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the20thangel · 2 months

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Playing with Fire

Summary: This is a Tumblr request: a Targaryen reader who resembles a lot of Daemon. Like she's not afraid to fight. And there are stories of her, and when Benjicot meets her, he's in love. Like down bad. And when they fight together, it is whispered that they are alike and fit so well. And it gets back to Rhaenyra, who betrothes them. Even if they have already done that nasty thing together. (🫣) I hope that makes sense, and using a name is okay.

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+

Word count: 3519

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

Princess Alyssa yawned; her flight to the Riverlands from Dragonstone was long. All she wanted was to get to her destination and take a long nap. She regretted not taking her mother’s advice to land at Harrenhal for a moment and rest, especially since her father, Prince Daemon, was there. She just did not want to see her father right now. Alyssa was her father’s daughter, just like her father was grandmother Alyssa's son. They all burn hot, especially their temperament, and sometimes they would slightly singe each other in arguments. She loved her father with all her heart, but sometimes, being alone with him without her mother to calm them both would do more damage than good. That is why Alyssa chose to fly past Harrenhal and continue to Raventree Hall.

Raventree Hall recently got a new Lord to rule the land. Lord Benjicot Blackwood proudly took his place as lord after the tragic death of his father, Lord Samwell. Her mother, Queen Rhaenyra, tasked her with welcoming the lord in his position and asking him to swear allegiance again to her. Alyssa was chosen as the representative of her mother’s council. Princess Alyssa was proud to be her mother’s representative; people often called her mother’s sword. She would gladly give up her life fighting for her family and their rightful places in the realm.

As she flew closer to her destination, she remembered the conversation she overheard her mother’s council had before she left. They wanted to find a betrothal for her, preferably one that would benefit her mother’s cause. Alyssa scoffed; all the men, heirs, and lords she had met so far were too weak. Some feared having a wife who would rather fight battles than sit all day and embroider pretty patterns on their clothes. At the same time, others were too busy flaunting their skills, like peacocks trying to one-up each other, thinking that they would impress the dragon princess. She knew it was her duty to marry one day, but none seemed good enough for her. Her thoughts were cut off as she arrived at Raventree Hall, seeing the famous weirwood tree filled with ravens and crows rather than red leaves. Commanding her dragon to land in the closest clearing, thinking the people will probably not enjoy having a dragon land on a tower and causing damage to the castle.

Once landed, Alyssa jumped down from her dragon, Gaelithox, a beautiful black dragon with a few red scales, looking like lava flowing across his body. Many people were afraid to be close to him, so it seemed fitting that they were made to bond. As she scratched under his chin, showing her gratitude through their bond for reaching their destination safely, Alyssa heard a group of men walking towards her. Turning around, Alyssa noticed a beautiful woman in the middle of the group, Alysanne Blackwood, a woman whom Alyssa greatly respected—a fierce warrior who did not care for silly men and their silly games.

Alyssane Blackwood was surprised to hear dragon wings fly over her family’s castle and more shocked to see Princess Alyssa.

“Princess Alyssa, welcome to Raventree Hall. We were not expecting your presence here, my princess,” greeted Alyssane.

“Forgive the sudden appearance, but my mother wanted to send congratulations to the new Lord of House Blackwood… and where may this lord be?” asked Alyssa cocking her head to the side.

“He will be back soon. He needed to check on a few things on our outer border of the lands. Come, let me take you to your chamber and let you refresh up before meeting with my nephew,” led Alyssane as she and her party turned back into the castle.

Alyssa stared momentarily before turning to her dragon, “Jikagon arghugon.” Asking her dragon to find food. As Gaelithox launched himself into the air, Alyssa finally moved to follow the Blackwood party.

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

Alyssa sighed in tranquility; she needed a steaming bath to ease her sore muscles from being on the dragon's back for too long. As she prepared to lower herself, a knock broke her out of her tranquil state. Huffing in annoyance, she quickly stood with only a bathrobe covering her body. As she creaked open the door, she was greeted by a servant girl. The girl told her that her lord had finally returned and invited the princess to a small feast. Alyssa thanked the girl and told her she would be there soon.

She did not need servants' assistance because she did not bring any gowns. Alyssa was her mother’s representative of the crown, so she needed to be ready for anything coming her way. A gown would only hinder her ability to defend herself. She dresses herself in a black and red riding coat and trousers. The shoulders of her coat were made to look like dragon scales. Her riding coat looked alot like the one her mother used to wear when she was younger. After she tied her hair into braids, she fastened her sword to her belt and walked out of her guest chambers. There, a guard bowed and led the way to the feast hall.

At the top of the hall stood a grand table with what Alyssa could assume was Benjicot Blackwood, the new lord of House Blackwood. Young men wearing House Tully colors were to his left, and to his right was Alyssane Blackwood. Alyssane noticed the princess first, turning to whisper to her nephew as he quickly scanned for the princess, his eyes widening when they found her.

As Alyssa looked at the young lord, she couldn’t help but be impressed with his appearance. He was pretty handsome, with a certain charm of a warrior, from the scar on his lips and his storming hazel eyes. He had a smirk on his lips as he gazed upon the princess. Alyssa noted how his house colors were so close to her own. She hadn’t worn red in a while, but still, both houses’ colors were indeed complementary of each other.

Benjicot was surprised by Alyssa Targaryen’s appearance, as he had heard the rumors that the Princess was just like her grandmother. Who preferred to wear riding trousers rather than dress in pretty gowns and loved to sword fight. He just was not expecting to have such a gorgeous woman stand in front of him. The princess dressed in not the highest quality gowns found in court to diminish her beauty, but Benjicot only seemed to think that it highlighted her beauty more. She looked ever the part of Valyrian women from Old Valyria, just like his maester used to teach him. Alyssane, noticing her nephew ogling the princess, cleared her throat.

“Princess, it is my honor to introduce you to my nephew, Lord Benjicot Blackwood, lord of Raventree Hall of House Blackwood.” she introduced as she nudged her nephew to stand and bow.

“My Princess, House Blackwood welcomes you, and it is an Honor to have you here.” bowed Benjicot, giving her a smirking grin.

Alyssa nodded with a grin, “You honor me, Lord Benjicot.”

“Please call me Ben or Benji. My name is too much of a mouthful to say,” stated Benji, flushing when the princess smirked at him.

“My, such liberties, I guess I should provide the lord the very same for being such a gentleman. Very well, you may call me Alyssa.” Graced Alyssa, laughing at Ben’s ever-growing redder face with a wild grin showing up on his face.

“Please let us continue the feast in honor of your new lord,” Alyssa exclaimed, and the crowd cheered.

Benji sat down with a grin, turning to the Tully brothers, who smirked and made smooching faces at him. Alyssa walked to sit next to Alyssane, but the lady stood there and allowed the princess to take her seat next to Benji. As they continued with the feast, Alyssa spoke with those around, finding their presence welcoming; after some light teasing, the Tully brothers followed in, being more familiar with the princess and not so courtly. This is where Alyssa thrived, creating genuine connections with people, not court pleasantries and kissing ass to try and get favors.

Once they were well into their wine, Oscar turned to the princess, “So, Alyssa, are the rumors true that you can beat ten men at once in a duel?”

Alyssa raised an eyebrow, chuckling, “I don’t know when the rumors become so dramatic; it wasn’t ten men.”

Which intrigued the rest of the group, “But you did beat a group of men in a duel?” asked Kermit.

Alyssa hmmed, turning to stare at the men, noticing Benji’s curious face with a hint of something that she couldn’t pinpoint yet.

“Would you all like to find out? Tomorrow, you, Oscar, and Ben can all fight me at a duel.” Alyssa asked as Oscar and Kermit's faces paled. While Ben nodded, he wanted to see more of her.

“Ah, on second thought, how about just Ben? Fighting him is like fighting twenty men,” countered Kermit nervously.

Alyssa laughed at the sudden excuse, agreeing to the term she and Benji would fight a duel, one that everyone started betting on who would win. Alysanne smiled and noted how comfortable the princess and her nephew were with each other.

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

The next day, a huge group formed on the training grounds, all wanting to see the princess and their lord duel. As the princess walked to the ground, she extended her arm to Benji, who took it and shook her hand.

“First to yield wins the match!” exclaimed Oscar, and the rest of the group buzzed excitedly.

“Best of luck to you, Ben. Don’t hold out on me.” wished Alyssa.

“And to you, my princess.” agreed Benji as he took his stance.

With that, Alyssa raised her sword and swung it while Benjicot dodged it quickly and moved to the side to swing his own. Alyssa smiled, thinking how much fun this match will be as she pivoted away from the lord. She tried to kick his legs, but Benji saw through her moves and jumped. In return, he tried to grab her leg, but the princess did a back handspring. She had the advantage she did not fight like men; she used her grace to make moves such as cartwheels and handsprings to evade her opponents. Benji grinned at the princess’s ingenuity. He kept being surprised more and more by her. As the two continued the dance of striking and dodging, Alyssa decided to act on a move she had only tried on her brothers before. She ran to Benji, and as she was about to reach him, she slid, knocking him down on the floor on top of her. Then, as he struggled to catch his breath, she flipped him, enclosing her legs on his waist as she raised both her and his sword to his neck.

Everyone gasped, seeing the lord finally react to his position, grinning at the princess who could beat him; she, in turn, was smiling at him.

“I believe I won, Ben,” she taunted as the crowd cheered the princess. She had beaten Bloody Ben in a duel.

Alysanne laughed, seeing her nephew's love-stricken eyes. Of course, her nephew would fall for someone who could beat him in a duel. She was planning to write to the queen about how the princess was doing, but she also decided to write about how close and comfortable the princess and nephew were becoming with each other.

Alyssa was breathing heavily, still basking in her glory, when she felt something poking underneath her. She gasped once she recognized what it was. Ben was still huffing underneath her, and he could not help but groan in embarrassment, having the princess feel his growing bulge poke her. Alyssa quickly stood up, suddenly feeling warm in her stomach. She tried to act like feeling him did not affect her, so she extended her arm to help him. Ben took her hand before kneeling and kissing it.

“I, Benjicot Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, swore my fealty to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful queen to the iron throne, and her daughter, Princess Alyssa.” pledge the young lord as the rest of the crowd quickly bowed.

Feeling uncharacteristically overly warm, Alyssa nodded, “As… as representative of my mother, the queen, I, Princess Alyssa Targaryen, thank you, my lord. House Blackwood will be a great ally for House Targaryen.” As she turned around, her cheeks heated up, still riling from feeling him underneath her.

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

Alyssa was frustrated; she was still warm after bathing and changing clothes to a simple silk dress. She never felt like this before, so hot and bothered. Instead of feeling disgusted by the apparent lust from Benji, she felt excited. This infuriated her; what was she supposed to do? She didn’t know how to act, but her body was pleading, pleading for her to find answers with Benjicot. After letting out a frustrated growl, she decided to see the young lord. Stepping out in a thicker coat, she asked the guard to take her to Benjioct’s chambers, urging her to speak to him urgently.

Once she reached the lord's chambers, she knocked, waiting for him to answer, dismissing the guard and thanking him. Benji opened his door to see the princess standing there; he invited her in when he noticed she was only wearing a thin silk dress underneath her coat, feeling his trousers tighten again.

As he opened to ask the princess about her troubles, Alyssa growled in frustration.

“You, Ben, are my troubles; you have cast a spell on me,” Alyssa explained as she approached him. “You are not like any of the men I have met before; you do not see me as a royal womb; you see me as a person. You make my body call out for you and-”

Benjicot cut her off by kissing her passionately, bringing her body to his, pushing away the heavy coat, and snaking his arms around her waist.

“You, my princess, accused me of casting a spell on you when, in reality, you did on me, I just responded. You don’t know how gorgeous you are, how your body encaptures mine. How I yearn for you.” whispered Benji as he kissed her with each word, going down and down to her neck.

Alyssa gasped, “Show me, show me how much you yearn.” as she kissed Benjicot.

The young lord growled into the kiss as he raised her and dropped her onto his bed, setting himself on her. As they continued to kiss, Alyssa snaked her hand down his body until she reached his stiff burgled, messaging it, growing in delight hearing Benji’s groan into her mouth.

“You are playing close with fire, my princess..” whispered Benji, staring into her purple eyes.

Alyssa smirked, “I am not afraid of fire, my lord.”

Benji leaned down to capture her lips, raising a leg around his waist as he slowly started to grind himself on her, causing the princess to moan in his mouth, grabbing his hand and placing it on her breast. Benjicot moved down her neck and began kissing and biting her neck, leaving noticeable love bites.

“Ben… so good... Please,” whispered Alyssa as she moved her hips, grinding her soaking clothed cunt to his stiff bludge.

Benji grunted his hands on her hips, stopping their movements and making the princess whine.

“Shhh… I don’t want to finish so fast; I’m not done with you yet, princess,” whispered Benji as he raised the princess’s dress from about her head.

“You have too many clothes on, Ben,” whispered Alyssa as she sat up and helped Benji remove his shirt as the young man threw off his trousers.

“You’re gorgeous, Alyssa,” breathed Benji, tracing his fingers down her body and reaching for her soaking entrance.

“Please don’t tease me; I ache too much to be teased.” pleaded Alyssa, gasping in delight and feeling a finger slip in her entrance.

“That’s my good girl, taking my finger so well,” growled Benji as he continued to pump his finger in and out of her entrance, slowly adding a second and a third finger.

Alyssa writhed in delight, moving her hand to her sensitive bud, messaging it to match the rhythm Ben was moving his fingers in, feeling a growing sensation in her stomach.

“That’s it, sweet girl, find your release, show me how much you love my fingers inside of you, wishing it was my cock.” grunted Benicot with hooded eyes, watching her becoming undone.

“Ben, please, I want…no, I need your cock. I want to finish on your cock.” stated Alyssa with small tears in her eyes as she stared into those hazel eyes.

Growling in delight, Benjicot out his fingers and aligned his cock to the princess’s soaking entrance. Looking for her approval, Alyssa nodded and moaned loudly, feeling Benji enter her; it was a pleasurable pain. Before Ben could start moving, Alyssa stopped him. Benjicot looked at her with questioning eyes. Alyssa deviously grinned as she flipped them, with Benjicot at the bottom and Alyssa on top.

“Let me show you a skill of a dragon rider,” whispered Alyssa as she started bouncing on his cock.

Benjicot moaned, closing his eyes; he was so deep in her, her walls sucking him in deeper and deeper.

“Ugh… open you eyes… I want to see your beautiful eyes.” commanded Alyssa, raising his head more.

Benjicot opened his eyes, thinking he had gone to paradise, for an angel was riding him, moving those beautiful pale hips up and down, side to side. His cock went in and out of her entrance. The sounds of soaking and sweating skin slapping each other. Not wanting just to sit by, he grabbed her hips and helped Alyssa move up and down with a harder and more precise force. He was causing the princess to moan more.

“You are mine; nobody will ever come close to you, just like I will be yours,” promised Benjicot, feeling his release coming closer and closer.

Alyssa felt her release also close and decided to lock her legs around him; she needed him to release in her; she would take it nowhere else.

Benjicot saw what she was doing and asked if she was sure. The princess, still bouncing on his lap, expressed how much she needed him to fill her. With that, Benji kissed his princess, filling her womb to the brim. Alyssa moaned into his mouth, letting her release milk him in deeper, feeling content in feeling him fill her up.

As the princess and lord finished, they lay on his bed, with her on top of him. Benji petted her hair, catching his breath as he felt her breath on his neck. Alyssa looked up, caressing his cheek.

“I hope this is not a one-time thing; I really like you, Ben,” confessed Alyssa.

Benjicot looked down at the princess, gracing her with a dazzling smile, “I adore you. I could not just let you go. I want you as my wife.”

Alyssa smiled, kissing him again before the two let slumber take to the land of dreams.

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

The following week, Alyssa felt like she was in a pleasant dream, hunting with Ben and the boys, training with them, and flying her dragon freely without worrying about a war brewing. Also, there were times when Benjicot and she had much time to themselves, using it to take her in the woods, her chambers, and even once in the library. She was content.

She was currently on his lap in his chambers, kissing him as the lord moved his hands to her waist, moving her body to start grinding on him. When a loud knock shocked them out of the mood. Growling, the Princess removed herself from his lap, sitting on the chair, crossing her legs as she pretended to be reading. Benjicot sighed, annoyed at being interrupted, opening the door to show his aunt, whose grin only grew when she saw the princess in his room. Benjicot knew technically the princess should not be in his chambers as he invited his aunt in, asking her if something had happened.

“A letter arrived from Dragonstone..” started Alysanne, noticing Princess Alyssa narrow her eyebrows in confusion.

“Is everything alright? Did something happen?” asked Alyssa, worried that she had neglected her mother’s protection.

Alysanne shook her head, “The queen is asking for your return and House Blackwood to present ourselves to Dragonstone.”

“Did she give a reason, Aly,” asked Benjicot, seeing Alyssa worry even more.

“I wrote to the queen how much you two seem to like each other, and the queen and I decided it would be best to unify our house. We will be going to Dragonstone to discuss a potential marriage between you both,” explained Alysaane, watching in delight as Benjicot smiled widely, turning to face the princess, who stood in shock.

“I guess I will be fulfilling my dream of making you my wife,” said Benji as he took the princess into his arms and kissed her.

#benjicot blackwood/oc #benjicot blackwood #hotd fanfic #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #targaryen reader #benjicot x reader #bloody ben

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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hi! What about a fic if one of the Mauraders or TASM peter with a reader who's insecure about her big boobs? Like ik everyone thinks it's ideal but honestly sometimes it really sucks when shirts don't fit right or everything looks slutty or u can't go braless or alternatively a fic about their gf overhearing someone say they r an ass man but she has a small butt?

