#i dunno what else to tag so i guess this is good enough

[cuteadore]

ALL IT COSTS IS YOUR LOVE ♪

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎   ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎@heartderes * reblog if save, credit if use * no kin/id/me tags

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Part 1 here

Tag list: @catr4dora @girlyteengirl18 @pheesfanfics @theilluminatidragonqueen @ryoiii @hehegerms @notsocuriousgeorge @mxr-lvn

You and Stan were enjoying your date so far that Mabel had set you up on, it was a cute little picnic near the waterfall and you were both sat in the perfect spot to over see the entire town. It was perfect and you would have to thank Mabel when you get back before midnight, seeing as she poetically pushed you and Stan out of the shack and told you both to enjoy your date and not to be back before midnight as she shuts the door.

She was a good kid with a big heart and you loved her for that as you fiddled with the bracelet she made you once with small smile.

‘How come we didn’t think of this before? Going on dates I mean.’ You asked as you took a sip from your drink, eyes racking over Stan’s form and admiring how dashing he looked in a burgundy shirt with a couple of buttons undone to show the gold hanging from his neck, accompanied by a matching grey blazer and trousers. With the way he cleans up it was enough to make anyone swoon for him, especially when he wears the cologne you’ve always liked the smell of, the same cologne that he was wearing right now actually as you rested your head against his shoulder.

‘Maybe because we’ve been too busy lying to everyone for thirty years, while also trying to get my brother back that we forget the simpler ways to convince people we’re together.’ Stan replied as he then playfully nudges your side. ‘And here I thought you were the smarter one of us both, toots.’

You swatted his hand away as you smiled sheepishly. ‘I’m smarter in other fields than the romantic one, it’s always alluded me to be fair as I’ve never been on a date before or had anyone express interest.’ You admitted, feeling a little exposed under Stan’s gaze.

‘You’ve never been on a date?’ He asked.

‘Nope.’ You tell him. ‘I was too nerdy and geeky for the most people but too smart and intimidating for others.’

‘Not even my brother?’ Stan then asks with a slight strain in his voice and your brows furrowed.

‘No? Our relationship was strictly platonic and professional. He is a smart individual but we had little to no emotional attachments to one another outside of considering each other a friend.’ You said. ‘Though that maybe due to how isolated we were from everyone else with our research but that comes with the territory of trying to make a break through within the field of paranormal discovery.’ You then added out of a need to provide a logical explanation as to why you and Ford were close.

‘Why you ask?’ You then found yourself asking him this time and Stan scratched the back of his neck as a blush crept across his face.

‘I dunno, just find it odd how someone like you hasn’t been on a date. You’re pretty, smart, funny, albeit a little awkward but that’s what made you cute and endearing, also how you would get this look in your eye when your talking about something you’re passionate about that you have to start moving other parts of yourself because your excitement for it is that great.’ He shrugs as he then looks back at you with the softest look in his eyes as he chuckles. ‘I guess I get bragging rights about taking the most beautiful/handsome smart ass on the perfect date.’

In your eyes Stan looked beautiful in that moment as the butterflies made themselves knowing within your stomach. He knew you inside and out and loved every bit he saw and you couldn’t help but reciprocate the feeling as you found yourself laughing and smiling a lot more in his presence. Stan made you feel as though you could drop being smart for a second and allow yourself to breathe and take in life while you can, he was a smart man who had a way with words when it came to conning people, but here he looked almost as if he were an awkward teenager on his first date.

‘Don’t sell yourself so short Stanley.’ You tell him as you placed your hand atop of his own, squeezing it before intertwining your fingers as you took the moment to recognise that being with Stan just felt right, it felt as though you were meant to be by his side and found yourself waiting impatiently for him to hold you at night and smother you in affection during the day. ‘A date with you is a date I’ll take over any other I would’ve hypothetically had in an alternate reality.’ You admitted, feeling a blush creep across your face as you felt yourself about to admire to something you’ve always had an inkling about, but just didn’t believe it until recently.

‘And why’s that?’ Stan asked, mentally having of the edge of his seat as he hoped you were about to say what he thought you were about to say, for he too had made a similar discovery, which was only amplified and proven right whenever he looked at you in hopes of seeing you smile at something he did or confined yourself in him.

Even now as he looked at you he couldn’t help but smack his younger self for not realising what he felt sooner, he was jealous that his brother got to spend a lot of time with you, but he wouldn’t change anything that had lead you both to where you were now as you have done nothing but brought a sense of happiness to Stan’s life that he had been devoid of since he was kicked out by his father.

You looked at him like he was something and he looked at you like you were everything because to both of you it was the truth. You were what the other needed most and now it had finally come to light all this time later, and after constant adamant denial that you could actually come to like each other, only for you two to do just that and find yourselves liking each other in a way that made words like ‘like’ and ‘love’ not a strong enough description.

‘Because I actually like you Stanley Pines. I really do.’ You confessed and the weight on your chest that had been there for while had suddenly lifted. ‘I really like you Stanley Pines and time and time again I’ve been finding myself falling for you harder than originally thought. I didn’t think I’d ever find someone but here you are’. You finished, frightened as to what Stan would think but found your head being lifted by your chin and looking Stan directly in the eyes.

‘And here I thought I’d live life as a lonely lousy man until I found you toots.’ Stan says softly as he looked back on his life with fondness while hopefully seeing his future in the depths of your eyes. ‘You’ve made me a happier man than I have been in a long, long time and I don’t want to let that go now, so what do you say sweetheart? Be mine officially?’

You held his face in your hands as you pressed a kiss to his slightly chapped lips, humming in delight when you felt him reciprocate the kiss, feeling his hand move from your chin to the back of your head to keep you engaged in the kiss, as if you had any desire to depart from the man you once thought as a nuisance but now a loving reminder that you were allowed to love.

How and why it took you both this long to realise wasn’t of importance anymore as you both got lost in the feel and taste of the others lips, feeling happier then you have ever been in a while. You didn’t need some paper to tell people you were in love, everyone could see that already form how you’d look at one another, a love so rare between two people they can’t help but stop and stare at you and Stan as they wished they had what you had.

You and Stan were perfect for one another and that night you both slept deeper then ever before within the others arms, knowing that what you felt was mutual that you slept with goofy smiles on your faces with a giddy feeling within your chests.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[ketchupkio]

A scene I've been wanting to draw from The Stolen Altars: ch 26! Wild knows EXACTLY what they're doing, poor Time.

Wild (they/any, but she/her for Time) and Time (he/him) are from @ageless-soul-au, pls don't tag any other AUs!!

😇😳 kofi 😳😇

Full scene below!

“I guess being told you have three days to live if you fuck up, with proof, will make you reevaluate your attitude a little,” Time sighed. “You were also staring at [Revali] a bunch.”

Wild’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? It's a little hard to see past the beak sticking out of his face.”

“That's not—.... I dunno, it was half like you were waiting for something and half... Something else.”

“Maybe I was just realizing that he can hold a conversation and not be a pompous dickbag if someone puts their foot down,” Wild shrugged. “Should I go find him to test it out again?”

Time grimaced. “I'd rather you didn't, if I'm honest. I'm not saying we need to have another discussion, but he's still toolish and I don't feel like sharing you or your time with him.”

Wild's eyes lit up dangerously. She set her hands on Time's hips and leaned in, pressing him back against the stone brazier. “Possessive, maybe?” she asked coyly.

He pouted, face going red immediately. “N-no!! .....Maybe. I— w-we don't really have the time for this, right? S-so...”

