook his head before giving Stiles a small smile and gently squeezing his hand. Derek stood and made his way to the door, turning right before he was about to walk out. “Your dad will be by in the morning once his shift is over. In the meantime, get some sleep.”

Just as the door was closing Stiles called out a good night, which was softly returned. Then it was just him and his thoughts. They weren’t as chaotic as before and there was significantly less anxiety now.

Stiles settled down and got comfortable, and was blissfully asleep less than a minute later.

Things became a little easier after that. Until Stiles could wear his binder he just wore too big hoodies, so not too different than what his usual style was, and even after that he really only wore it out in public. He stopped wearing it at home and at the pack house. Everyone was accepting and didn’t look at him any differently. It was liberating, freeing, like a weight had been lifted off his chest (pun definitely intended, and Stiles can’t wait until he can finally get top surgery because then he can make so many more terrible jokes). Derek was a major part in boosting his self-esteem and they eventually started dating (which, holy cow never in a million years did Stiles suspect that Derek would feel the same, it’s like a dream come true honestly).

Stiles can breathe much easier now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

so i’m trying to get back into the swing of really writing again and i was only planning on this being like 500 words, but then my brain was like ‘why don’t we make this 2k words instead’… very irritating. also as a side note, while i am genderfluid i am not the typical version of a ‘trans’ person, so if i have anything wrong please don’t hesitate to let me know. as a bit of a side note, i’ve never written anything for teen wolf so if i don’t have the characterizations just write that would be why.

now i stumbled across this prompt on @totally0random ‘s page by @illbeyourgentlemanstory and fell in love with it, so this is the end result, hope you guys enjoyed! pyxy out

#teen wolf #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #my fic #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek #sterek fic #prompt #trans stiles stilinski #trans stiles #my post #writing #my writing

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