Thank you for requesting!

cw: insecurity around breast size

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re looking in the mirror, and you want to feel good about yourself. Really, everything looks the way it should. Your hair looks better than it would on an average day, that new eyeshadow thing you tried actually turned out nicely, and your dress fits the way it’s supposed to.

Just, the way it’s supposed to fit doesn’t really seem right to you at the moment.

“Peter,” you call in the direction of the bathroom, “if I ask you about something, can you promise to be honest with me?”

You hear water splash in the shower, signaling your boyfriend is finally rinsing out his hair. In classic Peter fashion, he seems like he’s going to be late to his own banquet. Oscorp is having a formal event to recognize the achievements of their scientists this year. Peter’s done even more than most, and he’s expected to give a speech before the food comes out which you’ll be lucky to make at this rate. You were supposed to get ready together, but he’d spent the majority of the time flirting with you while you did your makeup in your pajamas.

“Duh, I’m always honest,” he calls back. The shower shuts off. “That’s why they call me your friendly, honest, neighborhood spider-man.” A pause. You wonder if he can sense the dry look you’re sending his way. “Fine, but I’m always honest with you. Shoot, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You give yourself one final, disappointed look-over in the mirror before heading towards the bathroom door. “I’m serious, don’t sugarcoat anything, but do you think—”

The door swings open, and Peter’s right in front of you, beads of water still visible on his torso and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“—this is too slutty?” you finish, quieter, right as he blurts, “Oh my god.”

Peter blinks. His head does a tiny shake, as if trying to rid himself of a dizzy spell. “What?” he asks.

Probably not your best phrasing. “I just mean, is it too booby,” you try again. You have the urge to tuck your arms around your middle self-consciously, but you worry that would only make the boob predicament worse.

“Baby.” Peter’s still looking at you like you’re speaking another language. “What?”

You look down at your highly visible cleavage, then back up at him. “You know what I mean,” you say softly.

“Okay, speaking from a strictly male standpoint,” Peter says, unabashed as his eyes dip to where yours just where, “I can’t condone the idea that there is such a thing as too booby. But even if I was, like, a ninety-five year old conservative woman, I couldn’t—I would still think you look beautiful.”

Your heart balloons. It’s not a compliment you got much before you met Peter. Hot, sexy, sure, but not beautiful.

“God.” The word slips from your boyfriend’s mouth so softly it almost sounds like a prayer. His hands find your waist, skimming down the satiny material of your dress to rest on your hips. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. Is that the eyeshadow trick you were talking about?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “You watched me do it.”

“It looks different with the dress on,” he agrees. “Fuck. Not to be corny, but you’re seriously taking my breath away. I can’t breathe right now.”

A little laugh stutters out of you, and Peter smiles. He’s looking rather breathtaking himself, fresh-faced from the shower with a piece of damp hair still clinging to his forehead. You unstick it and comb it back in with the others already fluffed up after being toweled off. He smells like his shampoo.

“Can I kiss you,” he asks, “or will I mess up your makeup?”

“Be careful,” you warn, smiling as you lean in.

He is, but his hands give away his hunger, bunching in the fabric at the base of your spine to get you closer. He makes a low, needy sound in the back of his throat, and for half a second you wonder if it’s for your benefit but then you remember that he was right earlier. Peter is always honest with you.

You laugh when you pull away, going to get a bit of tissue paper to blot away the lipstick you’ve left on him. A glance in the bathroom mirror shows that yours is, thankfully, intact.

“Are you sure this dress will be appropriate?” you ask, less insecure now but still nervous as you wipe at Peter’s upper lip. “Regardless of how much you like it, it’s still a formal thing and I don’t want to be…indecent.” You cringe. There’s no word that sounds nice.

Your boyfriend’s brows furrow. His hands skim up your arms, and he looks like he’s about to reply when you fold the toilet paper and stick it between his lips. “Blot,” you murmur.

He does. “Baby.” He squeezes your upper arms, a silent request for you to look up at his eyes. You find them soft and earnest. “There’s nothing inappropriate about what you’re wearing. It is a formal thing, and you’re wearing a formal dress. You look beautiful.” That word again. Your cheeks burn. Peter kisses one of them. “No one is going to have anything to say about how you look other than how beautiful you are,” he promises.

You let the sincerity of his words seep into you, pooling like a warm drink in your belly. The inside of your lip finds its way between your teeth. Now you’re feeling bashful for other reasons.

It’s obvious by Peter’s grin that he can tell. He gives your arms another squeeze before moving you out of the way and going to where his clothes are laid out on the bed.

“Actually, that’s pretty convenient for me.” He discards the towel on the floor, slipping on a pair of boxers and then starting to button up his dress shirt. “You’ve just taken a whole bunch of pressure off my speech, sweetheart. No way anyone’s gonna be looking at me while I’m up there.”

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richarlotte · 19 days

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365 Days from Rot to Hot (Pt. 2).

Your word is your bond. You make a promise to yourself; you keep it. You tell yourself you’re going to do better, you do better, and you keep moving forward and doing better no matter how hard it feels at times. You can’t change yourself out of hatred; you have to do it out of a deep love and devotion to yourself. I cherish my body, I love my soul, and I consider my mind to be one of my best non-physical attributes. When I put all three to work and focus all of my energy on something, it’s hard for me to fail. I would urge you to consider making a promise to yourself to do better and focusing all the good energy you can on making sure that you don’t let yourself down.

Small things make up the larger picture. You have to remember that each piece of the puzzle has to fit, and you have to know that if one thing seems or feels out of place, everything will feel off. Imagine you’re getting ready for the most important interview of your life, and you’re done up to the nines; your hair and nails look great, your outfit is stellar, and you step out and see that your perfect dress isn’t so perfect because you didn’t iron it. Take care of the little things and watch the big picture start to make sense. This doesn’t just apply to physical changes; it also applies to emotional and environmental changes.

Watch who you let around you. If you’re unable to completely remove toxicity from your life or limit your interactions with people, control the amount you tell them. For example, I grew up taking care of my younger brother and sacrificed a lot for him, and we are not on good terms at the moment. I’m not able to just not see him, so what I do is limit the amount I tell him about my personal life, keep our conversations bland but polite, and prevent him from judging my life choices. I’d recommend looking up the gray rock method if you’d like to know more about disengaging.

Take the time to write things down. I find that I’ve made the most progress when I’ve taken the time to write things down and reflect upon them later. I had a serious issue with binge eating for several months, and I began writing about the way I felt when I wanted to binge. I was able to track my feelings, recognize when I was beginning to spiral and figure out what had triggered the spiral, and stop my binge eating in its tracks. This wasn’t all I did, but it helped me identify a behavior that negatively impacted my overall welfare and help to stop it. I do the same with people; I take notes of how I feel after spending time with them, and I also take note of how I feel when I visit certain places.

Don’t focus on meeting a man at the beginning of your journey. The first few months of your leveling-up journey should be solely dedicated to building up your confidence, focusing on your career or your education, gathering more skills, and learning to be independent. You shouldn’t start bettering yourself, immediately jump into a relationship, end it when it becomes clear that you two don’t work well together, and then have to start your leveling up journey from the beginning. Pour into yourself during those first few months, learn how to establish boundaries both with yourself and with others, and devote yourself to your journey. Relationships, both with partners and friends, are better when you’re on stable ground and feeling good.

Pt. 3 will be about creating your own aesthetic/brand.

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pandalorian36 · 5 months

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Azriel x reader

A night in a shared hotel room leads to confessions of love.

Word count:2260 Warnings: possessive Azriel, some suggestivness at the end

(Stunning night court divider by @tsunami-of-tears)

I joined the night court long ago, I don't really remember what happened but I was only just an adult when Rhys, Azriel and Cassian found me stumbling about in the snow with no memory of how I got there. They took me in and I found good friends among the court as they became my family. Finding my own magic and skills. I am fast and strong able to beat most in a fight. People learn the hard way not to underestimate me.

Groaning I follow Az into the battered inn shaking the snow from my clothes and feathery wings. The fluffy flakes have stuck to some of the feathers meaning I have to manually brush them off. Azriel stomps back over a singular key dangling from his hand "They only have one room." I shrug shivering "Long as its warm I don't care."

He huffs slightly and starts up the stairs having to stoop under the doorway. The room itself is tiny Az taking up a shocking amount of space, it consists of a small bathroom and a small double bed squashed against the wall and a dresser with a rickety looking chair but its clean and relatively warm.

I am too tired to argue about anything and drop my bag on the dresser peeking into the bathroom there is no way I can fit in the bath with my wings let alone Azriel who is significantly taller. I remove my jacket and begin to fill the sink with no hot water I make it quick scrubbing the dirt from my hands an arms before leaving the bathroom for Azriel.

I hear the water start followed by a large bout of swearing. I bite my lip to stop my laugh I forgot to warn him about the hot water situation. Minutes later he emereges hair dripping and shirtless. "Little cold?" he glares but light shines in his eyes so there is no malice behind it. I tuck my wings in and sit on the edge of the bed "I don't mind sharing. The floor is far too cold."

Az doesn't respond so I turn onto my side getting as close to the wall as I can so he has plenty of space. The bed is not built for those with wings let alone someone of Az's size, the bed dips significantly under his weight making me laugh as I slide into his side "Hello." he rolls his eyes slightly and adjusts his weight so the mattress evens out once more allowing me to move back to where I was.

The room is freezing the thin blanket offering little warmth. I fall into a light sleep exhaustion winning over. Before I fully wake I feel a sense of warmth and content moving closer to the source of heat I find its difficult to move a weight on one of my wings.

Blinking I find I am facing Azriels chest, it takes a moment to fully comprehend our position. One of his wings is under my side another draped over the top while my own almost mirror wrapping around him. His shadows are also wrapped around the both of us twining our limbs together. Azriel grunts slightly his whole body stretching out and I freeze terrified of moving. I'm trapped until he moves his weight.

I look up and find Azriel already awake staring straight back his face bright red. I think its the first time I've ever seen him blush. We both try and pull apart in a tangle of limbs failing completly when he ends up on his back with you sprawled on his chest faces inches apart. Blushing furiously you scrambled up managing to free yourself and fall onto the floor. Knowing how much he struggles with physical contact you stand "Az I'm sorry I didn't. I don't."

He stands combing a hand through his hair still visibly blushing"Its fine." His shadows are dancing around the room wrapping around my legs and arms chuckling slightly I glance down heat instantly rushing to my face as I notice Azriel's situation. Quickly I return my gaze to his face "I'm going to change." Hurridly I enter the bathroom filling the basin with water to splash on my face.

Its true you I have always harboured a crush on the stoic illyrian. He is handsome, kind and though people rarely see it has a wonderful sense of humour. Everything about him draws me in but I have never said anything not wanting to ruin our friendship. It took Azriel longer than the others to trust you but I spent a lot of time proving yourself to him.

Taking a deep breath I exit the bathroom finding Azriel fully clothed and surrounded in shadows. "Bathroom is free." he nods not saying a word as he finishes packing. I pack my own bag slowly and officantly putting my two short swords into place finished by the time Azriel reappears shaking water from his hair I smile slightly "Looks like the storm has passed we should be back in Velaris by this evening."

He nods and grabs his bag remaining silent. I put it down to embarrasment and don't pry following him silently out the room and out into the woods. There is a clean blanket of snow over everything the tiny ice crystals blinking in the sunlight. I smile brightly and expand my wings taking off into the early morning sky the soft flakes fluttering slightly as I move.

Az joins me in the sky the two of us heading towards Velaris. Cassian is first to greet us at the house of wind grinning broadly "Welcome home." before either of us can react he has thrown a snowball hitting Az square in the face. I bite my lip coughing to hide a laugh as Azriel wipes the snow from his face scowling at his brother. A shadow whips out wrapping around his ankle sending Cassian crashing too the floor.

Mor and Rhys walk into the room Rhys shaking his head looking dissapointed "You are back less than five minutes and already fighting?" Cassian grins standing up "I couldn't resist." Mor rolls her eyes "Didn't you get it all out your system last week?" Rhys chuckles "Cas is still sore that he lost. Az, Y/N anything to report?"

We both shake our heads and he nods "Excellent I still want a written report for tomorrow though." Cassian grins "Get caught in the storm last night?" I smile "We stayed at an inn. Didn't want to risk flying in it." he nods solemnly "Very wise." I roll my eyes at him shooting a smile at Azriel "I'm going home I'll send my report this evening. Bye Cass."

Cassian waves flopping down on one of the sofas while I fly home and sink into the bathtub glad for the warm water and space. Changing into comfortable trousers and shirt I sit at my desk and write out my report sending it directly to the house of wind by magic.

Azriel seems to be avoiding me over the coming days at training, dinners always finding excuses to leave the room when I enter. After a week the others begin to catch on Cass and Rhys cornering me after a dinner "What is going on?" I stare up at them confused "Sorry?" Rhys sighs "With Azriel."

I sigh rubbing my forehead "I have no idea. Every time I try and talk to him he finds an excuse to leave. Believe me if I knew what I had done I would apologise for it."

Cassian raises a brow "So hes ignoring you for no reason?" I sigh "I don't know he's been ignorning me since the inn..." Cassian gasps "Did something happen with you two?" I shake my head "No, nothing really. There was only one room left so we ended up sharing a bed but nothing happened."

Rhys grins sharing a look with his brother before leaving I watch them leave confused before shaking my head and heading home. Unlocking the door I remove all jewlery and kick my shoes off to the side jumping when there is a knock at the door.

I open it slowly finding Az his shadows dancing around him as he fidgets with his hands "Azriel?" I cross my arms sighing "Ready to explain why you've been ignoring me? Look if I did anything to offend you I'm sorry. I..."

"You haven't done anything." I must look shocked as he sighs deeply "I'm sorry. May I come in?" I step back allowing him in before shutting the door leaning against it. Az looks uncomfortable his shadows constantly moving around as he shifts his weight.

"Az what is going on you've been ignorning me since the Inn." he sighs taking a step closer "I didn't handle it well I'm sorry. I feel very strongly about you but never wished to pressure you into anything. I know you don't feel the same way..."

"Don't feel the same way," I laugh "Az I'm crazy about you." his face blanks and I take a step closer "Is that why you've been avoiding me? You thought I didn't like you?" He shrugs his shadows winding closer and I can sense there is something else he isn't telling me. I step closer taking one of his hands in mine slowly tracing the scars.

I look up meeting his gaze, he leans down slowly almost nervous as his lips brush against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck his sliding around my waist deepening the kiss. Heat floods through my body electricity shooting through my veins as something inside clicks into place something that feels like home, like a piece I've been missing. I don't know how I missed it my mind becomes clearer Azriel filling every gap.

My whole body sings mate. Azrael wraps his hands under my thighs pulling me up, I wrap my legs around his waist every fibre of my body wanting him, needing him. He pulls away pupils blown growling low "Mate." both of our chests are heaving as he leans in kissing me again moaning against my lips. "Mine."

I moan in response pulling away for air brushing hair out of his face his shadows twining around my arms tickling my skin, I frown kissing him gently this time "You knew didn't you?"

He nods grip tightening on my thighs as he backs me into the nearest wall "I knew from the moment we first met." he presses a kiss on my jaw working his way along speaking between kisses "I have loved you for years never knowing how you felt."

"I never told anyone." I run my fingers through his hair pressing kisses along his cheeks "You kept it to yourself all this time?" he locks his gaze with mine shadows playing with my hair "When you didn't react to the bond I thought I was wrong. But the longer I spent around you I knew I was correct. When ever you weren't around I missed you, when ever Rhys sent you on a mission I worried. I felt drawn to you at every moment wanting too kill any male who got too close."

He runs his hands up my sides "I wanted to tell you. I didn't know how." He kisses my cheeks "I'm shouldn't have kept it from you. I understand if you're mad." I smile blinking back tears "I'm not mad Az. I love you. Have loved you for years."

He tilts his head to the side "Why didn't you say anything? I thought you where ignorning our bond its why I never acted on it." I shake my head tighting my grip on him "No. Az I had no idea. You really thought I was ignoring you?" I sniff willing the tears not to fall "I could never do that to you. I promise you I didn't know. I think it something to do with my memory loss but I don't know. All I know is that you are mine. My mate and I love you with every fibre of my being."

Smiling softly he leans his forehead against mine shutting his eyes "My soul belongs to you Y/N L/N. Every part of me is yours." I cup his face bringing his lips to mine in a soft kiss pouring every ounce of my love into it before pulling away grinning "I believe I owe you a meal." he shakes his head slightly peppering kisses down my throat "Later."

I smirk pushing him away "No we are going to do this properly. You can control yourself for a little longer spy master." I nip at his ear making him growl while you jump to the floor walking through to your kitchen. Azriel slinks after you his shadows wrapped tightly around me waist carassing every inch of skin that is visible while I try and focus on what I am doing.

"Y/N you are testing my patience." I chuckle and turn around an apple in hand "And I thought patience was your strong suit. Do not fret spymaster I have no desire on making you wait." he glowers but takes the apple I offer biting into it and chewing painfully slowly.

He doesn't bother with the rest placing it on the counter smirking "Now I have waited long enough mate." his voice drops dangerously low as he backs me into the counter giving you a look that makes you weak in the knees "You are all mine." ...

#x y/n #x reader #acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #batboys #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #azriel x you #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin

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nikitunez · 2 years

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ζ ゜✿ 。𝙀𝙉𝙃𝙔𝙋𝙀𝙉'𝙎 𝙁𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙈𝙎 𝙊𝙁 𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 𖥧 𓂃 ᨒ ୫

ຊ pairing : enhypen x gn!reader ຊ genre : fluff, headcanon ຊ words : 434 ຊ contains : hugging, kissing, mentions of food ຊ maya's notes : thank you anon for requesting this! i loved writing it! it kinda did turn into a preferred love langues thingy in the middle but i wanted to make each member's hc as unique as possible lol 😭 please leave feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! i would really love to know how everyone found it hehe ❤ if you would like to read more from me, my taglist and requests are open as well! but that's all for now, enjoy reading :)

𝙃𝙀𝙀𝙎𝙀𝙐𝙉𝙂 : honestly, he loves literally any kind of physical affection. but to name a few, there is running your fingers through his hair, giving him tight hugs as well as cheek and forehead kisses, saying i love you, and finally complimenting him for little successes like winning a game or making some good ramen.