“Teasing you relaxes me,” Wild purred.

“W-we’re also in the middle of the room!” Time whispered, high-pitched enough to silence his voice on some syllables.

“And?” Wild countered, her eyes wide and innocent.

“A-and what if somebody walks in? Goddess forbid it's Twilight, o-or one of the other Champions—!”

“You think I'm gonna do something inappropriate to you where someone can see? C’mon, Time, I know you're not into that,” Wild cooed. “....Or are you?”

His face was absolutely beautiful. Wild basked in the heat coming off of it like the many species who thrived in the desert sun. She was grinning as she leaned into his chest and put her arms over his shoulders, one of her legs gently sliding against his inner thigh.

“Ah.... I-I— um—” Time stammered, only to be interrupted by a soft, gentle, timid cough.

Mipha lingered hesitantly at the doorway.

“Is.... Is this a bad time...?” she asked. “We’re getting ready to head to the castle...”

Wild was unhurried as she looked over at Mipha and then peeled herself off of Time. “No, it's fine. Someone’ll need to flag down Revali.”

“There was a messenger Rito at the inn, one of Urbosa’s guards went to go and get her,” Mipha replied, “so it shouldn't be long now. I think the Rito’s name was Viloon.”

“T-that's good then,” Time stuttered, still undeniably red. “I-it'll be good to get out of the heat... I feel like I'm almost in a daze...”

Mipha nodded emphatically with a knowing smile. “Agreed!”

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 68 | Part 69

Lmao nice.

Side note- I know I’ve been more active on Tumblr as of recently, though I haven’t been posting more of this fic. I think I needed that hiatus more than I thought I did. Trying to keep up the posting schedule I had was draining me too much, and I was overwhelmed. So I’m going to do things a little different after this fic. For starters, if you’re not following #starambles, please do if you want to keep up with what I’m writing. That’s my writing tag. I also link everything in my masterlist. I’ll have separate fic tags for each multi-chapter fic, but I will no longer be doing taglists. This does not apply to IISS: I will complete this fic with the taglist it’s amassed. However, I will no longer be adhering to my previous schedule. Instead I will post whenever I’m ready to. It may take a while, but I figure if it’s this or no more IISS, the answer would be this. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, that’s completely fine; just let me know! Also someone please confirm this tagged you in the correct way. Thank you for understanding.

Steve takes stock of himself, smiles a little as he says, “I am, yeah.” He’s a little surprised, but only a little. Eddie’s proven himself great at getting Steve out of his head. “Thank you.”

Eddie gently squeezes his hand. “Wanna stay up here a little longer, before we face the circus downstairs?”

Steve hums. “You can go back down, if you want.”

“You do that a lot.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You do that a lot. You put everyone else’s comfort before your own.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m good at going without. I don’t need a lot.”

Eddie leans his head back with a sigh. “I’ve got a feeling going back in time will change that. Now you’ve got me and Alli to tell you when you’re being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

Steve winces. Covers it up with a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie looks at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. Steve.”

Steve tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut. “Just. It won’t make sense, in this time, because half of it hasn’t happened yet, but you’ve known Dustin for all of a day and I’m willing to bet you already know how he’d act when I don’t know something he does. And-” he takes a breath. It only stutters a little. “Nancy. It was- she meant it in a sweet way, y’know? But she’d tell me, you’re an idiot, Steve Harrington. And… I know I’m not the smartest. I know there’s obvious things that I miss all the time. And I can only blame so much of it on the concussions, y’know? But at the same time… I’m not actually stupid. Impulsive, maybe, sometimes, but I do have a brain that actually works most of the time. So.” He shrugs. “I dunno. I just don’t like being called an idiot.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘S okay. You didn’t know.”

“No, but I should know better than to call people stupid. Wayne would box my ears for that. In fact, I think I’ll go downstairs right now, ask him to remind me.” He makes to get up, but Steve, laughing, pulls him back down.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve chuckles. “I like your ears un-boxed, thank you.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. “I’m not gonna call you that again. How’s asshole sound? Self-sacrificing asshole has a nice ring to it.”

Steve collapses in giggles. “I guess if I deserve it.”

“You do,” Eddie promises him, then grumbles to himself. “Trying to get me to go downstairs, I swear.”

Steve giggles some more. “Okay, I get it,” he swears. “I’d like to stay up here for a few more minutes, then we can go back downstairs.”

“Okay.” Eddie grins at him. “I’ve got a couple ideas on how we could spend a few more minutes.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, leaning closer. “And what would that be?”

“I think you know,” Eddie murmurs, close enough to Steve that he’s practically speaking into Steve’s mouth.

Neither of them mind, clearly, because in the next second they’re kissing, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s shoulders for stability, Eddie’s hands gently stroking Steve’s back, up and down, up and down. He moves out a little and grabs at Steve’s hips, and Steve hums into his mouth. Eddie grins into the kiss, so in retaliation Steve twines a hand into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie gently bites Steve’s tongue, and Steve holds in the noise that wants to come out. He gently pulls back instead. “Eddie,” he murmurs. “We should stop.”

Eddie sighs and rests his forehead on Steve’s collarbone. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve snorts. “I’m not. I like what we just did. But I also know we should get back downstairs soon.”

Eddie hums in agreement. “Yeah. Lemme just sit here for a minute and think about, like, grandmas with dentures, or something.”

Steve laughs. “That’s probably a good idea,” he admits. He shifts, rests his back against the bed again, sighs. Smiles when Eddie grabs his hand again. “I’m glad you’re here with me.” He pauses, just long enough for Eddie to start to fidget, before finishing with a smile. “Here at the end of all things, Eds.”

Eddie groans and flops over on top of Steve. “And you know Lord of the Rings? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Fly?” Steve asks, which causes Eddie to laugh.

“Nah,” he says, rolling so his head is pillowed on Steve’s lap. “I think you could just ask gravity not to work and it would let you fly.”

Steve snorts and cards his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “I think you’re biased.”

“I can be biased and right.”

Steve just hums. “Your hair is surprisingly soft.”

Eddie blinks. “Um. Thanks?”

Steve chuckles. “I just mean it’s surprising because of how frizzy it is.

Eddie snickers. “You want to take care of it, don’t you?”

“So bad,” Steve agrees, also laughing. “Your choice, though.”

Eddie smiles. “Maybe once the chaos has calmed down?”

“Sure.” Steve sighs. “Ready to go downstairs?”

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Steve smiles. “Then let’s go.”

Eddie rolls off of him so Steve can stand. He then offers Eddie a hand up.

“Wait,” Steve requests, right as Eddie’s reaching for the doorknob.

Eddie pulls back, turns to Steve. “Yeah?”

“Kiss first?”

“Kiss always,” Eddie agrees, and happily leans in.

After they pull apart, there’s a knock at the door, and a tentative voice. “Steve? Eddie?”

It’s Dustin.

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[kopivie]

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

[takaraphoenix]

A Brighter Future

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Pack Feels, hurt/comfort

Main Pairing: Peter & Stiles & Erica (& Boyd)

Side Pairings: Peter/Stiles, Boyd/Erica

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Peter Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III

@writersmonth Prompts: wish + hospital

Summary: As children Erica and Stiles met in the hospital, Erica running from her tests, Stiles running from his dying mother. Together, they hide in Peter Hale's room. They become friends and, unbeknownst, they become Peter's pack.

This Story on FFNet | This Story on AO3

A Brighter Future

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Stiles was running and crying. She hadn't recognized him again, his own mom hadn't recognized him, had called him mean names and screamed at him to get out, so he got out. He ran as fast as he could, even though he didn't know where to. Until he saw a closet door, so he ran into it.

"This one is taken, find your own."

The voice in the dark startled him so much, it tore him out of his sad and angry thoughts. He turned on the light in the closet and saw a little girl, about his age, with long blonde curls. She was wearing a hospital gown and curled together small, looking as upset as he felt.

"It's a big closet," Stiles argued. "It could fit us both."

She looked up at him and frowned when she noticed his tear-smeared face. "...Are you okay?"

Stiles shook his head vehemently, face screwing up. "No. Are you?"

She wiggled her nose and then also shook her head. "No."

"Wanna talk about it?" Stiles asked, tilting his head.

Another shake from the girl. "I just wanna get away for a bit."

Stiles nodded in understanding. "Yeah. Me too. Hi. I'm Stiles."

He held his hand out and the blonde took it after a moment. "Erica."

And then the door opened and a nurse stuck her head in. Not Melissa, that was good, but most nurses knew him so chances were that word would get back to Melissa so he tugged on the girl's hand, prompting her to get up and then he bolted, and she followed.

"Where are we running?" Erica asked wide-eyed.

"The nurse will just tattle on us and I'm guessing you're hiding too, so let's hide somewhere else."

Erica just blinked at him, but she kept following. They ran until they reached patient rooms and then just ducked into a room. There was a woman in there talking to her visitor, so the kids ran off again. The next room, Stiles opted out right away when he saw the flowers and stuffed toys on the table; occupied. It looked empty, on first glance. No flowers, no chocolates, no cards, no personal belongings like pictures or trinkets. But then Stiles saw the man in the bed. Not moving, his face scarred. Stiles frowned at that. Did the man not have anyone…?

"Stiles?" Erica tugged on his hand when she noticed the man on the bed.

But Stiles didn't let go, instead he headed to the bed to read the chart. Peter Hale. Burn victim. Comatose. The frown on Stiles' face turned softer. Comatose meant he was asleep and didn't wake up. But why was the room so bare? Even if the man slept, why had his family not left things here?

"It's okay," Stiles whispered. "Let's stay here. Nobody will bother us here."

He grabbed one of the chairs and pulled it up to the bed, sitting next to it. It felt wrong to ignore the man whose room they were in. Curious eyes regarded the sleeping man. After a moment, Erica pulled the other chair up next to him and climbed onto it. She pulled her legs against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, frowning over at the comatose man too.

"What's wrong with him?" Erica asked in a small voice.

"I dunno," Stiles shrugged. "He was burned badly, and now he can't wake up."

There was a long pause in which the kids just sat in companionable silence, before Stiles' brain decided that was quiet enough. "What's wrong with you? You're wearing a hospital gown too."

Erica wiggled her nose, not looking like she wanted to talk about it.

/break\

Stiles had always been very bad at letting things go. If Peter Hale was burned, then his dad must have some file about it. So Stiles broke into his dad's office and went through the files until he found the file on the Hale Fire. He regretted it for weeks. The images of the burned bodies haunted his nightmares. The entire family, dead. Only three survivors. Two teens who had left the city, and Peter. That explained why Peter had nothing in his room, because there was no one to visit him.

Well. Not anymore. The next time he went to the hospital to visit his mom, he stole some of the flowers they'd brought his mom and then brought them over to Peter's room. He was surprised when he sneaked into the room to find Erica already curled together on a chair, hugging a teddy.

"Hey," Stiles greeted wide-eyed, lifting up the flowers.

Erica grinned weakly, holding up the bear. "I was… I was sad that he didn't have anything. Every time I have to go to the hospital, mom buys me some new stuffed toy. I don't need so many. But Peter looks like he could use a teddy, right? His name is Mister Snuffles."

Stiles smiled at her and nodded. "Yeah, I think he'd like Mister Snuffles."

He pushed the chair up to the sink so he could get a glass from the cabinet above it and then fill it with water. He put the flowers into the glass and then put them on the nightstand next to the bed, before dragging the chair over so he he could sit down next to Erica.

"Hello, Peter," Stiles greeted. "I brought you flowers. They're… from my mom. Well, they were for my mom but we always bring her flowers and she has so many in her room already, so I thought I'd bring you some. They're pretty. They're red gladiolas. Red's my favorite color, I picked them."

"What are you doing?" Erica asked confused. "He's asleep."

"No," Stiles shook his head. "He's in a coma. That's… That's different. I looked it up. Some say that people in comas are aware of what's happening around them, so you're supposed to talk to them. It can help them wake up."

"Oh," Erica scrunched up her face, before she turned toward Peter. "Hello, Peter. I'm Erica."

It made Stiles grin. He kicked his feet back and forth as the two kids started talking to Peter, and to each other. Telling the man about their lives and then interjecting questions to each other's stories. So Erica was here because she had epilepsy and she regularly had to do stupid tests that she hated, and her parents were super overbearing so whenever she had a seizure, they'd bring her here too, and they made her see a therapist about it all and she really hated it.

In return, Stiles talked about his mom, for the very first time. There was no one to talk about his mom with. His dad and grandparents and Melissa, they all treated him like a stupid child. Acting like she was just sick and that she would get better and that everything was okay. She was dying and Stiles knew it and nobody told him the truth because everyone saw him as just a kid. And Scott, he couldn't talk to, because Scott was this puppy-eyed, innocent kid whose world didn't need to shatter with death and disease yet, Stiles couldn't burden him like that.

But Erica and Peter, he could talk to. He could tell them how he really felt.

/break\

For months, did Erica and Stiles sneak away from where they were supposed to be and meet in Peter's room. They would just sit with the man, tell him about their days, tell each other about their days. And then they would wish. They'd wish for a brighter future for them all.

A future where Stiles' mom's health would improve.

A future where Erica had no more seizures.

A future where Peter would wake up from his coma.

A future where neither of them would have to return to the hospital ever again. And, unbeknownst to the two children, Peter was wishing for that future too, for all three of them.

/break\

He was alone, surrounded by flames that licked his soul. The screams of his family as they died around him were the only things he could hear for so long. At one point, he had heard voices, also his family, Laura and Derek, and they had apologized, told him they would leave. Peter didn't understand. Had that been a nightmare? Surely, if they were still alive – he hoped they were still alive, they were only kids, after all, god, the kids, he'd held his infant nephew as the baby took his last breath, a raspy sound as smoke filled his lungs – if they were alive, they wouldn't leave.

They were pack. Pack was important. Pack was all they had. They'd stick together.

But… nobody came. The screams in his mind were the only thing he could hear. The nurses and doctors coming in and leaving were a droning white noise not fully penetrating his mind.

Until there were new voices. Different voices. Not as indifferent as the doctors. Soft, young voices. Filled with pain but also with that childlike curiosity. They talked to him. He heard his name. They called his name and talked to him. It was hazy at first, but the more often they came, the more he understood of what they were saying. When they told him about their school days and about their current hospital visit. How the boy's mother was doing worse, how much the girl hated her tests.

They kept coming back, sitting at his bedside and talking to him and with every visit, Peter felt himself growing stronger, more present. Someone was there, for him.

"Hello, Peter," the girl spoke. "I… I'm sorry. I'm going to be the only one visiting from now on."