𝙅𝘼𝙔 : he's kinda a high maintenance boyfriend and loves when you buy him gifts. it doesn't matter if they're cheap or expensive because for him, everything you gift him is priceless. the gifts could be anything from clothes to food to a short little trip to some nearby town.

𝙅𝘼𝙆𝙀 : if jay is a materialistically high maintenance boyfriend, this boy is high maintenance in every other department. i'm talking words of affirmation and physical affection and kind gestures. give him everything and he's a happy boy. but more specifically just remember to kiss his lips and tell him that you love him every thirty minutes if you can.

𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉 : more than cuddling with him or giving him kisses just make him a large cup of delicious hot chocolate and i promise you he will get down on one knee and ask you to marry him right then and there. but he also really likes when you offer to wash his hair for him for no reason because it's such a silly yet soothing thing to do.

𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙊𝙊 : who needs a massage chair when you exist? he loves when you sense that he's tense and wordlessly start soothing his muscles. for starters, it feels so amazing and relaxing. but also, he realizes how much you care about him and how intuitive you are when it comes to him and all of those emotions just make him feel so grateful to have you.

𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙒𝙊𝙉 : just hold his hand and watch as his eyes fill with love. he likes the way your hands fit together so perfectly, and you don't have to be walking somewhere for him to want you to hold his hand. that and whenever you poke or kiss his cheeks. he swears he hates it but deep down it makes him all warm and fuzzy inside.

𝙉𝙄-𝙆𝙄 : back hugs. make him feel like he's in a kdrama and he will cherish you for life. also whenever you push his hair out of his eyes for him. the way you smile at him when he meets your eye makes his heart skip a beat. he also likes when you feed him. whenever you're eating together, you construct the perfect bite for him and hold your palm under his cheek while asking him to open wide. he loves it.

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eiraeths · 1 month

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For as long as Gaz can remember, he’s associated people with certain songs. It’s no surprise to anyone who’s known him long enough. Music has been a part of his life since day one; a low-volumed CD-radio combo on the kitchen counter always playing in the background and singing along to whatever was playing in the car.

One of his favorite activities growing up was standing behind the school with a group of friends crowded around now outdated technology, showing each other all the favorite songs and whatever came to mind. Even now, with years gone by since he’s last spoken to them, all he has to do is hear their song and he’s stuck reminiscing for the rest of the day. Music is how to make a moment last forever.

He’s not sure what kick-started this little game of mental association of his, but it’s never left him and he never wants it to. Until now, at least.

From the first day he met Soap, he knew Soap would leave a mark on his soul for eternity. He didn’t care for Soap as a person at first either, though his fellow sergeant was too hot-headed; too brash and impulsive. How someone could carve out a space for themself with words alone was beyond Gaz. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to.

But that’s the thing: Soap was so damn good at carving out a space for himself. It wasn’t long before Gaz knew he couldn’t call Soap anything else but a friend. Their time enlisted together marches on and one day a simple friend turns into an occasional-flirt-with and think-what-could-be friend.

Gaz tried to establish a line. He tried to push his pestering emotions down and keep the status quo. Soap had become one of the most important persons in his life and Gaz couldn’t fuck that up. Their flirting—whatever it could be called—was simply another little game, just like Gaz’s music association.

And here comes endearing, impulsive John Soap MacTavish, with his stupidly charming words and larger-than-life personality who crashes through all of Gaz’s trepidations like it’s just another Monday. John Soap MacTavish,who could carve his way into any clique and made sure he fit seamlessly into every crevice—as if he was passively testing fate. Who carved his way into Gaz’s life like he’s been there all along.

Gaz doesn’t remember where that self-imposed line was anymore.

Smooth as ever, Soap slots into Gaz’s daily routine without a single hitch in the process. In no time, so many of Gaz’s favorite songs became reminders of Soap’s place in his life. He shares this with Soap too, of course. This unconditional, amorous thing of theirs means everything is on the table. Every part of them under stage lights for criticism.

Soap’s enamored with all the songs from the start. He doesn’t think it’s strange, even shares his own. After that, the two of them could often be found sitting together sharing a pair of earbuds, whether it be somewhere on base or post-op cooldown.

The love of his life, John Soap MacTavish without a single bone of shame in his body who’d drag Gaz up to dance and single off key and so severely out of tune and not give a damn. Who’d do anything just to see Gaz crack a smile or shake his head in amusement.

Soap was damn good at that. It makes sense in hindsight. Someone who’s so good with people and so eager to serve needs something to do with that seemingly boundless energy.

Gaz stares at the single box filled to the brim with all of Soap’s possessions. All of that boundless, never-ending energy,and for what? Just to end up as another KIA in a soon to be forgotten document.

It has to be some kind of cruel joke for everything that larger-than-life John Soap MacTavish was to be able to fit in a standard brown packing box. It doesn’t make sense. None of Soap’s beloved mathematical equations could even begin to explain it. It shouldn’t be possible.

It’s not fucking fair.

How could this one box be all that’s left of him?

Without thinking, Gaz picks up his phone and presses play on their playlist.

Let us die young or let us live forever

We don’t have the power, but we never say never

Sitting in a sandpit, life’s a short trip

The music’s for the sad man

Life’s cruelest game was giving unconditional a price tag. Someone leaves first and someone has to think about how they had the rest of their lives to discover together. The pieces of grief won’t pick themself up.

Someone has to stay behind and stare at the perfectly carved hole left in the other’s departure.

Forever young, I want to be forever young

Do you really want to live forever?

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bigdumbbambieyes · 9 months

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Here is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race ✨🤍

poured gold 1.7k words | unbeta'd | hurt/comfort @harringrove-relay-race

When he was two years old, Steve clumsily ran down the hall in his home and hit his head on the sharp corner of a little table that sat in the hallway, splitting his skin open as the vase atop came crashing down as he did. The blood ran down his cherub-cheeked face as his mother screamed in horror, his father picking him up in a panic as the three of them rushed out to the car.

While his forehead had been put back together with a few carefully placed stitches, the vase that had crashed to the floor, just after he had, was left in pieces while they had rushed him to the hospital. Once they’d returned back home, the mess had been cleaned and Steve had forgotten all about it – he couldn’t even remember the incident at all, really, with having been so young.

When he turned six, he’d heard his mother exclaim in excitement as the mailman delivered a package to their front door. From atop the steps, peering down silently, he’d watched her unbox the same vase that had been broken all those years before – but now, the cracks had been filled with gold and it was whole once again.

He didn’t understand, at first. Why not throw the vase away in the first place? What good was a broken vase with its flaws now highlighted?

He’d gone downstairs with those questions, scrunching his little face as he listened to his mother patiently explain that she’d sent the vase back to their friends in Japan, who had originally gifted it to their family. It had been returned to her like this, repaired with gold, and she’d explained how the gold made the vase stronger and the flaws were now beautiful.

“Broken things can be beautiful if you take care of them.”

That had resonated with him, even at such a young age. It just made sense. Imperfections and flaws happened, but that doesn’t mean everything’s ruined. He can fuck up and make amends. He can break and heal stronger than before.

It gave him hope – for himself, for everyone, for everything. He had the symbol of it sitting in his hallway at home.

And ever since that conversation, whenever he didn’t do well on a test or had a fight with a friend, or his parents fought, Steve often found himself in the hallway, slowly and carefully tracing his fingertips over the cracks of gold and reminding himself that everything would be okay as long as he took care of it.

He’d been careful with the vase from that day on, admiring it now and then and remembering its reminder, until he relied on it less and less.

Until one night, Halloween night in ‘84, when his heart had felt like that broken vase and his tears were hotter than the blood that had run down his cheeks at the age of two.

Bullshit.

Rushing out of Tina’s house, Steve pinches the bridge of his nose as he stumbles to his car, feeling like his heart has shattered into pieces and he’s left cradling them in his palms as he tries not to sob in his car, drunk and lonely and feeling goddamn stupid in his Halloween costume as he makes it inside his empty house. His parents are gone at some other party, thankfully.

He rips the sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and throws them against the wall in a fit of rage, just to make something else hurt even if it’s useless, with tears burning white-hot in his eyes as his gaze lands on the vase in the hallway.

The gold mocks him and his broken heart.

He goes over, picks it up, and for a second he wants to break it again – on purpose. He wants to prove the gold wrong, prove that flaws are flaws and broken things could be made uglier so easily.

But, with the weight of it resting in his palm, he knows he can’t.

Instead, he sniffles and holds the vase steady as he gently sways, trails his tearfilled gaze over the golden cracks in the warm light of the hallway as he breathes out a quiet sigh.

He wouldn’t hurt his mother by destroying it again. He couldn’t.

Setting the vase back down, he goes up to his room to mourn quietly. The loss of love burns and aches sharply in his chest, it quickly attempts to make him bitter and hopeless until he’s sick of it, until it consumes him – but, that’s when he tries to remember the good, the gold of what used to make him smile, what used to make her happy. How they had been happy, once, for a brief, hopeful period of time. He fills those golden thoughts in the cracks of his heart, repairs it to be stronger, like the vase.

It’s a bittersweet process. Because he knows that she doesn’t love him and he wants to pretend that she does, wants to ask her if she really believes in what she said, but he doesn’t want to know the truth. He doesn’t want to know that their feelings and relationship were bullshit.

Maybe to her they were, and maybe she’ll think that he’s bullshit, but Steve knows he tried. He used to make her smile and laugh and her kisses were soft, they had softened him. And he’ll always be thankful for that, even as he fights off that urge to be bitter and petty.

Because it’s not easy to find the silver lining in pain, especially when he can’t escape it.

Especially when days have passed and it’s not his heart cracking open and bleeding, but his face, suffering for the first time from Billy Hargrove.

Billy, whose heart has been cracked open for a long time and forced back into place, with nothing holding its jagged edges together, desperately trying to look like he’s not falling apart – even though Steve can see it from a mile away.

It’s in his eyes. The blue is so dark, so expressive, even when he tries not to be.

Weeks after Steve’s face has healed and they’ve moved on, with a lingering tension between them whenever they meet in the hallway or whenever Steve catches the blond staring at him in class, they meet at the quarry after the sun has set.

It’s not planned, this sudden and secret meeting, but Steve still looks at the other boy in the moonlight and mutters a soft ‘hey’ from the hood of his car once Billy gets out of his.

Billy looks at him, for a moment. Walks silently over to Steve and fits himself in between those spread legs, sizes him up. He has a shiner under his left eye. It’s fresh. Steve wants to ask where he got it, but that tension that’s followed them all these weeks has reached its peak and Billy grabs the front of his shirt, pulls him so close that the tip of their noses brush.

And quietly, in the cool air, his words in a puff of frozen breath, Billy mutters, “You tell anyone about this and I’ll break your face again,” and kisses him.

Steve, numb from the cold and emboldened by the beer he’d been drinking, kisses back. Billy’s lips are warm and he tastes like a menthol cigarette, grabs at Steve in the way he’s been craving and needing as they makeout on the hood of his car, until he’s pulling them off and pushing them into the back seat of the Beemer.

There’s no apologizing, but that’s fine. Steve doesn’t mind. He doesn’t want Billy to apologize and he doesn’t want to apologize, either. What their minds can’t say, their bodies do, in the slow and sweet moments they manage to get together after that night.

They don’t date, according to Billy. He doesn't say it out loud, but he doesn’t want anyone to get close and Steve can see and understand it in the way Billy refuses kisses and doesn’t want to be held outside of sex.

But, he sees the unshed tears in those stormy eyes one January night and knows how desperately Billy is trying to not give in to the softness Steve offers him. He can feel how hard Billy grips onto him in his sleep. He feels how soft Billy eventually kisses him on a warm March night, just before the blond’s birthday, the warmth of his lips welcoming him in silently – a wordless agreement to see and be seen. An unspoken promise, maybe.

It’s a slow process – to love Billy. But, Steve is patient. Because whenever Billy lets him see those chips and cracks in his heart, that’s when Steve pours his gold into them, mending those breaks with his love. Because Billy is broken and they both understand that, but that doesn’t mean he’s a lost cause. Steve’s got a lot of love to give, even after the pain he’s felt. He’s hopeless.

But, Steve watches how his boyfriend’s smile begins to reach his eyes by the time June comes around and Billy’s sleeping over more, now that they’ve graduated. They grow closer as they plan their great escape to Chicago, whispering secrets at midnight and laughing and crying together as the days pass. Steve notices how the blond leans into his touch, seeking it out and, eventually, initiating it. And it’s beautiful that he cries openly and lets Steve hold him and sits with his emotions with him, for as long as Billy needs, while Billy does the same for him.

And one night, when his boyfriend is feeling low and vulnerable and hopeless, Billy hiccups from his spilled tears and asks Steve why he bothers and how he has the energy to care about him.

As if it’s a hard thing to do.

Laying together in his bed, Steve combs his fingers through Billy’s hair and tells him about the vase downstairs in the hall. How he’d broken it and it’d become stronger from that. He repeats his mother’s words about how a broken thing can be made stronger with the right care – he tells him that it’s kintsugi.

And Billy, sobbing, gives him a saltwater kiss full of gratitude and understanding.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆

Thank you so much for reading!! And thank you again to @half-oz-eddie for inviting me to take part!!

Now, let's both look forward to what the incredibly talented @thediktatortot has created for the Harringrove Relay Race!! 🤍

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringroverelayrace #ahhhh i hope y'all like it!!#bambiwrites

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tarrynightss · 2 years

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𝒜 𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈

Pairing: Jake Sully x fem!reader

cw: Angst, mentions of partner and child death, one-sided love

Soft, hot skin brushes over his and Jake sighs, slowly starting to wake up. You feel so comfortable, fitting into his chest just perfectly as your hand rubs over his arm. Though he cannot see your smile yet, he can sense it, knowing that if he were to turn you around he would instantly be greeted with it. You are always blessing him with your warm smiles throughout the day, your eyes filled with love. Even on his worst days where all he had wanted was to kick everything and anyone near him into little pieces, you had never looked at him with anything but that love and kindness.

You are patient, forgiving, a truly caring woman who would do anything to make the people she loves happy, so why does it still not feel like enough? Jake’s heart aches as you press your body up against his, cutely groaning as you stretch and completely oblivious to his thoughts. He had tried so hard to fall in love with you, had told himself it was okay to mate you because eventually, the feeling would come, but more than a year later it remained absent. You are kind, skilled, beautiful, but you are not Neytiri.

His sweet Neytiri who had been taken from him too soon. Eywa had not granted them more than a year together with their newborn son, Neteyam, Neytiri falling gravely ill before his first rotation. You had taken the widow and his child into your loving arms, raising the boy like your own. You knew loss better than most as you had lost your mate and child during the attack on Hometree, but this had felt right to you. In your eyes, Eywa had brought the both of you together in a time of need to complete each other and make a family again, but to Jake it continued to feel like a cruel trick of fate.

You turn around to face Jake, that sweet smile of yours playing at your lips as you greet him. “Good morning.”

It almost hurts when you kiss him, so tender and trusting that it makes him feel like the scum of the earth. His hand moves to the back of your head, feeling the little braids in your hair roll under his fingers. He sighs into the kiss, the mental image of his old love running through his mind. It’s not always like this, but more often than not Jake finds himself picturing you as Neytiri during these moments.

When you pull back your eyes gleam with happiness and you stroke a gentle hand over his face. In the dim light he can see your resemblance to her, the two of loosely related, and it makes his heart flutter. Any other man in the clan would’ve wanted your beauty for just what it was, but Jake could not help but chase that glimpse of the past.

“I love you.”

The words roll off your lips so earnestly, fingers moving to his hair to play with it. He closes his eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, another word remaining unspoken. Neytiri.

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wilsons-three-legged-siamese · 1 month

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another fic of mine woah 😩

fandom; house md

can be interpreted as non slah or slah between house/wilson

summery; wilson is dying, being taken care of a person. but wilson cant remember who they are.

word count; 1.3k

tw; major character death.

a/n: i dont have ao3 so it shall not be put up on there. if it is notify me, ill say if i have given permission as if someone asks i probably will say yes.

this was based on the song "rises the moon - liana flores"

rises the moon.

days seem sometimes as if they'll never end.

its august. the 20th if we're being exact. coming to the close of summer and the opening of autumn, usually being my favourite time of the year. cozy sweaters, warm socks and scarfs, the perfect weather. usually sunny with a nice breeze. well, i wish i could enjoy it. instead, im stuck in bed, my breathing laboured and my body shaking. though, this year, summer was my favourite.. june. i really enjoyed that, when i could walk without aid and just, enjoy life. ever since mid july, ive been deteriorating quicker than an abandoned building, which has been agonising. i want the pain to go away, please. it hurts..

but i dont want to die.

from the bedroom, i hear the singing voice again, a soothing melody. their voice smooth and deep. i sigh softly, it being a sort of comfort for me, knowing at least someone was there and i wasn't alone. their humming and muffled singing drowns out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor besides me. they had stolen the machine after faking being ill in a walk-in clinic, once the doctor had done to complain to the dean about them being an ass, they smuggled the monitor and brought it back. the good ol' days hm? that day was probably the most ive complained and laughed for a long, long time.

a mass than sat on the bed, the weight shifting slightly on the mattress. i ket out an involuntary groan, my back being slightly unsupported.