Peter's breath hitched, even in his comatose state. What had happened to the boy? Was something wrong? Was his pack hurt? He needed to wake up, he needed to help-

"She died," the girl's voice dropped, sounded shaky. "H… His mom died, yesterday. Her funeral is next week. H… He wanted to come and say goodbye, but all of his mom's family came all the way from Poland to say goodbye to her and he can't get out of it. B… But he… he'll be very busy… and… and very, very sad… for a long time. He says he'll try to visit, but…"

Peter felt his heart break. He couldn't see them, didn't know how old they were, but judging by their stories they were in elementary school. They were both so young. Neither of them deserved to suffer, especially not a loss like that. Even though he'd been aware that his mother was dying – despite all the adults in his life apparently trying to shield him – knowing it and actually experiencing it were two very different things. Peter could hear small sobs and he wished he could wrap the girl up in a hug, tell her that it would be alright, that they'd help their pack-mate.

/break\

Erica felt lonely. For months, she had a real friend in Stiles. Every week, they sat together in Peter's room. But after Stiles' mom died, he stopped going to the hospital. He had no reason to go to the hospital anymore and he was too young to just go there all on his own. There were other reasons too, of course. She could see it on his face whenever she passed him in school. He looked broken and haunted and hallow, with bags under his eyes. He'd lost his mom, how could he possibly focus on being there for Peter or Erica? How could she expect it.

She hugged her mom fiercely and cried into her lap the first time she realized that. Realized that moms could die and just be gone. And even if she hated that they were so overbearing and didn't let her do anything, she would hate it so much more if they were just gone.

So she went to visit Peter alone, and he became her confidant. When things got more rough because of middle school, because girls started wearing bras and make-up and talk about boys, while Erica was so… on the outside, was so different, was so alone, she could sit with Peter and tell him.

/break\

It took Peter years to recover and only when he felt the presence of an Alpha wolf in his territory did he wake up enough to leave. Not fully in control, more on auto-pilot. He needed to heal, he needed to recover. He could do that if he were an Alpha. He could protect his pack if he were an Alpha. Small sobs and sad children's voices clouded his mind as he killed the Alpha.

Erica. That was Peter's first clear thought, when he returned to his hospital room, the Alpha power running through his veins, he could feel it speeding up the healing process. Pack.

He went out, to find pack. A pack of three was too small, two betas, especially human betas, weren't enough. Erica and… and the boy. What was his name. It had been too many years since he'd last visited, but that was okay. He wasn't like Derek and Laura, he hadn't left Peter behind on purpose, he'd just been a child, a pup, and lost his mother. Peter was going to find him, and make sure the pup was safe, was dealing with the loss.

That night, he followed a scent, a scent that he couldn't shake, that seemed eerily familiar, and by the end of the night, he'd attacked and turned a teenager. A part of him, the small slowly recovering part of him, was mortified by that. By just blindly turning someone without even being capable of explaining the ramifications of the bite to the other person. A teen, a kid, at that.

That night, he decided that he couldn't go looking for Erica and the boy. He couldn't go looking for his pack. Not yet. He wasn't healed, he wasn't safe for them to be around. What if he attacked them, what if the Alpha instinct in him made him turn them against their will, alienating his pack from him. He couldn't. He had to stay away from them, until he was… better. So they were safe.

/break\

He'd turned a boy named Scott McCall. Derek had returned to investigate Laura's death – Peter had killed Laura, Peter had killed his niece, he still remembered the little girl with the tooth-gap who struggled with the P sound and called him 'uncle 'eter', but he also knew that she had been his Alpha and she chose to abandon him in that damn hospital for six years, never visiting, not even having him flown out to New York to be with them. Apparently, Derek took Scott under his wing, more or less. Doing an awful job of it, but trying his best, bless his grumpy little heart.

Peter smiled, dangerous and threatening, as he approached Stiles. Scott's best friend. The clever one who kept putting everything together for Scott. Something about Stiles intrigued him. The scent, it was so soothing, so eerily familiar, but Peter couldn't place it as he stalked up to the doe-eyed boy.

"Peter," Stiles whispered and there was too much familiarity to the name.

It gave Peter enough pause for Derek to get to the hospital, push Stiles out of the way and attack Peter and just like that, Peter had more important things to focus on.

/break\

Stiles was just so tired. So tired and angry and confused and sat and frustrated.

Peter had been the Alpha. Peter Hale. In the hospital because Kate burned his whole family. Stiles should have solved it earlier. He had the copy of the file in his bedroom for so many years, but after his mom's death, he… he hadn't thought about Peter in a long time. If he had, if he'd solved it earlier, then Laura wouldn't have returned, wouldn't have died. Peter wouldn't have died.

Because they killed him. They killed Peter. All of them, together. Because Peter was feral.

And Stiles was just filled with so much anger. Peter had gone feral because he was a wolf without a pack, abandoned by Laura and Derek for years, and then the Argents returned and they kept hunting and hurting his family and Stiles got it, he got why Peter killed Kate, he would have killed Kate too if he were in Peter's place. But Derek couldn't forgive Laura's death, and everyone was scared of what Peter was capable, would do next – he'd attacked Lydia – so they killed him.

And Derek. Derek was the Alpha now. Derek was turning people now. Turning teenagers. First Isaac Lahey, then… then Erica, then Boyd. Stiles heaved an even more tired sigh, rubbing his face.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered softly as he came to sit next to Erica.

He was aware of Boyd's watchful eyes. The three betas stuck together like glue. Stiles envied that a little bit. Erica frowned at him, feigning that she had no idea what he was talking about. They hadn't spoken about it yet. But there was something she needed to know.

"What are you talking about, Stiles?"

"I'm sorry I never came back," Stiles clarified, biting his lip and turning away from her. "We were friends and I abandoned you and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But after my mom died…"

"I get it, you lost her, you had more important things to do than take care of me."

She sounded bitter, but she also sounded like she meant it. Sometimes, a person could understand another's motivation but still be angry at the way they made them feel. Stiles smiled sadly.

"It was so much more than that," Stiles' voice dropped and he couldn't believe he was going to tell this to someone at all. "After her death, my dad started… drinking. A lot. A lot. And I… I took care of the household, of him, of myself, I was… so in over my head, Erica. I didn't know what I was doing, I was drowning in my own grief and handling things no ten year old should. It took my dad years to get sober and get help and by then, we were in different middle schools and we hadn't spoken in two years… I am sorry that we lost touch. You… You were really important to me when I was losing my mom and I'll never forget that, Erica."

"I… didn't know," Erica's face screwed up like it used to when she was little.

For a moment, Stiles had to smile at the memory of that little girl he used to know. He tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him. He allowed a moment of solace before he would get to the painful part that he'd come here to tell her.

"I… I wanted to talk about Peter," Stiles whispered. "I know you know that he disappeared from the hospital, I checked his visitor's records and… and you kept visiting him to the end…"

"He was just gone," Erica frowned. "One week, he was there and I was telling him about what a little bitch Jackson is, the next week, his room was just… empty. Our stuff was all that was left in it and the nurse – new nurse, not his regular nurse – said that he disappeared. How can a comatose man just disappear. It's not like he can just walk out of the hospital."

"Yeah, about that…" Stiles' face did a complicated series of expressions. "You may have noticed the shared last name. Peter was Derek's uncle. Peter… Peter was also the Alpha before Derek. And… Derek took the power from him when we… killed him."

Erica in his arms froze and he launched into a very detailed retelling of everything that had happened since Scott and Stiles had walked into the woods that fateful night. Everything that Derek had left out when introducing his betas to the supernatural. Not out of malicious reasons, Stiles was sure – he more or less liked Derek, most days – but there was too much pain and personal trauma there for Derek to share with anyone willingly. But Erica needed to know. Because for six years, Erica was the only one who had visited Peter, every week even after she became a teen.

By the end of his tale, she was sobbing into his shoulder. Mourning the loss of a man she never had gotten to meet. And a fleeting part of Stiles wondered if it would have changed anything. If his presence would have changed anything. If he had continued visiting Peter, he would have noticed the improvement of his healing, he would have gotten suspicious, he might have figured it out, maybe he could have prevented Peter from killing Laura and then Derek wouldn't have killed Peter and Erica wouldn't be crying in his arms right now and they could have gotten to know Peter.

/break\

It felt different, being back alive. He felt more right. More in tune with his wolf, his instincts. More… at ease. The feral edges were gone, his sanity was, more or less, back. There were parts of it he may never recover, because the memories and the trauma were something he would carry with himself for the rest of his life. But the part of his insanity caused by the abandonment, by being basically an omega for six years – and bonds with two human children were just not enough to tether him, he would have needed an Alpha, would have needed other wolves too, though he knew, deep down, that the torture of his coma would have been unbearable if he hadn't had them.

He smiled lazily to himself as he sat on the stairs of the burned out Hale House, listening to Derek and his betas fight. Not that that itself necessarily made him happy – Peter did want the new Hale Pack to be united, to be strong – he didn't even necessarily want to see his nephew fail, but there was still a strange sense of pleasure in someone standing up to Derek and telling him he was full of shit. That kind of spitfire delighted Peter immensely.

"We're leaving, Derek," the girl spat. "We're going to look for a pack somewhere else."

Three betas, Derek had three betas. All teenagers. One would think Derek would have learned from Peter's mistakes – and Peter absolutely counted Scott as a big mistake, if he hadn't turned the boy, he might have never died in the first place, but no use dwelling on the past. Two of Derek's betas wanted to leave, the mated pair, from his observations.

"We can't trust you," her voice was filled with so much rage, it delighted Peter. "I mean, how could we? How could we trust you to have our back when you abandoned your pack!"

Peter paused, curious, tilting his head. "I know you left your uncle to rot in that hospital and I know you killed him to become Alpha. But I don't know from you, you never told us that. Stiles told me. We're leaving, because I don't know how to trust someone who turned his back on his pack in the past – pack who was family, so what are we. We're done."

Him? He was the reason the betas were leaving? Peter was baffled as he listened to the teenagers storm out. Well, color him surprised. And Stiles had told her about it? Why would he do that? The boy had helped kill him, after all. Then again, Peter did feel a strange pull toward the boy. Even before his death, he had been unable to harm Stiles at all. It was peculiar. He wanted to investigate that. Not now though, for now they had a lizard problem to take care of.

/break\

Peter hummed lightly to himself as he sauntered back into the warehouse, Gerard Argent's blood on his claws. The man had tried to slither away, but while everyone else was focused on the curse-breaking kiss between Lydia and the now former kanima, Peter slipped out to track the hunter down and kill him. When he returned to the scene, he was in a good mood.

At least until he noticed the way everyone was leaving. Derek, hunched over and hurt, was leaving together with his only beta, the blonde boy. Scott was trailing after the huntress with a puppy-dog look on his face. Lydia and her boyfriend were walking away too.

The only one left was Stiles, leaning against his Jeep. Peter tilted his head as he walked over to the boy. The boy who was driving him crazy. Bad choice of words. But then, it did feel accurate. Even before he had returned from the dead with enough of his sanity to make rational choices, he had been able to control himself around the boy. Never laying a hand on him, not killing him, unable to turn him against his will. And he sought Stiles out. He didn't have to kidnap the boy to get Scott's location, he could have figured that out in a different way. But after the boy had found him in the hospital, had looked at him with those pretty, wide doe-eyes and whispered his name so softly, Peter found himself drawn to the boy. There was a bond, that much he recognized at this point.

"Why are you special?" Peter asked as he crouched down in front of Stiles.

The boy startled so hard, he hit his head against the Jeep. And then it was Peter's turn to startle as he saw the bruised face. Furrowing his brows, he reached out without even thinking. Gently tracing the bruise. Stiles frowned at him warily, like he didn't know what Peter was doing. Peter didn't know what he was doing either. Why was he feeling so protective of this boy. Sure, Stiles was clever to boot, snarky and sarcastic, incredibly loyal – all qualities Peter cherished. Yet still.

"Who did that?" Peter asked.

"I fell down the stairs," Stiles sneered. "Why are you alive? How are you alive?"

"Didn't like being dead," Peter shrugged, tilting his head. "So I came back. Don't worry. I'm not dangerous. Well, unless you cross me."

"I helped kill you," Stiles pointed out. "Feels like crossing to me."

"Eh," Peter shrugged once more, getting up. "I forgive you."

" What," Stiles stared at him incredulously. "Why would you do that."

"Because you're special," Peter looked down at the boy. "And I can't figure out why."

"What does that even mean," Stiles groaned, hitting his head against his Jeep with purpose.

"I don't know," Peter offered him a hand. "Get up. I'll drive you home."

Pack. The moment that Stiles willingly reached out for him, taking his hand, it clicked. Pack. That was why Stiles was special, because Stiles was pack. How could he be pack? Peter barely had a thin and fragile pack-bond with Derek. How could he have a bond with Stiles, and one this strong? He stared wondrously at Stiles, getting lost in those honey-whiskey eyes as he helped Stiles up.

Stiles went to the passenger seat without complaint, folding himself small. Quiet and compliant did not suit the loudmouthed teen, Peter decided. He furrowed his brows, watching the boy. Not speaking either, because Peter didn't know how to verbalize this sense of pack. Or how to explain it.

Far as he knew, Stiles and Scott had joined the Hale Pack, so it made sense there would be a pack-bond. He'd felt an incredibly feeble bond with Scott snap earlier in the warehouse. But why was this so strong? Why did he have such a strong pack-bond with Stiles?

"Is your father home?" Peter asked as they pulled up in the Stilinski driveway.

"No," Stiles shook his head. "He's… at work."

Peter hummed and got out of the car, rounding it to help Stiles out. The boy glared viciously at him for the attempt and then stalked past him. Good. Better. Spirited was better than compliant. It felt more like Stiles. Why did Peter know what Stiles was supposed to be like, he barely knew the boy.

"Will you let me check your injuries?" Peter asked when they entered Stiles' bedroom.

A heavy sigh from Stiles. "You're not going to leave me alone until I let you, don't you? Some weird, annoying werewolf instincts to make sure your pack's safe."

Peter stared at him, surprised by the acceptance, and nodded. The boy sighed again, even more annoyed, but he pulled off his shirt and then stood there with his arms spread, waiting. Peter's touch was gentle and careful as he prodded the bruises, making sure the ribs were only bruised and not broken. Stiles' breathing picked up and there was a curious scent of arousal as Peter's hands wandered over his sides and chest. Peter did his best not to smirk or tease, concentrating on his task.

"Okay," Peter nodded pleased. "Nothing looks like it needs stitches and nothing appears broken."

"Thanks, Doctor Hale," Stiles deadpanned. "So, can I go and take a shower then?"

"Need help?" Peter raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"You wish," Stiles snorted, flipping him off.