"hey, i made some broth for you.. its 1, and i think you should at least try and drink it for me," they murmured.

the bowl, of what i assume was broth, was set down on the small table besides me. soon enough, long, lanky arms were wrapped around my middle, gently pulling me up to sit up. wait.. what time did they say again.. 1 was it? only.. 1?

the sun digs its heels to taunt you.

the rim of the bowl was scarcely pressed to my lips, the bowl being slightly hot. i signal them to tip it a little so i can take a sip. and so i do. and holy shit..

thats fucking amazing.

the warm, soupy liquid runs down my throat, a sort of feeling i dont get that often, especially being warm. the way he flavours mix together is phenomenal, the spices and the subtle beef. its flavourful, but not enough to freak my taste buds out, which happens all too often now.

"is it okay?" they ask, their voice soft and gentle.

i hum with a slight nod.

but after sunlit days, one thing stays the same:

rises the moon.

days fade into a watercolour blur.

its been.. maybe a week? my sense of time is so off, it could be a week for a few days.. lets say its been a few days - to make me feel better. im now slipping in and out of consciousness, which is concerning in itself. i dont know how long im out for at a time. theyve been becoming more and more worried about me. i mean, there was always an elephant in the room, hell even when i was first diagnosed. but, the elephant has been growing larger and larger than before, making it hard to ignore. we have to adress it sometime.

but its hard to breathe.

then im awoken by a coughing fit.

it shakes my whole body, racking everything as i shut my eyes tight, desperately trying not to wake them up behind me. but, of course they woke up, they always do. i tried to savour the two, lanky but muscular arms around my abdomen, as they were warm and comforting, but soon, all i could feel was pain.

"are you okay?" they ask, their voice still a bit groggy from sleep.

i hum, my voice still hoarse even though i barely made a sound.

this just reminds me of them, i swear something to do with an infarction to the leg. but i cant quite remember.. or remember them.. their face is slightly recognisable, but not by a lot at all. my memorys been wracked up.. pisses me off, i wanna know whos caring for me. i wanna thank them, using their name, recogising their face.

memories swim up and haunt me.

"hmm.. mm!" i hum, trying to catch their attention.

they run over, quickly turning me on my side and holding the bucket to my mouth. i start to cry as i retch, vomiting harshly into the bucket, they rub my back gently, mumbling words of encouragement and reassurance softly to me. finally, i stop. glancing down at the small puddle of bile and saliva, i frown slightly.

look into the lake, shimmering like smoke.

i look into their eyes. my, coffee like brown into their, ocean like blue. scared and helpless meet concerned and determined. they run their skinny, pianist fingers through my frail hair. they always wanted to care for me, secretly.

rises the moon.

"close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken faded summer skys." they pause for a moment. "breathe, breathe, breathe."

almost immediately after hearing that, i start to cry, just a full on breakdown. they quickly embrace me, wrapping their arms around my middle. i dig my face into theit shoulder, tears still rolling down my pastey cheeks. its nice.

oh to be hugged like this again.

days pull you down just like a sinking ship.

its been a day? maybe.. i dunno anymore. it might've been 2, 3, 4 a week, who knows - not me thats fot sure. it might be september now, i last remember it was august, that seems like yesterday. them, my carer, whatever, i dont know their name anymore. i dont know who they are, i cant see.. its all blurry and fuzzy, so is my memory. i cant remember the last time i ate..

floating is getting harder.

"im sorry.." they mumble, their voice snapping me out of my thoughts - though it was barely above a whisper.

their thin fingers run through my hair again, gently letting it fall between the gaps and repeating.

oh, i forgot to mention, i also cant speak.. or breathe for that matter. i think the tumor - or tumors more like - have begun to press against my trachea and esophagus, making his hard to both eat and breathe. wheezing has become a normal, daily routine.

considering my condition,

i have tonight,

and thats it.

because of my fate, i keep repeating a phrase i once said to a child as they went through chemo. they had no parents, i was the best thing they had..

but thread the water, child, and know that meanwhile: rises the moon.

days pull you up just like a daffodil.

its the next day, i think. its really hard to just think. the weezings gotten worse, i feel awful, like horrendous. its awful... maybe i am ready to die. i can just subtly feek them holding my fraile hand, stroking their thumb over my knuckles. only barely. im scared, terrified more like. i dont even know who they are, but im scared for them.. they'll miss me definitely. what will they do when im gone? i dont know..

uprooted from its garden.

once again, i feel consciousness slip from underneath me. which is normal, very. but this wasn't normal.. i could still hear.

"they'll tell you what you owe," they mumble. "but know even so, rises the moon."

i try to smile, a small twinge of my lips. but nothing happens. i try to tell them i love them, but again, nothing happens.

"you'll be visited by sleep. i promise that the autumn comes to steal away each dream you keep." they choke back a sob.

"breathe, breathe, breathe." houses voice sobs.

they're house.

but its too late to tell him i love him.

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jimhopperlova · 10 months

Note

What about a hot but sweet story, when hopper is your dad best friend and he comes a lot at your house you can’t take your eyes off him he can’t take his eyes off you, until one day he confessed his feelings for you and you do it too and you get together not caring about the age gap and what you’re people will think. Thank you 🫶🫶

- Secrets (18+)

omg thank you for this request! because of character development, im thinking a 2 or three parter. but this is *chefs kiss*. no smut in this one, but part 2.. yesh.

Pairing(s): dads best friend!jim hopper, fem!reader

Summary: your dad’s best friend has come over again, but it’s different this time. reader and jim can feel the tension between the two of them, sneakily catching each other’s eye contact.

Warning(s): large age gap (hop is 41, reader is 19), mentions of and masturbation (m receiving), mentions of oral (m receiving).

once again, thank you for this reguest! im excited for this journey.

for the past year or so, the chief has been coming over to your home a lot more than usual. sure, him and your dad have been best friends since high school, so you would see him every once in a while. but, the past year has been different. jim would come by atleast twice a week, chatting with your dad and the three of you playing card games. the two of you holding eye contact longer than usual. you didn’t know if it was just you, but you could practically sense the tension.

today was the big 4th of july party your dad was hosting. he was inviting everyone he could possibly think of. the whole town was invited, and more than welcome to stay for the fireworks since you had a good view of them from your home. you sighed loudly, trying to get as much stuff out to the picnic table he had in his yard.

“don’t drop it!” your dad yelled out, and you could only roll your eyes. you’re trying the best you could!

“i’m trying the best i can, dad!” you shrieked out, holding onto the hot crockpot full of those tiny weenies with barbecue sauce (you had no idea what they were actually called and calling them tiny weenies made you laugh. maybe you were a little immature).

“you’re doing great, sweetie. thanks for the help.” you heard the words of your dad before you set down the crock pot, hearing a vehicle pulling up. you looked up to notice it none other than the chief’s blazer. you felt yourself blushing a little, but paid no attention to the thoughts in your mind. he was early, no? before you knew it, he was walking out of the vehicle, clad in his police uniform. that uniform really did fit him well.

“oh, hey jimbo! what brings ya here early?” your dad spoke loudly, and the chief could only chuckle. he smirked towards your way before slowly approaching you two, taking the hat off slowly off of his head, holding it in his hand. you stepped away from the crock pot to stand next to your dad.

“what did i say about calling me jimbo?” the chief asked your dad who could only chuckle and give the chief a hug. you sighed and ran your finger through your hair, only before making your way closer to the scene. “thought i’d stop by since i had a free minute and see if you guys needed any help. but it seems muscles has it handled.” the chief spoke, and you could only let out a small laugh.

“yeah.. we got it. i’m sure dad here wouldn’t mind the extra help, of course..” you spoke out before you looked down. you bit your lip, wondering if asking him something would be prying too much. “you comin’ today? or are you too busy with chief of police things?” you asked and of course the chief could only chuckle and smirk, flashing those soft dimples over at you.

“well.. today out of all days i should be at the station. but.. i’m the chief of police, i can do whatever i want,” the chief spoke, still looking at you with his infamous smirk. you could only smile and laugh softly, looking back up at him. “so.. yep. i’ll be here. can’t miss those infamous hawkins fireworks,” the chief spoke the last sentence almost too sarcastically, and you could only laugh at that. “oh, and the little smokies.” the chief laughed and your dad could only smile. you looked back at the chief who then flashed another soft smile at you, the two of your eyes meeting. you blushed under the intense gaze of the chief, trying to kid yourself. ‘he’s only doing this because he’s being friendly, not because he likes you. what are you, stupid?’ you told yourself before your dad rid jimbo goodbye, and all you could do was wave. you went back inside to gather up all of the other food your dad had out and started to bring it to the picnic table.

see, you really were oblivious. the past year, the chief has looked at you in a different way than he ever has before. he didn’t know if it was the way you joked with him about being an old man, soft food fights in the kitchen when your dad is too lazy to cook so leaves you and the chief to do it. “not the mash potatoes!” your voice shrieked as you laughed, throwing mash potatoes back at the chief. jim could only laugh before the two of you threw the mash potatoes back at one another. and then, you got close to him. maybe too close. that was when he realized he had real feelings for you. your lips were merely inches away, and the teenager in him told him to just kiss you right there and then. but with your father in the other room, he had to pull himself away.

the chief would fantasize about you way too more than he would like to admit. that smile on your face everytime he teased you, that soft laugh, the way your skin would brush his when you had to make your way around the kitchen. that one time he could have kissed you if he wanted to. he was also kidding himself. you were merely the age of 19, and your father was his best friend. he knew it was wrong, but he simply couldn’t help himself. late at night when he couldn’t sleep, it was all you in his thoughts. working up a sweat, stroking his cock to get himself off to the thought of you.. it was simply a dirty sight. and again, late at night, it might have been wrong, but fuck, it was you. the chief knew all too well about what you did with your spare time. you weren’t innocent by any means, but you try to be around your father. it was adorable.

finally, everything was set up for the night. you and your father exchanged a high five, and before you knew it, more and more people started to show up. the wheelers, joyce and her kids, dustin henderson and his mother, the sinclair family, benny hammond, i mean.. everyone was here. your father couldn’t stop saying hi to everyone, as he was ecstatic. you laughed softly at the exchanges before you made your way inside your home. you had decided to wear something festive tonight for america celebrating. you settled on some red white and blue summer dress, letting your hair match with the outfit. when you were all dressed, you took a moment for yourself. all this hardwork was paying off thankfully. you sat down on the couch, letting out a long sigh. you were already exhausted, and you hadn’t been able to say hi to the kids. you flipped on the tv, subconsciously getting yourself a little break. you should socialize, but you really weren’t the social kind.

as you watched the tv show, you didn’t even hear the chief waltz in. when you did, he was chuckling at the sight of you. you shot up and looked at the chief who was smirking slightly down at you. you rolled your eyes and shook your head, looking up at him.

“don’t even talk about my outfit,” you spoke. the chief only laughed and sat down next to you on the couch. he really was close, now. you did your best to not let your mind wander about how he showed up. he still was in his uniform, but he had the fresh scent of cologne and cigarettes. for some reason, that really had you going. “why aren’t you out there with my dad?” you asked him, curiosity getting the best of you.

“he’s talking with everyone, thought it was better i come find you,” the chief spoke before watching the tv show was on. “magnum P.I. ..really?” the chief asked you with a soft chuckle, and you could only shake your head. you playfully swatted in the arm and laughed.

“it was just on! this is how america celebrates, chief,” you told the chief who could only snicker. he was looking at you now, but not just looking.. he was staring. you swallowed past the lump in your throat, the nerves getting the better of you. you stared back, trying to read him. why was he staring at you? did you have something in your teeth? “jim..” you started to speak, only before you heard the voice of your father.

“hey, we are about ready to eat. what’s going on here?” your father spoke now, both you and jim immediately looking away from one another. you heard the chief let out a soft cough before looking up at your dad.

“erm.. watching magnum p.i. this is how america celebrates, (y/f/n)!” the chief spoke up, and you immediately shook your head and swatted him across the arm. your father could only chuckle and made the chief leave you alone again. fuck. what was all that about? it made you a quivering mess. your face was a bright red and now your stomach was full of butterflies. the palms of your hands were now all so sweaty. you decided to take the world by storm and actually socialize with the kids, maybe play a round of d&d with them.

“and the demogorgon appears! what are you going to do, red ranger?” the voice of mike wheeler yelled out to his friends. will, dustin, and lucas all sat with amused grins on their faces as you approached the picnic table. atleast your dad was able to use the other picnic table for the food and one for the kids’ sharades. you laughed softly as the kids all looked at you, bright smiles on their faces.

“(y/n)! you gonna attack the demogorgon with us?” dustin had asked you, will and lucas looking up at you with smiles on their faces. meanwhile, mike was unamused by your interruption.

“yeah! we could totally use your skills!” lucas then spoke, before will agreed. you looked over at mike with a soft smirk, silently asking his permission.

“.. you always interrupt at such bad times,” mike shook his head before letting out a sigh. he grabbed your character sheet from the book and handed it to you, as well as some dice. “fine. but if you’re playing, you’re in for the long haul.” mike spoke, and you instantly laughed.

“oh.. we’re going to kill this demogorgon.” you spoke before sitting down next to lucas, and the kids all cheered. well, except mike. he was always so controlling as a dm, and you didn’t really understand. oh well, he still let you join last minute. fast forward a bit later, there you were, shaking the d-20 in your hand, hoping to go for the kill.

“.. and now, lady kabob rolls the dice, hoping to destroy what lies ahead of her and her compadres..” mike details, as everyone watches in despair. hands placed together, begging that lady kabob does not mess this up. your hand then lets go of the dice, watching as it slowly rolls, almost in slow motion. and finally.. a 19 was shown on the dice. you and your team mates all cheered, high fiving each other, finally killing the demogorgon that lays in your way. you laughed softly before your dad interrupted.

“alright, kiddos, time for you to eat now. that includes you, lady kabob.” your father spoke and you rolled your eyes at the character name you chose for yourself. you were sure your dad would rather see you draw or something rather than play dungeons and dragons. but you didn’t care, it was fun. you stood from the spot and picnic table and bid your friends a soft goodbye before grabbing a paper plate. you laid some little weenies, and a burger on your plate, decorating the burger with the condiments you enjoyed on your burger. you then took a seat next to your dad who was in some kind of conversation with the chief.

“we were just talking about the adventures of lady kabob. dare i ask?” the chief now asked you. you looked across at him with sort of a glare and a shake of your head. you laughed softly at the mention of your d&d name.

“it’s just dungeons and dragons! i enjoy playing with the kids, so what?” you told the chief before you dug into the food. the three of you made soft conversation while you ate, and finally, it was nearing dark.

you were currently hanging out with the kids again, but this time the four of you played hide and seek with the walkie talkies. when you felt that familiar feeling in your bladder, you handed the walkie to mike and said you had to take a leak. mike of course had his disgusted face and emitted out a ‘ew’ and shooed you away. you laughed and made your way to the bathroom in your home. you opened the door without knocking (oh, you should have), and the scene in front of you was something you didn’t think you would ever see.

‘urgh- shit,’ the chief was currently going to town on his cock. long strokes and soft moans were heard. you thought you were dreaming, but you had to pinch yourself and alas.. it was real. very real. especially when the chief turned his head and noticed you there. your eyes went wide, and that familiar pit in your stomach was doing flips. you just wanted to pee!

“fuck, uhm.. i uh.. sorry.” you squeaked out and shut the door. upstairs it is, then. you couldn’t move, though. you were shaking through your pants. not only did you just see your dad’s best friend jerking off, but he.. he looked hot doing it. your thoughts were now clouded with the way jim was moaning, his eyesbrows knitted together in pleasure.. what was he thinking about? no, you couldn’t think like that. because if it was anyone but you, you would feel this deep feeling of hurt. what were you kidding? of course he was thinking of someone else. he was your dad’s best friend, you were positive he thought it was wrong and only looked at you like a kid. oh how you wish you were older.

throughout the night until fireworks, you were awkwardly sat at one of the picnic tables, sneakily drinking a beer out of your dad’s cooler. your dad was cool in that aspect. he let you drink as much as you wanted, but only asked if you were going to drink more than one to be home. the chief was nowhere to be found, and honestly you were glad about that. you didn’t know if you could talk to the chief normally after the scene you just saw. sure, you knew that boys will be boys and that they do that often, you just didn’t expect.. to see the chief masturbating in your bathroom.

“alright kiddo, time for the fireworks.” your dad hummed out and you nodded, looking up at the sky. your dad then walked away from your vision, leaving you alone in your thoughts. you took a sip of the disgusting alcohol before you watched the chief come closer to you, his hat now hung on his head. you felt that clammy feeling in your throat, not thinking that this moment would come so fast.

“anyone sittin’ there?” the chief asked you. you looked at him and paused. he shouldn’t sit next to you, if anything. you shook your head ‘no’ anyway, and before you knew it he sat next to you. you smelt that familiar scent of beer, cigarettes, and cologne radiating off his body. he was so.. enthralling. that scent was so addicting, and the way he sauntered in that uniform and looked down at you was something else, especially with that scene in the bathroom. you couldn’t help but think of yourself in there with him, him looking down at you as you ever so lovingly sucked on that big cock of his. eyebrows knitted in pleasure, that small bead of sweat falling off of his forehead. “hello?” you suddenly heard the voice of jim ponder your brain, thinking you were day dreaming again. but instead, you weren’t. you swallowed past the thickness that came up in your throat again, and let out a soft cough.

“oh, uh.. sorry chief. i was, uhm.. distracted.” you spoke and the chief could only chuckle softly. of course you were distracted, why wouldn’t you be?

“distracted by what? i’m sure i have an idea,” jim spoke before he took a sip of his own beer in his hand. you looked over at him, that familiar feeling of your body on fire. palms sweating profusely, realizing just how close the chief was to you. he englufed your senses, the beer not smelling like it usually did. “i want to apologize for uhm.. jerking off in your bathroom. it wasn’t professional of me.” the chief spoke, finally speaking about the elephant in the room. you practically choked on your beer and laughed awkwardly.