The boy disappeared and once the bathroom door closed, Peter went to the kitchen and rummaged through it until he found everything he needed to make a broth for the boy. His wolf demanded he take care of Stiles. By the time Stiles was done with his shower, Peter was sitting on his bed, the bowl of broth on the nightstand. Stiles raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"You're still here."

"So observant, clever boy," Peter chuckled amused. "Sit. Eat. You need your strength to heal."

Stiles rolled his eyes at him, but he still sat down cross-legged next to Peter and started eating. Peter was content sitting there, quietly watching Stiles. For the first time since the fire, he felt a strong, proper pack-bond like that and he was not letting it go again. His mind wandered, to Erica and to his boy. Now that he was no longer feral, he should go looking for them. Strengthen his pack.

"When you're here anyway…" Stiles sighed, once he was done with eating.

He put the bowl aside and then walked over to his closet. He pulled his chair up so he could climb onto it and every instinct in Peter told him that this was not a good idea for the clumsy flailing boy. Yet he managed to pull a shoe-box out from the top of his closet and return to Peter. He decidedly didn't look at Peter, even as he shoved the box into the wolf's lap.

Peter frowned doubtfully. "What… is this? Are you giving me your old shoes?"

"It's your stuff," Stiles shrugged, folding himself smaller again. "I went to the hospital, after you… After we killed you. Last bound of recon. They were… They wanted to toss it out, since you'd been missing for too long at that point and they decided you must have been miraculously cured and wouldn't be found again. I grabbed it before they could throw it out."

The frown on Peter's face deepened as he opened the lid. A third bouquet of flowers, tried. The flowers his boy had brought him on their second visit. When they'd started wilting, Erica had suggested drying them because dried flowers were pretty and would last longer. The teddy bear, Mister Snuffles, worn down from years of Erica hugging it while sitting at her side and talking to him. The book his boy used to read to him from. The assortment of cards that Peter had found on his nightstand and desk when he had woken up, from scrawny, self-made cards in child-like handwriting, to prettily crafted cards that Erica must have made later on as a young teen, when she talked about getting into crafts, as much as her parents allowed her (they didn't allow her scissors, too afraid of her cutting herself or stabbing herself if she had a seizure). Peter blinked startled when something wet dripped onto the bear. Reaching up, he traced his cheek to notice he was crying.

" Thank you," Peter pressed out, voice raw and vulnerable in a way that scared him. "You… You have no idea how much this means to me."

"It… It does?" Stiles' voice was small.

Peter knew that the nostalgia and the vulnerable, soft, warm feeling of pack were what compelled him to open up to Stiles. "You may find it hard to believe, but there once were people who cared about me. Who chose to care about me. I had… a pack. It was… small and not traditional, but… there were two children and they chose me, for whatever reason, they sought me out to be their solace and they became my solace in return."

"Y… You remember," Stiles sounded startled.

Peter hummed his confirmation, even as he went through the box. He froze when he turned the oldest card around, the card that the children had dropped off with him at Christmas. There was a tree drawn with crayons, a large star at the top. On the back, it said Merry Christmas Peter! From Stiles & Erica. He stared at it bewildered, then looked up at Stiles.

"I didn't take your stuff just for fun, I took it because Erica and I gave it to you," Stiles' face screwed up. "I was feeling guilty, about the part I played in your death, and the… about everything. That's why I went back to the hospital for your things. Because it felt like I could have made a difference, if I had come back, if I'd been there, after my mom died, but I couldn't and-"

"Stiles," Peter interrupted gently, resting a hand on Stiles'. "Slow down, breath."

The boy took shaky, hiccuping breaths and slowly calmed down, eyes squeezed shut. His boy. Stiles was his boy, the boy who had sat by his bedside and read books to him that no ten year old should already be reading. The boy who had left after his mother had died, but Peter never resented him for it, only ever felt compassion for the small child who had to adjust to a life without his mom.

" That is why you're special," Peter's lips quirked. "I've tried figuring you out, ever since we met at the hospital. Why you would look at me like that, say my name like that. Because you recognized me. And I… My wolf recognized you. That's why I could never hurt you, why I kept feeling drawn to you, because you're my pack. I didn't want to go looking for Erica and my boy… you, for you, I suppose, because I thought I was a danger. After I turned Scott, I was afraid to hurt my pack."

For a moment he paused, hugging the teddy bear closer. "Where is Erica? Are you… Are you two still friends? I remember, the last time she was by, she talked about being in a few classes with you and wanting to reach out but not knowing how…?"

Stiles' breath hitched, his eyes widened and the sour scent of panic rolled off the boy in waves. " Erica. Erica. Erica and Boyd. They're… They're still in the basement, he still has them-"

"Stiles?" Peter carefully took the boy by the neck holding him in a soothing grip. "Slow down and tell me what the problem is. What's with Erica?"

"They're in the basement," Stiles repeated insistently, panicked. "The Argent basement. Where… Where I was. Gerard, he had them too, he had me and them and he was-"

"Why would Gerard Argent take Erica?" Peter blinked confused. "How could he know about her?"

Stiles' eyes widened more, and Peter was stunned that this was even possible. Those big doe-eyes were large enough under normal circumstances, but now? Wow. Peter stared into them.

"You don't know," Stiles whispered, blinking. "Erica is part of the pack. The Hale Pack. Derek turned her, to cure her epilepsy. Which actually worked. But yes. She's one of Derek's betas."

Three betas. One girl. The spitfire girl, who had given Derek such a verbal lashing earlier. Because of Peter. That made so much more sense now, if that had been Erica. He'd simply assumed it was about distrust, because how could one trust an Alpha who in the past had abandoned pack. But it was personal, because Erica knew him, cared for him. Erica was his pack first.

Peter shook his head, trying to focus. "What do you mean took them."

"I don't know," Stiles sighed shakily. "Boyd and Erica were in the basement, they were… strung up on electricity and… and I tried to get them down, but I couldn't… When Gerard was done with me, they dragged me out of the basement and dumped me in a ditch near my house and I just… I was barely at home when Lydia came and I drove her here and I… I didn't…"

Boyd was her mate, who had left with her. Peter took just a moment to be happy that she had a mate, had found someone who was hers. And then he focused on the task at hand again.

"Okay, I'm going to get them," Peter got up. "I'll get them and bring them here. You, stay here."

Stiles tilted his head as he stared at him with a frown. "Be… careful."

A small smile spread over Peter's lips as he nodded shortly.

/break\

Erica's loud and angry and emotional reaction when Stiles had told her about Derek's uncle had surprised Boyd. He'd asked, after. Before they had told Derek they would leave. As children, Erica and Stiles had sat at Peter Hale's bed together. She'd done it until he disappeared. Because this comatose man had become a sanctuary to her, where she could leave her life behind.

And somehow, he understood that. He understood that she had lost someone she cared about, even if she didn't actually know the man. She had formed a bond with him, of sorts. And it broke his heart that she had lost that. Never had a chance to get to know the man.

So he understood why she wanted to leave. Wanted to get away from her overbearing parents, who had gotten even worse after her epilepsy got magically cursed. All the secrets were eating away at her, just like they were at him. He didn't mind running away, things at home had been broken since Alicia's death. He'd hoped the pack could be a new family. And in a way, it was.

He loved Erica, loved her more than he ever thought was humanly possible. He cared about Isaac too. About Stiles. He did admire Scott. Derek was tricky, part of him admired the Alpha, a part of him didn't like the way Derek handled a lot of things.

But if he had to chose, between staying and seeing if Derek would improve but losing Erica, or going with Erica and having her, then he had to choose her. He'd always choose her.

They ran away, just to be hunted down by Allison, of all people. Their own classmate. Scott's girlfriend. And, after that, Boyd was kind of reconsidering his admiration of Scott, because how bad was his taste in women if she hunted werewolves for sport and fun. She'd thrilled in hurting them, her father had to tell her to stop. How blind was Scott to be a werewolf in love with a hunter who had no qualms torturing her own classmates if they were wolves?

They got thrown into a basement, hurt, tortured, electrocuted. And then the hunters also threw Stiles in there. And even though he was human, Stiles tried to save them, tried to protect them. Distracting Argent from them with his wiseass ways. In that moment, Boyd felt warmth and kinship flood him and he understood, he understood why Erica cared so much about the sarcastic little shit.

The hunters had dragged Stiles out and let him go and not long after, Allison's father came down, shame in his eyes, as he let Boyd and Erica go. He took hold of her hand and together, they ran.

"There you are, wayward pups."

Both startled and whirled around, coming face to face with a man. Erica gasped, grabbing Boyd tighter. He growled lowly and pushed himself between the stranger and his mate. The stranger flashed his eyes blue, a smirk on his lips. Erica clung tighter onto him.

" Peter," Erica's voice was filled with wonder and surprise.

"Erica," the man's voice softened, filled with… love. "It's good to finally get a face to the voice, my girl. Come, both of you. Stiles sent me to collect you two. We're going home."

Boyd remained rooted to the spot, holding Erica's hand tightly. Peter? As in the dead uncle because of whom they had run away in the first place? The reason Erica had grown distrustful of Derek? And Boyd had too, because her doubts seemed very justified. But Stiles had said the man was dead.

"You're Peter?" Boyd asked warily. "Peter Hale? The dead Peter Hale?"

"What can I say, death didn't suit me," Peter shrugged nonchalantly, cocking his head. "Will you two now please get into the car. I don't like that I had to leave Stiles alone. He's hurt."

The reminder of Stiles, of Stiles being hurt, got both Boyd and Erica moving and they walked up to the man like in a trance. Erica kept staring at him like he was a ghost, which Boyd guessed he was. Or something like that. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, soothing her.

"How are you alive?" Erica asked when she stood next to the man.

Peter tilted his head, an unbearably soft expression on his face. He reached a hand out to cup Erica's cheek and she leaned into it, blinking away tears before she broke and threw herself at him. Peter laughed gently, wrapping one arm around her waist and cupping her neck with the other.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," Peter whispered, choking on emotions. "My darling girl, I'm so glad to finally meet you. For so long, you were my only pack. You have no idea how much you meant, how much you kept me going when I had nothing else. You and Stiles, the bonds you formed with me, I can never thank you enough for them."

Erica's eyes were impossibly wide, her mouth a little open. Boyd didn't know what to make of it, he kept watching them, concerned and confused. Not understanding what was happening here.

"W… Wow…" Erica blinked and rested a hand on her heart. "I can… Why is it…"

"Because it's old," Peter smiled at her, caressing her neck. "Your other pack-bonds are new and young, but our bond has been growing strong for six years now. Your bond with Stiles should also feel different, maybe be stronger. I don't know what your relationship has been like lately."

Erica's face screwed up as memories of the past months must be going through her head. Boyd reached out again to take her hand, causing her to look at him with those big eyes.

"I can feel a pack-bond with Peter," Erica whispered. "It's… It's super strong. Like, as strong as ours, but… different, definitely very different."

Peter laughed, startling them. "You two have an entirely different type of bond. You're mates."

Both teens turned to stare at him surprised at that. Mates? That sounded… Right. Boyd frowned at that. It did sound right, even if he didn't know what it meant, it felt right. Peter stepped away from Erica, urging them into the car – Stiles' Jeep, Boyd noted surprised. More proof that he was telling the truth then, that Stiles had sent him. Peter drove them to a house.

After parking, Peter ushered them inside and upstairs. Photos on the fall clued them in that they were in Stiles' house. They reached a bedroom, where they found Stiles, vigilant and curled together and looking so bruised and broken. Erica keened as soon as she laid eyes on him, throwing herself at him the same way she had at Peter. She buried her face in his neck and he relaxed. Boyd felt a pull that drew him to them, to sit on Stiles' other side and join the hug.

There'd been a gentle, soft thread that tethered him to Stiles and Scott before. But in that moment, as he held Erica and Stiles like that, he could feel that tether growing strong like a rope, taunt as it tied him to Stiles. What they'd gone through in that basement, it cemented a bond.

"We're pack," Stiles mumbled against them, nuzzling them.

But his eyes went over Erica's shoulder, resting heavily on Peter. Like he was telling the man, reassuring him. Boyd watched, curiously. He felt like something monumental was happening in that moment and he felt warm and reassured to be a part of it.

/Ten Years Later\

"Peter! Peter Stilinski Hale, if you don't get down here right now, I swear! If I'm late to my godson's birth because you took forever to do your hair, I am divorcing you! Pe… Oh."

Stiles trailed off as he walked into Peter's office. The Alpha stood in front of their glass cabinet of pack trophies. A small smile spread over Stiles' lips as he saw the framed wedding pictures of Scott and Allison, Boyd and Erica, Jackson and Lydia, himself and Peter, Kira and Malia. Trinkets and souvenirs from their adventures through the years, symbols of what they overcame. The highest shelf though was reserved for children's cards and dried flowers and an old stuffed bear. Wait.

"Why did you take Mister Snuffles from the shelf?" Stiles frowned at his husband.

"I figured," Peter cleared his throat, closing the cabinet and taking Stiles' hand. "I thought baby Heath could get more use out of Mister Snuffles than this dusty, old shelf does."

A small smile spread over Stiles' lips as he leaned against his mate. "That's sentimental of you."

Peter growled softly at him, flashing his eyes red. Not that it did anything but make Stiles roll his own eyes. Ever since Peter had become an Alpha again all these years ago, when the Alpha Pack had come for them, Stiles had been his rock and his Alpha Mate. The toddler in Stiles' arms giggled when he saw his daddy's red eyes, reaching out for him. Peter smiled softly as he leaned down to kiss Jamie's head, pulling his mate and son close.

"Let's go," Peter said. "Erica is going to be mad if we're late. And Boyd must be freaking out."

~*~ The End ~*~

[fedoraspooky]

In light of tumblr shooting itself in the foot, I've been thinking about what I should do with my art from now on. Obviously, deleting my old posts off here isn't gonna do shit, it's essentially locking my door after my house got emptied out by burglars. Especially with my old rp account I no longer can log into, they're just gonna steal and sell my old art that I posted there and I can't even flip a questionably-affective toggle about it.

Thing is, I dunno how many people are gonna actually leave. I'm not even sure I will, since I have a lot of friends here... And after so many shitty updates a lot of people are just hanging on out of spite at this point.

That said, I'm considering that for art posts and stuff, maybe I'll post them elsewhere and just link to them here so they're not on tumblr's servers? Idk... Tumblr tends to kill the visibility of links but I'm not really sure what else I can do.