“i mean- if uh.. you were d-distracted by uh.. a w-woman here and didn’t want to uh.. walk around with a um.. b-boner, i mean i can’t uhm, blame you.” you stumbled on your words, looking away from the chief and back to your beer. you took a drink of it, trying to not think of the conversation at hand. where were these damn fireworks? the chief could only laugh at your words and shake his head, looking at you. thoughts persuaded in his own head, trying his best to not kiss you. but you were.. right there. and those lips were.. merely inches from his own. he cleared his throat before speaking again.

“well.. i appreciate the concern,” jim spoke roughly again, before looking around. the yard was fluttered with people, he was afraid of what would happen if he told his feelings in front of the townsfolk. he had an idea, hoping you would go for it. “uh.. follow me, would ya?” jim then asked you. you looked at him wide eyed, and hesitantly followed him. he lead you to the other side of the house, looking around. everyone was too concerned about the fireworks, no doubt his own radio was going off. he looked down at you, and softly pulled the hair that was over your face back behind your ear.

“jim..?” you looked up at him, in hopes that this was what you thought it was. was he about to..?

“shh,” jim told you before he found your lips with his. your eyes went wide with want, need. your arms found his neck, and instantly wrapped them around it. he held your face in his large hands, captured by your touch. your lips were exactly how he imagined. sweet, plump.. it fit his like a puzzle piece. he didn’t want to stop, especially when the fireworks went off from behind you. you laughed softly in the kiss, at the cheesy way of him expressing how he felt. “what?” he mumbled out into the kiss, before capturing your lips again. he wanted you. no, he needed you. he needed you to be full of him. his touch, his scent, his.. everything.

“nothing, it’s just.. cheesy.” you explained to him, and he finally let your lips go. he looked at you, the colors of red white and blue flashing against your face. you looked beautiful.

“well.. uh, i gotta go. say bye to your dad for me.” jim spoke softly before kissing the top of your head, walking away from you. you watched as he hopped in his blazer and headed towards what you assumed was the station. suddenly, you were oulled from your trance.

“what are you doin’ back here? come on, you’re gonna miss the fireworks!” your dad interrupted before dragging you back to look at the fireworks. you laughed softly to yourself. you will never look at fireworks the same again.

#chief jim hopper #david harbour #jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #stranger things

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loveandmurders · 1 year

Text

A game meeting another one II (Vincent Sinclair x gn!reader)

Hello everyone, this is the second part of this Vincent x serial killer!reader story. You can find the first part here.

I hope you will enjoy!

Warnings: serial killer reader, mentions of murdering people, of violence and blood, Vincent is jealous of your relationship with Bo, Vincent is also a creep (voyeurism) but you like it, some sexual themes but nothing too NSFW, a few strong words.

At first, Bo wasn’t too sure what to expect from you, and he couldn’t help but be rude and on his guard. You perfectly understood, and even if you enjoyed Ambrose, you were a bit shy and silent around the twins, no matter how much Vincent hated it and always tried to put you at ease. It was a little bit easier when Lester was around because he was a good and funny guy.

But Bo couldn’t deny how great you were at killing people. You were deadly efficient and thanks to your soft demeanour, people could never imagine you were dangerous. You saved Bo’s ass several times - a lot more than his ego could admit. And Vincent didn’t even have to complain about any damages on the bodies anymore; unlike his twin you knew how to be careful and you generally stabbed the people right in their hearts.

You would have liked a little more blood, but you had never been allowed to kill so many people in such a short period of time in your life and you were positively enjoying yourself. You loved to play with Bo, when the tourists were arriving. And Bo liked this more than he could admit it too. You had a great dynamic together. You often played the married couple; you would argue together or make out in front of the tourists. Bo knew his twin was dying of jealousy, and because he never thought he would be able to manage his twin to be jealous of anything, he quite loved to taunt him.

You were absolutely oblivious of Vincent’s feelings and desire for you. You were too focused on killing people, finding new ways to toy with them, and getting used to living with strangers. Bo started to like you because you were truly useful and he honestly couldn’t complain about you. You were doing the chores, you were good at killing and at cleaning the messes too. And you were funny now you were getting at ease with the boys. Your twisted and dark sense of humour was definitely fitting and Bo and you started to be really good friends. You had the right temper to match his, and you even had inside jokes and were laughing together at dinner while Lester and Vincent were sharing looks of pure confusion. Vincent’s heart was always twitching at such displays of affection and complicity between his twin and you. He wanted this too, but even if you were slowly learning ASL, he wasn’t as funny as Bo. Of course he was glad Bo wasn’t being an asshole to you and that he wasn’t pushing you away, but fuck he wanted to have this with you.

Bo wasn’t acting that way only for his twin to get jealous. He was actually adopting you as part of the family. At the same time, he couldn’t believe you weren’t aware of the way Vincent was acting with you. And whenever Bo would mention it, you would say that Vinny was indeed really nice and sweet to you and that Bo should be happy to have him as his twin. Bo never replied anything after that, even though he could have told you that Vincent was watching you when you were showering or sleeping. Nice or sweet really wasn’t Vincent. Bo could tell that his twin’s feelings weren’t wavering down when it was about you. They were only growing and his silent suffering from the lack of intimacy was blossoming inside his chest day after day.

You, on the other hand, not only were you oblivious to his shy attempt to flirt with you, but you were finding him way too attractive to believe he might be interested in you. You were used to boring people who weren’t always nice to you. You weren’t used to dangerously hot artists. One thing was certain, when you were killing together, you were in perfect sync and harmony. None of you had to think to know what the other was going to do. You were awfully effective. Lester noted one evening how long it had been since one of his brothers got hurt. With you, things seemed to go better.

One night you just couldn’t sleep. Your eyes were closed but your brain was unable to shut up, and you were feeling too tired to join Vincent in the basement and watch him sculpt like you often did when you were bored. Vincent seemed to tense up under your gaze, but whenever you would ask if he wanted you to go, he would grab your wrist and gesture for you to sit down next to him.

You heard your door cracking open, and your wild instinct woke you up. You always slept with a knife under your pillow. Even if you were starting to like the boys very much, you couldn’t stop yourself from being paranoid. You were worried they would kill you one day or night. You felt eyes on you, but you pretended you were sleeping. You heard soft footsteps on your carpet and then the person stopped next to you. Nothing happened for a little while, until you felt gentle fingers stroking your cheek. You had to resist the urge to open your eyes. You weren’t too sure if it was Vincent or Bo. The man seemed to smell of wax, but you were so taken aback by what was going on that you couldn’t focus properly. The caress continued for a little while, and the fingers removed some hair that had fallen on your face. You heard a movement you didn’t understand, before you felt lips on your skin. You could tell they were different from normal ones, especially the right corner of the mouth, and long hair tickled your neck. You were certain it was Vincent, and the gesture you didn’t get before was him removing his mask.

“Seriously, man” you heard Bo whispered from the corridor and Vincent softly jumped and whined at his brother. “Get the fuck out of here, weirdo” Bo ordered him and Vincent pouted at him “Ya’ll be allowed to do that when ya’ll be dating them”

Vincent left your bedroom quite reluctantly and Bo closed your door. You opened your eyes and all you could think was “What the fuck just happened??”

You guessed it wasn’t the first time something like that happened if Bo reacted that way. You didn’t sleep from the whole night, slowly realising Vincent had been flirting with you the whole time you had been there. You also thought about all the times you felt watched when you were in the bathroom, and all the times you found the door slightly opened when you were certain you had closed it.

If you had been normal, you would have grabbed your stuff and ran away from there. But you liked the clumsy and intense attention and you couldn’t believe Vincent was into you. It made sense why he didn’t kill you and why he insisted on bringing you home. You smiled to yourself. You were going to rile up the man today. You got up, took a shower and put on some nice fitting outfit. It was definitely showing off your body while being comfortable enough to kill people if you needed to.

You went downstairs and started to prepare breakfast. For once you were awake earlier than Bo. He was quite surprised to already see you in the kitchen.

“Did somethin’ happen?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and you chuckled

“I heard you last night” you admitted, because Bo was truly becoming your best friend at this point

“How so?” he asked with a frown now, a little bit worried

“Seriously, man?” you repeated with a little smile.

“Ah shit” he mumbled, but he noticed you didn’t seem mad or disgusted “Don’t go” he added as you put pancakes on the table

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m just going to drive your brother crazy until he kisses me. While I’m awake” you said and Bo frowned turned into a smirk “Kinda surprised he never acted on us kissing when we play the married couple though” you wondered

“He’s jealous as hell, but he’s also certain ya’d like me better than him… I mean ‘cause of his face” Bo explained and you had to admit you hadn’t seen that one coming. You loved Vincent’s face. You had never thought about it as a horrible thing. And you had thought of using Bo to drive Vincent crazy, but you understood it wasn’t a good plan at all. It would only play with Vincent’s insecurities, and you didn’t want that.

“So I’m already driving him crazy” you realised and Bo nodded with a chuckle as he grabbed a plate to get himself some pancakes.

“Ya did the instant he saw ya killin’ that guy. He wrote to me “Want them”, ya know. But the man has no idea how to flirt. He’s a weirdo, ain’t his fault. Flirt back and he’ll be a puppy to ya… If he realises ya’re flirtin’. Don’t be too subtle” Bo advised you and you nodded

“A dangerous puppy” you mused

“That’s your type” Bo teased and you laughed.

Vincent arrived soon after, a little bit grumpy to already hear you joking around with Bo, even though he had no idea it was about him. After Bo prevented him from watching over you last night, he was already in a pretty bad mood anyways. And he was tired of his twin being your favourite.

“Hello, love, wanna some pancakes?” you asked him and he nodded as he sat down, before registering the nickname. He tilted his head to the side and wondered if he heard this right. You never called him that before. “Here you go” you hummed as you served him and he thanked you.

You all ate in silence, as you thought about the best way to flirt with Vinny. You clearly needed to spend some alone time with him.

“Today, we need to repair the damages that happened in the House of Wax” you said “I can do that with Vinny.” you offered

“Sure thin’, I’ll call ya if tourists come by” Bo nodded. Vincent didn’t say anything, but he was happy he was going to have you all to himself for the day.

After a few hours together in the House of Wax, you quickly understood it was going to be difficult; if you have been oblivious to his flirting attempts, he was absolutely the same with you. You were definitively flustering him, because you were a lot more touchy than usual, but he wasn’t getting any hints, especially not the one about kissing you. As he was fixing a statue, you thought you were tired of being “subtle”, and you said:

“If you come into my room to kiss me at night, at least do it on my lips”.

This time you got a reaction from Vincent. He froze and his attention quickly shifted from the statue to you. His eye was wide, and he was clearly internally panicking. He started to sign, but way too quickly for you to read it. You didn’t stop him though, because watching a dangerous giant panicking because of you was quite funny. Vincent noticed you weren’t even watching his hands so he stopped signing, clearly worried.

“I don’t think you heard the last part of what I said,” you added. Vincent seemed to try to recall what your words were and frowned as he looked back up at you. Did you ask him to kiss you?

“Did you find me hot when I killed my “ex”, the first night you saw me?” you asked as you came closer to him, and Vincent instantly nodded “Did I arouse you?” you continued. He had a moment of hesitation before nodding. He was glad his mask was preventing you from seeing him blushing. “Hmm, I’m so sorry I left you all pent-up all this time without knowing” you teased. “Maybe you should join me in the shower tonight, so I’ll make you feel better… And you’ll have a closer look” you winked.

Vincent was deadly embarrassed, but more than eager to take you on that offer. However, a little voice inside his head was telling him you were only messing up with him. You noticed his body language held a little bit of hesitation still, so you decided to make yourself even clearer.

You walked to him, brushing your chest against his. You gently smiled at him, even if your eyes were sparkling with troubles. If the masked twin wanted you, you could only promise him to give him a good run for his money.

“I know you’re smart, but just to make sure, this is my lips” you pointed at them “Show me you understood” you ordered him.

Vincent didn’t react at first, way too overwhelmed by your proximity and words to do anything. After a little while, he removed enough of his mask to kiss your lips. You softly cupped his cheeks, touching for the first time the scarred part of his face, showing him you didn’t care about this. He leaned into your touch and quickly the kiss turned into a heated one. He grew bolder, and his hands rested on your hips to bring you closer to his body. He pushed you against the closest wall, as you both gasped for air. You laughed.

“Yeah, that’s my lips” you teased. Vincent enjoyed the playfulness a lot, because it meant you were at ease with him. He leaned for another kiss. Now he could do that, he just couldn't get enough of you. He grew hungry, and you thought you might not be able to wait for tonight for more. His fingers moved under your top, enjoying the warmth and softness of your skin. You moaned into the kiss, pressing yourself even more against him. You really thought Vincent was going to undress you right away, but an object falling on the ground made you both jump and you turned to a very red Lester.

He had made his phone fall when he had spotted you heavily making out.

“Oh hey… sorry, guys… Bo just wanted to make sure ya were doin’ okay… And ya do look like ya’ll doin’ okay…” He trailed off as Vincent put his mask back on.

He signed something to Lester and even if you didn’t know the gestures yet, you were pretty sure it was close to: If you don’t want me to rip your heart from your chest, leave right now and tell Bo to stop being a cockblock!

Lester ran away as fast as possible and you hugged Vincent from behind, nuzzling against him. “So where were we?” you hummed.

Vincent showed you he knew the answer perfectly.

Taglist:

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@cavern-creature

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@p0rn-stargirl

@akemiixx01

@zebralover

@inlovewithromanbridger

@miss-nothing-13

#house of wax x reader #house of wax x you #house of wax x y/n #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x s/o #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x y/n #lester sinclair x reader #Lester sinclair x y/n #Lester Sinclair x you #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x slasher #slasher x you #slasher x y/n

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

Text

Starved

*materializes into existence*

Hey :D

[beware, this is long]

Idk if you're doing prompts rn (if not, that's okay; remember to take care of yourself). But if you are, may I request some Creativitwins h/c? – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat [i'm not putting the whole req here just cause she LONG]

Read on Ao3

Warnings: starvation, intrusive thoughts, panic attacks, body horror (sort of), nightmares

Pairings: none

Word Count: 4250

For Remus, tending to the nightmare realm is just another chore. Eldritch monstrosities, terrifying landscapes, that's just how it is.

But when a new destination appears one night as he's going about his rounds, well, he has to stop in to investigate. What he finds is a horrifying town that has an almost cult-like relationship with hunger. One of the Sides, clearly, suffers from a particularly terrible strain of intrusive thoughts, but who?

"I mean, it just makes sense, really."

Roman snarls, throwing himself against the invisible barrier, but it shimmers mockingly as he's forced to claw and screech in vain, soundless behind its impassable force. On the other side, close enough that he could reach out and touch him—so close, so fucking close—Remus smiles.

"Of course," Logan says softly, reaching out to cup Remus's face as though he's precious, "the Creativity unbound by the shackles of expectation, what else could we hope for?"

"And the passion!" Patton claps his hands, each one making the barrier thunder against Roman's palms. "Where else are we going to find someone with this much drive and motivation?"

"I know, maybe we'll actually see finished products once in a while," Virgil snickers, playfully elbowing Remus in the ribs as a dagger lodges itself in Roman's side.

He howls in pain, still scrabbling at the wall, but it's no use; Remus isn't even looking at him anymore, no one is, they're all too focused on each other, on how perfect Remus fits in now that they're stopping to look at it, and that's what he wants, that's good, he missed his brother so much, he wants him back, he wants him back, he just wants—he wants—

But he's a fool, and he didn't specify that he's selfish enough to want to keep both things.

And now, as he watches Remus pulled into Patton's arms, as he watches Logan smile gently and ruffle his hair, as he watches Virgil grin and rub his hands together gleefully, as he watches Janus turn to look at him—

Janus stares at him through the barrier, a smirk playing on his lips. But it's not a cruel smirk, not a malicious smile, it's the crooked smile every hero has just as they deliver the last quip of the movie.

"Oh, Roman," he whispers, even as his words ring in Roman's ears, "thank god you don't have a mustache."

Roman wakes up.

He's shaking. He's burning under the sheet. He's panting like he's run for his life. He's frozen. He can't move. Why should he move? The barrier will stop him. Wait, no, that's when he's asleep. He's not asleep anymore. He's not, is he? He's so cold. He's so hot. He's so scared.

God, he's so scared.

But why is he so scared? Is it the fact that Remus was accepted? How awful is he, to be scared of that? To be scared that if they find out how wonderful Remus truly is—and he is, Remus is so, so, so wonderful, he is and Roman loves him—that they'll want to keep Remus and get rid of him? That's awful of him! He's not supposed to be scared of his brother being accepted, he's supposed to look forward to it! He's not—he's not—

He's crying, isn't he? That's why he's still shaking. He's scared. He's scared and he's awful and he's crying, why is he crying? What right does he have to cry? Crying is for people who are hurting and deserve comfort. What comfort does he deserve? Because his Imagination conjured up some horrifying reality for him, so horrifying that he got to watch his brother finally get the love and acceptance he deserves and the natural consequences of it? What right does he have to demand comfort after that? He doesn't. He should stop crying. He should stop. Right now.

Oh, god, he can't stop crying.

He's still hurting. His chest is still burning. Why can't he breathe properly? This is stupid; if he's going to be as selfish and needy as he is, he should at least be breathing properly. He can't pretend to be anything other than helpless, can he, that he would steal the air from others' lungs and then not have the decency to breathe it properly? How cruel of him. How unjust of him. How awful he must be.

He should be locked behind a barrier. He should be pushed far away from everyone else. Then he couldn't hurt them. Then his hurt would only hurt him. Then he could be as messy and needy and selfish as he had to be and he would only cause himself pain. That was right. That was better. He should—he should have—should he have realized this years ago? How awful he is, how much he deserves to be put behind a barrier?

The room is closing in. The walls are getting closer. His bed is shrinking. The blankets are pressing him down into the floor, he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe—

He can't hear anything. Oh, god, has it happened already? No, no, he wasn't ready—he was just thinking about it, that didn't mean he wanted to go right now—no, he wants one last chance to say goodbye, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's so sorry—

It's so cold.

***

Remus whistles under his breath as he steers the little rudder on the wooden dinghy, around the desecrated shell of some great eldritch beast. He gives the scale an absentminded pat as he drifts by, resolving to come back and check on it later. Perusing his nightmare gallery never did get old, but as far as dreams went, there were certainly better ones to be had. After all, hardly anyone wants to go to work as soon as they fall asleep.

"Win some, lose some," he remarks to the bear cub sitting in the bottom of the boat next to him. The bear cub growls low in its throat and gnaws on a spare bone. "Atta boy."

As he turns to go back towards the mainland, he catches sight of something rising up out of the water to his left. Looking over, he blinks in surprise to see a skeletal forest framing a new mouth of the river, long and jagged shadows reaching out over the water's surface. Frowning, he steers the boat over there, watching as the trees coalesce to form the silhouette of a starving bear. His bear cub lets out a low snuffling noise and shifts closer to his leg. He rubs its head and frowns as they drift under the bear's snarling mouth.

"Do you know what this is?" The bear cub huffs. "Huh. Me neither."

Surprisingly enough, the river ends at a seemingly normal dock. Well, normal for everyone else, in here, that's a little strange. Crowds mill about, each talking gruffly to their immediate neighbor, and someone throws Remus a small rope to tie off his dinghy. He does, the bear cub lingering close to his heels as he starts to walk into the town. Thankfully, he's not in his costume, but a set of plainclothes that he quickly shuffles around to hide the eldritch goo.

The air swirls with a strange miasma, not quite visible enough to put his finger on, but—there's something here. A feeling, almost, a terrible energy that permeates everything he can see. Most wear some sort of face covering, a scarf pulled up over their mouths, or hats worn so low he can only see glimpses of their chin. Those that don't are haggard, bone-weary, with eyes sunken and pulsating deep within their sockets. He can see what should be market stalls hanging their striped banners, but nothing looks to be on sale.

"Good thinking," he hears a raspy voice to his side, and he turns to see a crew of urchins smirking and huffing at him, "having a cub for you, or you for the cub."

His cub—he looks down to see where the cub should've been only to see it's wandered off, sniffing at something, and now whining and growling as a group of long-fingered strangers inch towards it, their mouths open. He whistles sharply and the cub turns tail and runs back to him, gnawing gently on his pants leg.

"Stay close," he bids under his breath as they keep walking, "I don't know what's going on here."

He keeps walking. The bustling streets fade quickly into tiny alleyways, each blocked off by a different makeshift wall that looks like it's designed to be lifted back and forth, a strange gate of sorts. Big, bulky things, the kind that would take at least two strong people to lift. He glances around at the twig-thin limbs and skeletal muscles he can see of the few people that aren't wearing big coats and proper clothes. As he nears one, he frowns. It's made of what looks to be old hide, bound and lashed together with something, but what could possibly be—

A low moaning and the murmur of a crowd.

He turns again, his cub at his side, looking for the source of the commotion. Down the main street a ways, at the mouth of presumably another alley, he sees a group of people peering at something. With one hand tangled in the fur at the cub's neck, he walks over and shoulders his way in to see what's so fascinating.

His eyes widen.

An old man, an old man, who looks barely alive save for the hysterical zeal in his eyes, is hobbling after something rolling along the ground. Every time he's about to pick it up, one of the men in some sort of uniform comes up and kicks it further away from him. The thing rolls through all manner of filth and still the old man hobbles after it. A sick sort of fascination takes hold of Remus's stomach—he should put a stop to this, shouldn't he?—but he finds himself paralyzed, only able to hold his bear cub close.

As the man continues to hobble, he lets go of his cloak. His ribs stand out starkly, each vertebra of his spine clearly visible, and someone in the crowd quickly snatches it up, hoarding it to their chest as a few squabble for it until the uniformed man barks at them to settle down. The man hobbles on, undeterred.

Another shadow lengthens on the ground.

Remus is one of the few that turn to look.

Another man, tall and whip-thin, with an ashen-gray face and monstrous dignity, walks slowly after the pair. His coat, fasted together with large gold buttons down the length of him, flutters in the breeze as though he would blow away at any moment. His hands, the same ashen color as his face, clasp in front of him. A gold signet ring gleams from his finger.

Who, Remus thinks as he clutches the bear cub, who has the sense to be utterly silent, the fuck do you think you are?

"Do you see," the man whispers, his voice picking through the crowd as a centipede picks through the undergrowth on the forest floor, "how desperate we become if we are slaves to our hunger?"

The man in uniform kicks the thing through a puddle that Remus is going to believe is water. The older man still hobbles after it.

"How low our standards become, how quickly we become nothing but beasts, savage and primitive? And how unhappy we are…" The gold signet ring catches another flash of light. "And we are never sated once we give into the need to feed."

The old man finally catches the thing. It drips and cracks with who knows what and still he shoves it in his mouth as though it were the finest feast in all the land. As the crumbs and sludge drip down his face, Remus realizes that it once might have passed for bread.

"And look," says the man as the old figure lets out a howl of despair, "it is never worth the price it takes to feed it."

For even that short hobble seems to have sapped the last of the life force from the old man's wheezing lungs and he keels over right there, still moaning and twitching as the bread rolls limply away from his hands. The uniformed man stands over the corpse and raises a whistle to his lips.

"We are the masters of our own hunger," drones that fucking whisper as many-limbed shadows materialize from the other end of the alley, "until it becomes master of us."

The crowd turns away in shocked horror as the spider-shadow-demon beasts fall upon the corpse. Remus watches the man impassively observing it, idly toying with that fucking golden ring. Then, as if Remus were invisible, he turns and walks back into the crowd, the beasts scuttling after him.

"So," Remus murmurs to the bear cub who was thankfully too short to see any of that, "that was fucking weird."

This isn't one of his. Obviously, because then he would've known what the fuck to expect. As it stands, he can only drift to a somewhat abandoned corner and stare around, trying to discern who this might belong to.

Hunger, that was clearly a theme here. Starvation, almost, given how little food there seems to be and how everyone keeps looking at his bear cub. But a culturally enforced starvation, given by the weird cult vibes of the creepy dude with the ring—a religious figure, maybe? And some nonsense about being masters of hunger, so clearly there was prestige given to being hungry but not giving into it. Those who outwardly expressed their hunger being shamed—well, shamed and humiliated and executed for it.

The bear cub whimpers and Remus crouches down, letting it snuffle into his neck as he strokes its shoulder. A cart drives by with a fancy-looking crest on one side and he squints to make out 'By the Grace of N. Schaumburg' as it passes.

"That must be creepy dude," he murmurs as the bear cub growls, "yeah? What do we think, who's hungry?"

He looks around again. Despite the fact that it's pretty mild weather, everyone's bundled up as though it were the dead of winter. Those that don't wear thick heavy coats huddle together, shivering, mindless mumbling coming from the groups. If he listens closely enough, he can just make out the words, but they don't make any sense.

The bear cub whuffs and tugs on his sleeve.

"What?"

The cub sniffs at a piece of paper blown closer to them. Remus picks it up. It's a pamphlet of some sort with the same crest, announcing an earlier enforced curfew. On the back is a short verse.

Selfishly feed and forever go hungry.

Free and unshackled by hunger are we.

Feeding the beast is an endless task.

Embrace the hunger and be free at last.

"Free from what," Remus whispers to the cub as he finishes reading, "having a body with needs?"

The cub just whines. Remus rubs its head and pockets the pamphlet, standing up slowly and looking around. Okay, so definitely shame associated with needing to feed, something about trying and failing to sate the hunger only leading to it growing, okay…definitely more guilt flying around here than he'd like but they were raised Catholic, so that's not completely unbelievable…

"You there." The uniformed man from before jerks his head at the cub. "What's with the animal?"

"'S my emotional support bear."

The man frowns. "Your what?"

"Nasty business," Remus says instead, nodding toward where the corpse used to be, "does that happen often in this part of town?"

"Not as often as it used to, population's getting better. Since Schaumburg came out with the pills instead of the rations it's been easier to keep the worst of them down." The man glances behind him. "Still. There'll always be a few of them."

"Is that why the new curfew's been enacted?"

"Well, it always gets worse at night, you know. That's when all the rational thought leaves these people and they start scrabbling about for something to feed on. Makes it easier to manage if they're all already indoors, you see."

Okay, so something about not being around others at night, okay, who do we know that's been skipping out of things lately?

"And I've never seen him around either," Remus says, lowering his voice a bit as he nods toward the direction that creepy dude went off in, "is that normal around here too?"

"Oh, Schaumburg doesn't normally come out—" bingo— "but with all the panic about that cold front last night, well…I guess he thought it was necessary."

Cold front last night, cold front last night…what happened last night?

It was movie night last night. Did someone get freaked out by the movie? But it was The Sea Beast, it had cleared everyone's trigger list, everyone had enjoyed it, was that the problem? Or was it something else?

"Now, you seem like a nice enough man—" Remus tries not to take offense, this seems like a good thing in this case— "so I'll just let you off with a word to the wise: get that bear of yours registered with an approved tag or someone's liable to tear it apart, you hear?"

Remus just nods as the official turns away. He looks down at his cub, who's all but cuddling his leg, and glances around.

Several people hug their cloaks or bags close to their chests. A few more stand so close their arms are near around each other as the carts and wagons drive by. A parent tucks their child into a fold of their coat. He remembers the feeling of being snuggled on the couch and how cold it had been when he got up to get a drink. He pulls out the pamphlet and looks closely at the crest, fingers tracing an upside-down crown with teeth mangling the metal.

As if on cue, he hears Roman scream.

***

Virgil huffs, turning over in bed. Remus must be busy tonight; his mouth's been filled with bitter-tasting grossness all evening. Every now and again he gets this awful roaring emptiness in his stomach and he just wants to sleep. He's almost ready to storm down there and tell him to knock whatever he's doing off, it can wait until tomorrow, when he suddenly hears someone scream.

That's…not what Remus's screams sound like.

***

Remus shakes himself awake, grabs his trusty teddy bear, and sinks right into Roman's room. Immediately he's prying Roman's hands away from his face, letting out these soothing little noises and trying to get his attention.

"Hey, hey, Roro, shh, shh, it's okay, c'mere." Roman gasps and shakes and Remus leans in to kiss his forehead. "Hey, hey, c'mon, Ro-Bro, it's just me. It's just me, hey, can you look at me?"

"Re?"

"Yeah, Roro, it's just me, it's just me. Hey, you're doing so good, can you listen to my voice? Just listen to me, I'm right here, we're in your room, we're safe, you're safe, we're all okay." He nudges the teddy bear into Roman's lap and nuzzles it under Roman's chin. "See? All good."

Roman's hands are shaking and in the distance, Remus hears the echo of Schaumburg's voice. He growls and reaches out, taking Roman's hands and looping them around his neck, pulling his brother into a cuddle.

"Hey, Roro, you stay right here with me. Can you do that? Can you hold onto me?"

"It's so cold, Re—it's so—so cold—"

"Shh, it's okay, you can be warm now. I'm warm, right?"

"You're so warm—how are you so warm—"

"Come steal all my warmth, okay? Come steal all of it, it's all for you, I'm gonna give it to you." Remus tucks Roman's head under his chin and rocks him slightly back and forth. "There, there you go, shh, shh, it's okay, Roro."

"I'm sorry," Roman gasps out and Remus's chest aches, "I'm sorry, I'm awful, I'm so sorry!"

"You're not awful, Roro. Nope, no disagreeing," he says softly as Roman opens his mouth to protest, "you're not awful. You had a really fucked up nightmare and your intrusive thoughts are way too loud but you're not awful."

Roman freezes. "You—you saw it?"

"I didn't see your nightmare, no, but I—your intrusive thoughts made a place in my nightmare realm and I saw that."

"I'm so sorry—"

"Hey," Remus murmurs, pulling him back enough to cup his face and make him look at his eyes, "don't apologize for the shit your brain does, okay? You're safe here with me. I'm gonna be right here, okay? I got you."

To his dismay, Roman's lower lip trembles and big tears bubble at the corners of his eyes again. "B-but I—"

"Roman?" That's Virgil's voice, why the fuck is he—oh, right, panic. "Princey?"

"Hey, shh," Remus soothes as Roman tries to hide in the lea of him, "hey, it's okay. I won't let him hurt you."

"Remus? Is that you?"

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"I heard the scream, I've been feeling his panic—look, I don't wanna shout through the door, can I come in?"

"Can he?" Roman takes a little too long to nod but he does. "Yeah, Virgil, get in here."

Virgil slips through the door and takes one look at Remus hovering protectively over his brother and immediately changes into the softest hoodie and sweatpants he has. He crouches down so it's easier for Roman to look at him and his voice drops to a low rumble.

"Hey, Princey," he says gently as Roman turns to look at him, "seems like you're having a real rough time right now, can I come help?"

"S-sorry."

"It's okay, bud, I'm not mad. You're gonna be okay. I just wanna help."

"I won't let him hurt you," Remus whispers, rubbing his back, "you're safe here."

It takes another long moment, but Roman slowly reaches out a hand and Virgil takes it, letting Roman draw him onto the bed. He joins Remus in rubbing up and down Roman's back, gently carding his fingers through his hair.

"Hey, Princey," he murmurs, still speaking softly, "you have a bad dream? Yeah? You wanna talk about it?"

Roman shakes his head.

"Can I ask Remus what's going on? Yeah? Thanks, bud."

Remus sighs, letting Roman cuddle into him. "He's not been having a good time recently, what with…everything going on. I think Patton and Janus blowing up about selfish stuff got into his head and Logan's whole…deal about rising above what he calls 'base' needs isn't helping."

"…yeah, shit, that sounds—that's not great."

"And, you know, being insulted and belittled every time he opens his mouth isn't helping either," Remus adds, glaring at Virgil as he winces.

"I know. I—fuck."

"Yeah. So be really fucking careful right now."

"Hey, Roman," Virgil calls softly, giving Roman the gentlest shake to get his attention, "hey, Princey, can you look at me for a second?"

Roman's head peeks out and Virgil smiles, reaching out to wipe a tear from his cheek.

"Hey, there, bud. You're okay. Was what Remus said right, are you—is shit a little too much right now?" Roman nods. "You want some reassurance, or do you just want us to be here?"

"'M sorry," Roman mumbles, "'m not—'m not trying to be needy."

"You're not being needy, Princey, you're upset and you want to be comforted. That's not needy."

"Or selfish either," Remus says when fucking Schaumburg starts whispering again, "you're allowed to want things and have them. That's not something to be ashamed of or feel guilty for."

"Shit," he hears Virgil mutter under his breath before there's another set of arms around Roman, "no, Princey, you're not bad for wanting things. Is this—I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner. I shouldn't have left you alone for movie night last night either."

Right. Right, everyone else had cuddled up on the couch and Roman had arrived later when there was no room—fuck, Roro, I'm so sorry.

"It's okay, bud, you're okay. You're okay, you're safe, we're not going anywhere."

"I'm sorry," Roman cries out, hiding his face in the teddy bear, "I'm not—I'm trying, I'm trying, but it's so cold, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be sorry for wanting," Remus scolds lightly, glancing at Virgil who nods and starts gathering the blankets, "you're allowed to want things. And you just had a nightmare, that's an automatic you-get-cuddles-now. We can figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?"

Finally, finally Roman sniffles and looks up at both of them. "You guys really don't mind?"

"Nope!"

"Nah," Virgil says, ruffling his hair, "come cuddle, Princey."

As they all start to get ready to fall back asleep, Remus makes eye contact with Virgil. Virgil nods as Roman starts to doze—poor Roro, he must be so tired—and they close their eyes together.

***

Remus's bear cub growls lightly at Virgil as they reappear in the abandoned corner, but he pats its head. "He's a friend, it's okay."

"Yeesh," Virgil mutters, looking around, "this whole place feels like panic attack, is it always like this?"

"Roman's just really not having a good time right now. Just be glad you weren't here earlier."

"You know what, I'm not even gonna ask." Virgil takes a deep breath and tugs a little on his jacket, glancing around. "So! What's the plan?"

"I'm feeling like some anti-government arson and a side of political assassination, how about you?"

"Let's go start a riot."

The bear cub growls, swelling and growing until it's the size of a nearby wagon and Remus grins.

We gotcha, Roro. Sweet dreams.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #dragonbabbles #fic

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madameaug · 7 months

Text

Scandal || KTH x OC

Pairing: Actor!Taehyung x !Actress! Mei Mei

Mei Mei and Taehyung are the leads for the spicy, hot, and jaw dropping spin off of NBC's Scandal. Instead of an affair in the Whitehouse, it's the love story of two political rival's children. The chemistry on screen and on the carpet is undeniable.

Red Carpet, 8:05 pm, Hollywood California

Mei Mei looked amazing. The lights were hitting his skin perfectly. Makeup is flawless, pores absent. Large fluffy lashes complimented her hazel eyes. She was serving in every sense of the word. No one could take away her shine, not even if they tried. The designer dress wrapped her body like a second skin. The dress had a deep plunge, showing off bits and pieces of her cleavage. It was the perfect balance of sexy and chic. It was the complete opposite of the character she played. Her character was preppy, conservative, and always had her shit together. Daughter of a Prime Minster, it was expected of her.

Her character wouldn't allow herself to expose so much skin, for stranger's eyes to look at. The only man who would even look at her fully naked body was her steamy fling, played by Tae.

Taehyung stood at the other end of the red carpet. His hair was slightly crimped and dangling over his eyes. His lips were straight, but his eyes smiled wide and extensive. His head turned slightly, spotting his castmate Mei Mei. A smile cracked his stoic look.

In seconds he took to stride across the carpet to get to Mei Mei was comical. His big hands found a natural rest on her hip bone. The pair hugged, Mei Mei careful not to rub her foundation on his face.

"It's so good to see you, baby." Mei Mei's manicured nails touched the bottom of his chin.

"Likewise." Taehyung

The cameras were eating up the interaction. There were already hour long compliations of 'TaeMei' on the internet. Combining from their scenes and interviews they've done together. Pop culture was doing everything in its power to, make this ship sail.

"You look beautiful." Taehyung shamelessly checked out Mei Mei. The dress rucching tightening in the back. Making her figure even more goddess-like. Mei Mei was already on the taller side. 5'8 without her typical heels. But now on the carpet she was standing roughly at 6'1. A stallion was the most appropriate way to describe her.

Taehyung loved tall women (short women too), but tall women were now digging a special place in his heart.

With arms interlocked the pair walked down to where some of the interviewers were stationed. Individually they have done hundreds of interviews. Only when doing interviews together, was it actually fun.l

What is your favorite scene you've done together?

Mei Mei immediately started laughing. She liked simple questions that showed Mei Mei the person, not but on an act and answer how her character would.

"I think the scene we did when our characters first met. Our characters got held for ransom, technically."

Mei Mei trailed off, but Tae was not in the same room as her. He was in a different reality. His eyes were just looking over the beautiful woman beside him. He couldn't help it.

Mei Mei was a gorgeous woman. He wasn't blind. One of the reason he was glad he was doing this romance drama was because he didn't have to fake attraction to hi screenpartner. It was all natural. Although he maintained a professional aspect, but if Mei Mei wanted to explore something, Tae would be down.

"I'm sorry. What was the question?" Tae lowered his eyes at the interviewer. Even a blind man could see that Tae was making her melt. Melt so much, that she started stuttering to get out the next question.

"What are some of your favorite looks this season."

"I wore a body fitted denim dress, with a long sleeve white blouse underneath. That was a memorable look for me on set. The second one-"

"Damn I remember that. You looked good, baby." He stepped behind Mei Mei, his hands wrapping around the front of her dress. Not necessarily resting on her stomach but more on her belly button. His veiny hands becoming an accessory for her dress.

"I love it when he calls me that." Mei Mei let out a girly screech.

"Thank you, baby." She returned the comment. Neither one of them packed down from the eye contact they were holding. Not giving a second thought to the cameras, still capturing every moment they shared. The interviewer long forgotten, she was too stunned that Tae give his infamous 'fuck me' eyes.

Taking the cue to move on, Mei Mei led Tae to the next interviewer, hand in hand. Oh for sure they were going to be the talk of the night.

Commenter 1: I love seeing my parents together

Commenter 2: I just know Tae's girlfriend is sliding down the wall Commenter 3: I need someone to look at me the way Tae looks at Mei Mei Commenter 4: They just need to launch the relationship at this point. It's getting ridiculous Commenter 5: Mei Mei is so pretty Commenter 6: I love seeing black women happy :)

#bts x black reader #bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x oc #taehyung x fem oc #taehyung x black oc #black oc #madameaug #black fem oc #x black oc #kim taehyung x oc

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takaraphoenix · 27 days

Text

Colds and Comfort

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, sick fic, hurt/comfort, fluff, Pack Alpha Peter

Main Pairing: Chris/Peter/Stiles

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Chris Argent

@writersmonth Prompts: sense + bus

Summary: Stiles is sick. Stiles is also used to taking care of himself. So when both Chris and Peter come running to take care of him after hearing he's sick, he doesn't really get it, until they spell it out for him.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

Colds and Comfort

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

There was an obnoxious buzzing next to his head, tearing him out of a fitful sleep. He groaned as he reached out with too much effort. His joints ached, making every move feel exhausting. Grabbing his phone, he unlocked it to see who was so excessively texting him.

From Zombiewolf [10:14]: You're late, darling. This will be loaded over you

From Zombiewolf [10:29]: Stiles I need you to let me know you're alright

From Zombiewolf [10:33]: Stiles. Answer your phone

From Silver Fox [10:35]: Peter is trying to reach you. Tell me you're ignoring him because he's annoying and we're all good, but if you don't answer either of us in ten minutes, we'll come over

Stiles blinked sluggishly at the texts and then started typing himself. Slow and taking far too long for his brain to formulate words. It felt like someone had stuffed his head with cotton.

From Little Red [10:37]: Sorry. Not coming over. Sick

Heaving an exhausted sigh, he dropped his phone back onto the mattress and collapsed down next to it, arms spread. It had started yesterday, on the bus. Actually, he was pretty sure he got it on the bus. The Jeep had been in the shop for the past week, after the latest monster of the week had attacked them and he'd hit it with the Jeep. Saving Erica in the process but also severely hurting Roscoe. So for the past week, Stiles had to take the bus. Too many people crammed together, and during this season at that! Yesterday though, on the drive back, he'd first had this sense of unease in his stomach, not quite nausea but close enough. He'd known, he was getting sick. And this morning, Saturday morning who got sick on a Saturday that was just cruel, he couldn't even get out of bed. Even though his alarm had been ringing since nine and he'd been eager for it too.

He was supposed to go to Peter and Chris' place, it was Saturday. Every Saturday morning, for about two months now, he'd been going to their place to work on the bestiary with Peter. Chris would go out and buy them breakfast and coffee and they'd eat together and then Peter and him would work quietly side by side together. It was the highlight of Stiles' week, which was a bit pathetic for a teenager, he supposed, but oh well what else was new.

Ever since the Alpha Pack, the Darach, the way Derek had given up his Alpha powers to save his sister, Scott had turned into a True Alpha and Peter had killed one of the Alpha Pack members to regain his Alpha powers, it had started to feel more pressing to gather information. So, Stiles and Peter had started compiling the Hale bestiary and the Argent bestiary and buying a lot of rare, shiny books online (because Peter had money and Peter spent that money on knowledge that Stiles loved to absorb and if he didn't know that Peter and Chris were happily mated and there was also just generally no way Peter would go for Stiles, of all people, Stiles would feel courted by this).

Groaning, Stiles rolled over with a glare. Saturday, of all days. Couldn't he have gotten sick tomorrow? He wanted to be in Peter and Chris' place, with them both, indulge in his stupid, pathetic little crush on the hot couple. These few hours every week, they felt so painfully domestic and Stiles could pretend, for just a little while, that he was a part of this, of them.

Enough self-pity and misery. He needed to drink something. His water-bottle was empty and staying hydrated was important. However, it also required him to get up. Groaning again, for entirely different reasons this time, he attempted to get up. And gave up after a couple moments, collapsing back onto his bed. Okay. No drinks or food for Stiles, then. That was okay.

His stomach rumbled. Because he hadn't eaten since lunch at school yesterday. He'd been so exhausted yesterday evening when he got home, he kind of just went to bed.

"Oh, sweetheart. You look wrecked. And not the fun kind."

Blinking sluggishly, Stiles looked up at what so clearly were fever hallucinations. Peter and Chris, standing in his bedroom, with concerned frowns on their faces. How were these men that handsome. Offering a lazy smile, Stiles rolled onto his side to more comfortably look up at them. How many of his wet dreams started off with them randomly in his room…? Too many.

"Wait," Stiles frowned. "I texted you. I did hit send, right? You didn't rush over here for nothing because you thought something happened to me, right? I sent the text?"

"If you mean the one telling us you're sick, then yes," Chris sighed.

"Okay, good," Stiles nodded pleased, before he paused again. "Then why are you here?"

Unless they indeed were fever hallucinations. The probability of that kept growing. Peter was crouched down in front of the bed, pressing a hand to Stiles' clammy forehead and then growling darkly, displeased. He even flashed his eyes red and that was just unfair. The Alpha eyes did things to Stiles, it should absolutely be forbidden for Peter to put them on display in Stiles' bedroom, that would only confuse him even more. And he was overall very confused right now. Mind messy.

"We decided to bring you soup," Chris supplied, lifting up a bag. "Where's your father?"

Soup from the fancy restaurant where Chris and Peter usually went for their date nights because did Stiles already mention that Peter was filthy rich? Stiles couldn't even afford, well, the soup actually. One time, when he'd still tried to date Lydia, he had taken her there and spent two months' worth of allowance on two salads. Man, was he glad he got over Lydia, he could not afford to date her. Well, not that 'moving on' had worked well in his favor, considering he'd hopelessly fallen in love with two men more than twice his age who were in a happy relationship.

"Focus, sweetheart," Peter snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Where's your father?"

Right. He'd been asked a question. Blinking repeatedly and slowly, he turned to look at them.

"Silver Lake," Stiles answered after a moment, confused by the question. "They're having kind of a situation and asked for back-up, dad and a bunch of the deputies went there on Thursday, he'll probably be back by Tuesday or something? I don't know. Why?"

"Why," Peter repeated mockingly, glaring at him. "Because you have a fever, Stiles."

"Yupp," Stiles nodded. "How's those two related?"

The wolf growled and flashed these far too sexy Alpha eyes again. If asked later, Stiles would blame the fever, sluggishness and fact that he hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours on his reaction, but he fully, instinctively whimpered and bared his throat to his Alpha. Peter gave the most pleased growl at that, resting a hand on Chris' shoulder, for some reason.

"You're sick, doll," Chris sighed and came to sit down on the edge of Stiles' bed. "Who's taking care of you, if your father is out of town? Will Melissa be by?"

Stiles frowned at Chris confused and then pointed at himself. "Me. I take care of me. Always have."

"Stiles-" Peter made a frustrated and near angry noise.

"I fully don't get what is going on with him," Stiles now pointed at Peter.

"Stiles…" Chris looked so troubled. "You look absolutely miserable, how do you expect to take care of yourself with a fever…? We did see your attempt at getting up, and the way you went down again. You couldn't even concentrate on a simple question earlier."

"And have you eaten anything at all today?" Peter tagged on with a judgmental glare.

"Fuck you," Stiles narrowed his eyes at the Alpha, growing irritated. "I don't need you to come here and judge me. I'm not a little kid. I've been taking care of myself and my dad and this whole damn household since I was ten. This isn't the first time I have a fever, I know how to get through it."

Chris sighed once more, but it was a sad sound. He reached out and ran his fingers through Stiles' hair in a way that made him feel like mush. Main reason why he had grown it out. The idea of someone running their fingers through it, or tugging during – No. Nope, not having naughty thoughts while an Alpha werewolf was in his bedroom, absolutely not.

"It's not about your capabilities, doll," the nickname never failed to send a thrill through Stiles. "It's about the fact that you shouldn't have to take care of everyone, and everything."

"Yes," Peter hissed. "You take care of both packs, support us with research, you're ready to help the betas, you come over to our place to help me with the bestiary every week, you do so much. I'm not trying to patronize you, I'm angry that when you need someone, nobody is taking care of you."

...Oh. Well, Stiles had no clue what to do with that. So, instead of reacting to their words, he just curled together small on his bed. Feeling oddly vulnerable now.

"It's not their fault," Stiles sighed. "I'm pretty sure if they knew, Allison and Scotty would be here in an instant. Heck, as useless in the kitchen as she is, Erica would attempt to make me soup, maybe Cora would help her, which would only make this more dangerous. And Boyd and Isaac would be battling my bed to change my sheets. Jackson would act annoyed but he'd still sit by my bedside, the emotionally constipated asshole. Kira would actually commandeer the kitchen and Malia would be dragging something she hunted in here, to make me 'feel better'. And Lydia would fully take charge of the entire household. Derek would probably stand right there in the corner, arms crossed, glaring like he's trying to glare my cold into submission. The twins would probably try to help too."

Stiles snorted softly, a fond smile on his lips as he thought about the two packs. He loved all of them dearly, the Hale Pack as much as the McCall Pack. And even though the two packs still edged on at times – Scott and Jackson had always been rivals and that did not get better when Jackson joined the Hale Pack after the bite took, while Allison and Erica also never saw eye to eye, both Erica and Boyd still hadn't forgiven her for hunting them like animals and shooting them and honestly Stiles fully understood that, even if he loved Ally some fiercely, they didn't owe her forgiveness, and similarly, Boyd, Erica and Cora were still wary of Ethan and Aiden for their part in their captivity, even though the twins had turned on the Alpha Pack and helped in the end – Stiles knew that both packs would be crammed into the house together if it was about him.

"Then why aren't they here?" Peter asked, voice sharp.

And oh no, he was so going to give his betas a scolding if Stiles didn't give a good reply. Stiles heaved a sigh of his own, not looking at either of the two. Uncomfortable with this conversation.

"I don't…" Stiles struggled with the words. "I don't need help, I know how to take care of this myself, have done so for years, so why should I bother others with it. They don't need to know, they don't need to fuss, I'll be fine on my own. I always am."

"You shouldn't have to, doll," Chris' face looked pained, his fingers still running through Stiles' hair. "I… I do get that you're very strong, we know that. And that you're used to not asking for help because for too many years, you didn't have help, but… things are different now."

"Pack takes care of pack," Peter growled, not threatening, just… softly growling.

"Please don't tell them," Stiles turned pleading eyes on him. "I really don't want to ruin their weekend and I absolutely can not handle having ten werewolves, a coyote, a kitsune, a Banshee and two hunters in this house, at the same time. I am so not feeling well enough to deal with that. Also, I am not sure if everyone would even physically fit into this house…"

He blinked dazed as he tried to imagine it. Felt like the home equivalent to an overcrowded elevator. He startled when Peter and Chris got up. And even though he'd just said he didn't need anyone to take care of him or help him, there was a weird ache in his chest at the thought of them leaving again. Right. He could take care of himself, always had, always would.

"Christopher-" Peter started, picking the soup container up from the floor.

"On it, love," Chris leaned in to press a kiss to Peter's cheek. "You take care of the food."

Huh? Stiles blinked confused. Wait. What was happening now? Chris grabbed Stiles' pillow and pulled the casing off and no really, what was happening here.

"What… are you doing?" Stiles asked while Chris stripped the blanket.

"The most specific thing you listed was changing your bedsheets," Chris pointed out. "I'm taking that as something you would really like to happen now."

"Well," Stiles tilted his head, feeling sheepish. "I've been so busy, I've been so busy I kinda hadn't gotten around to changing the bedding to my winter bedding yet. So. That's still the thin summer bedding. And I'm… I'm fucking freezing… Yeah."

Chris grunted and continued, sorting the bedding. Then, he turned to give him a look. Like he was waiting for something. Stiles frowned and looked around. No, Chris got everything on the bed.

"The mattress, Stiles," Chris sighed. "I can hardly strip the mattress while you're sitting on it."

"Ri—ight," Stiles nodded and made another attempt at getting up.

His knees were made of actual jello though, and sitting upright made a wave of dizziness and nausea overcome him in a manner that had him whimpering when he went back down.

"What was that noise," Peter called from downstairs.

"Dizzy," Stiles replied softly. "I'm making your mate's self-given task of changing my bed much harder by being unable to get out of said bed."

Chris huffed out a chuckle as he approached Stiles and then curled an arm around Stiles' back and reached the other under his legs, picking him up like he weighted nothing and damn it. Damn it all to hell. Was it not enough that Stiles had a major kink for werewolf strength and the thought of Peter manhandling him, did Chris have to prove what a Manly Man he was like that? Stiles squeaked high-pitched and wrapped his arms around Chris' neck, clinging onto him.

"...And what was that noise?" Peter sounded curious.

"Your mate has no manners and decided to manhandle me out of my bed!" Stiles yelped indignantly. "I am not a pretty princess, Christopher, unhand me!"

"Not a pretty princess," Chris agreed, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Pretty prince?"

Oh, the fever was getting to him. He was hearing things. Closing his eyes, Stiles gave up and allowed Chris to carry him wherever the hunter wanted him. Chris could take him anywhere. Innuendo intended. And no, he wasn't even feeling guilty about these thoughts, not when those two broke into his house for the sole purpose of taking care of him. How was a guy supposed to handle his long-time crushes doing something like that.

"...Where are you bringing me?" Stiles asked suspiciously.

"You are sweat-soaked, doll," Chris frowned at him concerned. "Peter, if you have a moment?"

A second later, the wolf was right in front of them, looking at Chris curiously. "The soup is simmering, I put on tea. What do you need, darling?"

"This one needs a bath," Chris lifted Stiles a little higher for emphasis, like Peter didn't know who he was talking about. "Would you start drawing him a bath while I help him undress?"

A wicked grin spread over the wolf's lips and his eyes flashed red and what. Why. Stiles frowned. Was this some wolf-instinct thing of being happy to help out a pack-mate? Gently, Chris put Stiles down on the toilet seat and then pulled his shirt off first. So Stiles had spent a lot of time thinking about Chris undressing him but this was… not how that went in his fantasies. He sighed softly.

"No," Stiles' voice was sharp and his hand grabbed Chris' wrist tightly when he went for the boxers. "Absolutely not. I'm not getting naked in front of you guys. Out."

There was still some semblance of dignity that he wanted to cling onto. Chris nodded and left the room, together with Peter, once the bath was drawn, though Peter lingered in the door.

"We will leave this door open and if I hear anything that sounds like you drowning because you fell asleep in the bath, we are coming back in here," Peter warned him.

Stiles hummed his agreement as he went for the bath, movement sluggish and every step forced, but he was absolutely not letting them get him fully naked and worse yet, carry him naked to the bathtub. He would in fact rather drown in that bath than let that happen.

/break\

It took a bit to find where Stiles kept his winter bedding, and then to figure out how the Stilinski washing machine worked, but in the end, Chris was getting good work done. He raised a judgmental eyebrow when his lover entered the house, looking winded.

"...Did you really run back to our place to get our clothes?"

Peter growled though he looked embarrassed. "Shut up, Christopher, you don't understand werewolf instincts. Our mate is sick and miserable and while I, rationally, know that it's just a cold and he will be fine, my… my wolf doesn't, he just sees our boy is in pain."

Smiling softly, Chris curled his hand around the back of Peter's neck, pulling him close enough to kiss. He may not have the wolf instincts, but he understood the worry. When Stiles hadn't replied to Peter's texts this morning, Chris' mind was buzzing with horror scenarios. They lived dangerous lives, any kind of threat could have invaded, gone after Stiles, hurt him in various horrible ways. The relief that had flooded him when Stiles replied, telling them he was sick, had been intense.

"And we're here taking care of him," Chris whispered. "Go, bring him the clothes."

The wolf wanted their boy to smell like them. Chris wasn't really going to argue that, he'd love to see Stiles in his hoodie, wearing his clothes, being his. Shaking his head, Chris returned his attention to the laundry, ready to get their boy into a warm, cozy bed. It had been getting colder for weeks now and part of Chris was concerned that Stiles had still been sleeping in his summer bedding but at the same time, he wasn't surprised. Stiles took care of others, prioritized them so much, he often forgot himself. Chris heaved a sigh.

"You are ridiculous, Creeperwolf."

Chris' lips quirked into a smile as he got to watch his wolf carry their boy into the bedroom. Stiles was wearing Peter's sweat-pants, one of Peter's shirts and on top of it, Chris' hoodie. Sufficiently covered in both their scents, Chris hoped. A cute glare was on Stiles' face, half-hearted at best.

"I do have clothes," Stiles pointed out, as he was put down onto the mattress. "Clothes that fit."

For emphasis, he pulled on the hoodie, large enough to slip off one of his shoulders, revealing the pale span of his neck and shoulder. Peter's eyes were dark with lust and Chris knew it took the Alpha everything he had not to latch himself onto that neck. Chris was struggling himself.

"Indulge the wolf in the room," Chris requested amused.

Stiles rolled his eyes exasperated. "Oh, like half my closet isn't other people's clothes at this point because the packs keep leaving their stuff here in a very unsubtle manner. Is this about me being human, or me being in both packs? That you guys are competing for who makes me smell more like their pack? I swear, half the school thinks that the Lacrosse team is my personal harem by now."

Chris choked on a laugh at the face Stiles made, even as he felt jealousy twist his stomach at the idea of anyone thinking Stiles belonged to someone aside from Chris and Peter. Peter growled.

"I'll go and get the soup and tea," Peter left the room.

Jealous, possessive wolf. Truly, it was beyond Chris how someone as clever as Stiles hadn't figured out that Peter was deeply in love with him and willing to do anything for him. It was ironic, Chris had accepted this and ignored it for a while, after Peter told him – Peter had always been honest about his feelings, never kept them a secret from Chris (not that Chris hadn't figured those out himself, but he did appreciate the honesty). Yet the longer he was dating Peter, and thus getting more personally involved in the pack business, the better he got to know Stiles, the more he fell for the sarcastic, snarky, gorgeous brat. What can he say, he had a type when it came to guys.

"Thank you," Stiles looked up at Chris, wrapping the blanket around himself. "This is… so much better. And the bath helped too. You guys didn't have to…"

"We did have to, doll," Chris sat down next to Stiles on the bed. "But we wanted to. You deserve to be taken care of too, Stiles. You always take care of everyone, whatever they need."

"But it's not your job to take care of me," Stiles sounded uncharacteristically small.

He pulled the blankets even tighter, making himself look all the smaller. Chris frowned. He didn't like that, he liked his boy loud and brash, never backing down even in the face of danger and threats. It really did make him want to protect Stiles all the more fiercely to see him like this.

"Maybe we want it to be our job, doll."

Stiles tilted his head to frown up at him with a twisted expression on his face. "Listen, I know you're a great dad and all but I am not in the business for another dad. Really not."

Peter laughed in the doorway. "Oh, there's a Daddy Kink joke in there that I'm dying to make."

"Then go and die," Chris commented dryly, glaring at Peter.

Peter laughed even louder and stole a kiss before placing the tray with tea and soup in front of Stiles. Then, the wolf took a place on Stiles' other side, sandwiching the boy between them. Stiles grabbed his soup and started eating, but he also kept trowing wary looks at Peter and Chris. Neither of them indulged him though. If he wanted something, he'd have to say it.

"Why are you doing this, then?" Stiles asked once he finished his soup. "I just…"

"Is it that hard for you to believe that others care for you to the degree of wanting to take care of you, Bambi?" Peter heaved a sigh, brushing Stiles' hair back.

"Yeah," Stiles frowned up at him. "I've been taking care of my dad since mom died. He's trying his best, he really is, but he was never the… nurturing type, that was… mom's. And before two werewolf packs stumbled into my life, it was always kind of just me and Scott? I've been taking care of Scott since we first met, when he got bullied on the playground. I'm still getting used to having people care about me, so yeah. Yeah, this is hard to believe."

Peter whined at that, an honest whine. Usually, Peter had more dignity than that, he controlled his instincts better than that. But hearing their boy say things like that? Chris wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist, pulling him as close as possible. Peter followed from the other side, nuzzling against Stiles. A soft, pleased sigh escaped Stiles, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"You're warm," Stiles mumbled happily. "I'm still feeling so cold."

"We'll keep you warm then, sweetheart," Peter smiled. "And we do. We care so much about you."

"I'm not doing any of this out of paternal instincts," Chris grunted and made a face. "Believe me, doll, paternal instincts are the farthest from my mind when it comes to you."

"What… does that even mean," Stiles blinked confused.

"Nothing you need to concern your pretty little head with just now, Bambi," Peter smiled, patting Stiles on the head. "Rest, now. Get better. We'll talk once you're more clear-minded."

"Mh…" Stiles closed his eyes again, snuggling in between them. "Why… do you call me that? Bambi? Is it because of my flailing, like Bambi on the lake? Or because I'm the weakest member of the pack, the 'baby deer' that everyone has to worry about…?"

Peter snorted and shook his head. "Because you have the prettiest doe-eyes I have ever seen and they make my predator-instincts go wild, Bambi."

"...You wanna hunt me for sports?" Stiles frowned.

"I do want to eat you," Peter flashed his red eyes.

"You're very bad at waiting until our boy is feeling better," Chris commented.

Peter snorted and by the time they turned to their boy, Stiles was deep asleep.

/break\

Peter's wolf was contently purring as he woke up curled together with both his mates. Stiles did fit fantastically between himself and Christopher. Nuzzling against Stiles' back, Peter rubbed his nose along that pale, tempting neck. They were both laying half on top of Chris.

"Wait did you insinuate that you wanted to give me a blowjob?" Stiles squeaked as soon as he woke up, laying stiff between them. "Okay now that I said it out loud I can't tell if it's worse if you actually said it or if it was a fever hallucination and I just said that to your face."

"Blowjob, eating you out," Peter leaned over Stiles with a leer, liking his lips and showing some fang. "Anything you want, Bambi. As long as I get to ravish you, I'd be more than happy."

"Chris," Stiles yelped, slapping the hunter's chest. "Your boyfriend has lost his mind! Again!"

Chris grunted and sat up a little. He adjusted Stiles, who was still half on top of him, just grabbing him by the waist and pulling him fully into his lap. Stiles gave another endearing squeak and Peter followed the impulse to press a kiss to his cheek. A gasp escaped Stiles, those big, brown eyes widening even more, stirring Peter's predator-instincts. His.

"I'm fine watching him do either of those to you," Chris commented dryly. "Your choice, doll."

"Oh, my fever got really bad and I am having the hallucinations now," Stiles muttered.

"Your fever went down," Peter brushed Stiles' hair back, feeling his forehead. "You'll be fine."

"Then what is happening here," Stiles looked from one of them to the other.

"We meant to wait, until you're… well, until you're eighteen," Chris offered with a sigh. "But in the end, it doesn't matter, does it? We want you, now. Waiting is a pretense that's unnecessary, especially if you don't understand that someone would want to take care of you, because we want to take care of you in all manners, doll. Because we want you."

"I… have no idea how to compute that," Stiles admitted.

"That's okay," Peter smiled at him. "I've been in love with you for a long time, I'm fine waiting for you, Stiles. However long you need, you're worth waiting for."

Stiles turned away from the wolf, looking at Chris as though he expected anger or objection. Chris simply smiled and caressed Stiles' cheek, their boy nuzzling into the touch so softly. Peter sighed.

"I'm with Peter on this one," Chris chuckled. "You should be ours, we should get to take care of you. Share hot, soothing baths after long, cold nights out in the woods. Take you out to fancy dinners when you haven't had the chance to eat between research. Hold you while you sleep. Take you absolutely apart until your ever-working mind can find some rest."

A small, high noise came from Stiles and the scent of despair and arousal filling the air was so delicious, Peter had to hold back not to ravish their boy right her and now. He couldn't fight the growl though, the greedy and possessive growl. Stiles looked at him wondrously.

"Wait. The growling and eye-flashing isn't pack Alpha worry, holy shit, you're into me."

"Finally," Peter heaved a sigh. "You are my clever boy, and you really had me start doubting you. How did you not piece together all the painfully obvious clues I kept leaving behind because my wolf is too smitten with you to allow me full control when it comes to you?"

Stiles stared at them stunned. And then, with flushed cheeks, did he lean in, pressing the lightest kiss to Peter's lips and then to Chris' before settling back in on Chris' lap, closing his eyes.

"I'll do more napping now," Stiles declared with a yawn. "Thank you. For… taking care of me."

Peter smiled softly at their boy and then exchanged a warm look with Chris.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Stetopher #Sick Fic #Fluff #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #Chris Argent #Teen Wolf #Phoe's Fics #Stiles Summer Stories 2024

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manycoloureddays · 1 year

Text

in a vehicle / confessing feelings

for @amberlouigi who wanted this prompt for colin & isaac, i hope i did it justice!

Isaac has been sitting on this revelation for a while now. Getting used to it, learning how to live with this feeling in his chest so huge it threatens to swallow him whole. And now he’s going to say it, declare it, claim it. It’s fucking terrifying.

He’s not sure when it started. He was in too deep before he knew anything was happening. The timeline is all screwed up.

There were the before times, years and years full of friendship. Then there was that time between finding out Colin was gay and going to his house to apologise. The time they don’t speak about, when Isaac’s head was too full of noise and fear to make much sense of anything.

That was the night it smacked him in the face.

Sitting next to Colin on the couch asking him question after question until he was answering one of his own with too much confidence to be entirely theoretical. He didn’t know he was in it til it was too late, didn’t know it was something he could be in until he pulled Bumbercatch’s name out and then suddenly it was all he could think about.

He knew guys were, like, objectively fit. But he’d never really considered where he was in relation to that, or where he’d like to be. Turns out he’d like to be in the thick of it, right up close and personal.

They finished out the game but Isaac doesn’t remember who won. All he remembers are the different scenarios he had playing out in his head. Did he want to kiss Bumbercatch? A little, but mostly in the same way he wanted to kiss anyone hot. Just to try it, just because he could, but not in an earth shattering kind of way. So he probably wasn’t into Bumbercatch. Did that mean he wasn’t gay? Or that other one, the one like his baby sister. Bisexual. Huh. Okay. That word was only a little less scary.

But surely he’d have known. So if he wasn’t into Bumbercatch, was there someone else, someone more his type. He thought about all the girls he’d kissed, shagged, fallen in love with. Women who were fit and silly and liked a laugh, who went pint for pint with him and joined him on the dancefloor.

“‘Nother round, boyo?” Colin had asked, tapping Isaac’s empty beer bottle with his own.

Which had of course led Isaac to looking. Wondering. Thinking. Imagining. What would it feel like to kiss Colin? What would it feel like to go out clubbing and dance with him, instead of just near him? He thought about pulling Colin close, holding him tight, moving together, hands on his hips, thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.

Colin was standing in front of him, still waiting for an answer, and Isaac had to stop thinking about it.

Isaac couldn’t stop thinking about it, because Colin was standing right in front of him, his shirt riding up and Isaac could see his tummy, the trail of hair leading down to his …

“Nah, I gotta go,” Isaac said, jumping up and winding up almost chest to chest with Colin. “Another time though, yeah?”

That was nearly a year ago now.

He’s been sitting on it for A While.

But Isaac had to make sure. He had to double check his answers, be careful. He had to know he wasn’t going to say something he didn’t mean. He couldn’t lie about something like this. Not to Colin.

He couldn’t say he liked men, maybe liked his best friend more than he was supposed to, because what if he was wrong?

So Isaac made sure.

And by the time he was sure, Colin and Michael were on the rocks and he had to be the supportive best friend. He sat through conversations about their relationship, gave genuinely good advice that was totally unbiased, and then when they finally broke up, he, Bumbercatch and Jamie took Colin out to get wasted and dance it off.

Then he had to wait to make sure he wasn’t going to be Colin’s rebound guy. At which point, Roy pulled him aside and told him to pull his finger out, which was super embarrassing and he never wants to think about that particular boot room conversation ever again.

Roy in a healthy committed relationship is the worst kind of Roy to get advice from. He gets all sincere. And smiley. It’s honestly a little creepy.

But now they were here. Him and Colin in a car together for the three hours it was going to take to drive to Cardiff for Colin’s aunty’s birthday. Alone. Just like Isaac planned.

And now he thinks he might be bottling it.

Colin – in the passenger seat, because like hell was Isaac letting him drive all that way, he’d prefer it if Colin never drove again actually – is singing along to whatever Jamie T song is playing, totally oblivious to Isaac’s crisis.

Just because Isaac is very good at not talking about his feelings doesn’t mean he doesn’t want people to notice when he’s shitting bricks beside th–

“You okay in there, Isaac?” Colin asks, cutting in over Isaac’s spiralling.

“Huh?”

He reaches across and rubs his thumb up and down between Isaac’s eyebrows. “You’ve got your emotionally constipated brow furrow going on. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah bruv. ‘Course it is.”

He glances over, catches the almost reassured look on Colin’s face. He can practically hear Roy’s voice in his head: are you really going to let an opener like that go?

Fuck it.

“Um actually. There’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to tell you.” It really is so much easier like this, eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. He can say it to the road in front of them, just like he’s been practising in the mirror. “Nothing bad, I promise, yeah? I just need you to listen.”

“I can do that,” Colin says. And it’s Colin. It’s fucking Colin. He’s Isaac’s best friend. He’s been building it up in his head for so long, he kind of forgot that Colin is the easiest person in the world to talk to.

“So uh. You know how you’re gay?”

Colin splutters, trying to keep his laughter in and failing.

“Yeah, Isaac. I know how I’m gay.”

“Right. Well. Me too. Sort of. Half. I’m bisexual, or whatever.” He knew he should have rehearsed this bit longer. I’m bisexual, or whatever, real smooth. Wanker.

Colin doesn’t laugh though. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all, which would freak Isaac out if he wasn’t used to the way Colin goes blank when he processes new information. It’s like he’s uploading software and needs to restart. It’s cute. Fuck, he’s so cute.

“Thanks for telling me. It’s not an easy thing to say,” Colin says. He puts his hand over Isaac’s on the gearshift and squeezes.

“There’s more. Um. Yeah, I’m just going to… I’m kind of in love with you?”

Colin doesn’t go blank this time. Isaac watches out of the corner of his eye as Colin’s mouth drops open.

“Can you pull over?” he asks, and that is not exactly what Isaac wanted to hear, but he does it anyway. If Colin doesn’t want to be in the car with him anymore, Isaac sure as hell isn’t going to keep him here.

They haven’t even made it to the motorway yet, which turns out to be a blessing. Isaac pulls in behind a big white van. He reads all the information on the back of it while he waits for Colin to leave or say something, and considers calling the number and getting his mum’s conservatory renovated for her.

When Colin finally finds his words, they’re not the ones Isaac was expecting.

“Can you say that again?”

Isaac turns to look at him. He doesn’t look upset. He doesn’t look confused or freaked out or angry or any of the things that Isaac was dreading. He looks shocked. But beneath the shock there’s something a little like hope.

Isaac latches onto the hope, ties it to his own to make it double.

“I’m in love with you.”

Colin breathes in. Breathes out. “Not kind of?”

“What?”

“Before, you said ‘kind of’. You’re not kind of in love with me?” Colin asks, and he’s smiling now.

“Nah. That was a lie. I’m definitely in love with you.” It keeps getting easier every time he says it.

Colin laughs. “Cool.”

Isaac opens his mouth to say Cool back, because he’s starting to understand the need to reboot with new information, but he doesn’t get anything out before Colin launches himself across the centre console.

Kissing Colin is nothing like kissing any of the guys in packed clubs. It’s soft and sweet, the two of them smiling too much to kiss properly. Isaac’s seatbelt is cutting into the side of his neck, and Colin is talking into the kiss, but it’s still making Isaac smile dopily.

“I’m definitely in love with you too,” Colin says, words pressed into Isaac’s lips. “Like, have been for a while. Probably will be for a really long time. Hope that’s okay.”

Isaac doesn’t answer. Colin’s always been better with words anyway. He just keeps kissing him until he shuts up, and then he kisses him more.

They’re an hour late to Aunty Megan’s birthday. But they walk in holding hands and Isaac knows some things are worth the wait.

#i really wanted to post it tonight so i hope it doesn't feel too rushed!!#colin hughes #isaac mcadoo #colin x isaac #ted lasso #madeleine writes #amberlouigi

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