Also, there's the question of where to actually post new stuff. Bluesky seems the most active but I dont know if old posts cut off after a certain amount of posts like twitter does, in which case that would not be a good archive in the long run. xnx

Cohost is functionally pretty close to tumblr, but ngl it seems super isolated on there bc of its commitment to not showing any likes on your posts. I get that its to combat the social media numbers game, but the downside is that it looks like nobody's even seen your work. If people like something of yours there's no way outside of notifs to see it, so scrolling down on your page and seeing only zeros after zeros of comments on stuff (comments are the only visible number), it's easy to feel like you're just posting into a void.

Pillowfort is pretty good, and they just added tag blocking and the ability to queue/schedule posts. Still kinda quiet and invite only, but if you sign up for the invite queue you can get one pretty fast. Also i probaby have a ton of invites sitting around if anyone wants one. I wish it had an app, but mobile web version works well enough I guess, and I'm already used to doing that with sheezy and newgrounds, so I just have those open in mobile tabs together.

Speaking of, Newgrounds has been pretty good, but due to the nature of the portal system and stuff you're more encouraged to post only your better-looking stuff there. You CAN post doodles if you want, but only outside of the portal, which limits their visibility. Kinda like dA's scraps system I guess.

Sheezy looks super promising customization-wise so I'm thinking of posting there more when it opens up to more peeps.

Toyhouse also looks really good for OC and story things too, and also has a good degree of customization.

There's probs options I haven't even thought about, but its good to know there ARE options. I may post in several of those places for now and see how it goes. Test the waters a bit.

If you're thinking of moving your art elsewhere lemme know where, I'm curious to see where people are going :o

Especially you moots, i need to refind my pals in these other places!

[silverskye13]

I've been meaning to ask about this because I love love LOVE your writing but aren't really very deep into the hermitcraft fandom....

would I need to know anything prior to reading your hc fics? I've heard very many good things about redstone and skulk and I want to read it , but I dunno if walking in clueless is a good idea...

Oh. Hm. Well. I'm maybe not the best person to ask this, ironically. I have a hard time differentiating between actual common knowledge and fandom osmosis common knowledge. My thoughts under the cut because this might get long, but here are my, I guess, fandom initiation thoughts on my fics, for anyone curious?

Redstone and Skulk:

I think it can reasonably be read with little-to-no prior knowledge of the fandom. I do a decent job of explaining what the story is about, since most of it is original worldbuilding with (mostly) original characters. It's a mirror world, where in the main world death doesn't exist, but in the mirror world it does. All the mirror world characters are the bad parts / evil twins of the main world characters, and how they cope with that varies (and is sometimes explicitly stated). The first few chapters do a decent job of establishing this information, and I've had a few people mention RnS was either their first delve into hc fandom, or they had never been in the fandom and read it anyway because it came recommended by a friend. This signals to me it would be about like reading a sequel to a book series. You're clearly missing some establishing character stuff, and maybe some setting stuff, but you're not missing enough to be completely lost.

[basic knowledge of Minecraft mobs and game mechanics would definitely do you good, but that goes for all of these].

Monsters Splitting Hairs:

I personally think you can jump into this with no prior knowledge. All the characters are loosely based on the hc members they're named for personality wise, and place names [Octagon, Horsehead Farms] come from builds the players have made. Just about everything else is my personal world building though. The only upper hand knowing about HC will give you, is maybe cluing you in to who/what the different monster characters are before they're revealed [a la Rendog, who walks around with dog ears on his MC skin, is very obviously a werewolf in the fic.]

This fic is unfinished, and while I plan on finishing it eventually, it isn't being actively updated, and probably won't until RnS is done. It does have a lot of words on it though.

Hound's Tooth:

You need to know a lot of information to go into this one. Not only do you need to know a decent amount about the HC characters, knowing about both 3rd Life and Last Life is also kinda necessary, since the crux of the character motivation is Doc angsting over Ren doing Last Life after 3rd Life fucked up all his friends so bad the first time. Also, you need to know a decent amount about the early Octagon plotlines in s8 of Hermitcraft, the different adventure mode trial rooms they did.

This fic is finished.

Everything else I've written are ficlets, little one or two chapter deals. Anything tagged "RnS fic", you should probably read RnS before reading. Most of the others you need specific information for, since they're generally addressing topics that I had /just/ watched an episode for at the time, and I was responding to an idea or plot point being brought up. Anything with "Hels" or "Helsmet" in the tags or title, know it's about the mirror world and the evil twins.

[shrug]

I hope this helps?

[gamebunny-advance]

Doodle Dump

Been a while since I've posted a collection of bad sketches. Notes under the cut~

1-2) AC:OS Seals. So, I didn't want to give up on making those seals for you guys even though my enthusiasm for it kinda went away~ The melon soda seal feels like it's missing something, and I think the sea captain seal is giving too much Admiral Bobbery for its own good, so I might redo that one entirely. I don't hate them, but somehow they're not reading as very "Animal Crossing" to me. I think I need to get more creative about the facial features.

3) Pudding. Another attempt of designing Yuru's main mask. I think it's cute, but I'm still not sold on it. I like the colors at least, but I think I want the mask to have a big gaping mouth so he doesn't need to take it off to eat. I'm just having a hard time keeping it cute when the mouth is open.

I dunno if Pudding is gonna be their final name, but I guess it suits them.

4) Kun3h0 ver. 4(?). I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but I just can't stop trying to redesign Kun3h0. Lately, I've been thinking that I'd like to try and make her a little less symmetrical for more visual interest. Originally the change was as simple as just adding the gauntlet to one arm (similar to be VERY early iterations of my "vtuber sona" with their one-paw glove), but then I started changing her more, and ended up with this. It's cute, but somehow I think it makes her theming even less apparent XP (her tummy lines were doing A LOT to sell the fact that she's a robot and not someone just dressed in sci-fi-ish gear).

I changed her eye color to green to draw in focus to her face (which is important for a V-Tuber design). Originally I thought I was achieving that by making the hair so much darker than everything else, thus drawing attention to the head, but I think changing the eye color to something unique helps even more with directing your eyes straight to the face.

I dunno. I like it aesthetically, but I feel like I'm losing the story here. In the last design, even though it was kinda generic, just having the clear indicator that she was inhuman did a lot to inform her character, but when I lose that, I lose the one real point of interest she had.

Then again, I've never truly had a good grasp on Kun3h0 as a character, so maybe that's what's wrong. Maybe if I sit down and actually write even a basic backstory for her, then I'd have some more direction besides, "girly robot Y2K inspired game character with a heart/bunny motif".

5-6) P2 Kliff (Banana Split/Original). So, I wanted to make a version of Kliff that fits more into my aesthetics. (Read: I wanted to make him pink). It isn't meant to be a replacement for him, just an alternate palette. In fact, I kinda liked this outfit enough to try it in his original colors too, and I think it works~

However, I dunno if I completely like the Banana Split colors

The outfit is based on this sketch from Kliff's original concept drawings.

I have NO idea what's going on in his chest area. They can't be the buttons on the top because he's wearing a turtleneck (unless it's a vest, and he's seriously wearing 3 layers in this fit). I don't think it's a lanyard because he already has a name tag on his shirt.

So I interpreted it as a necklace. I dunno, I've always felt like one of Kliff's understated traits is that he's clearly fashion conscious given how much he accessorizes and that he has the confidence to even run around in a coat that yellow, so I don't think it's out of the question that he'd wear more jewelry.

[funkytrashcan]

You lost me at "I love you".

An exploration of my experience with love, romance, and media.

Today, I read the last chapter of the Rain World fanfiction "Seeking You, Stunning Me". It's a good read if you like two gay supercomputers discovering each other and themselves through anonymous chats.

The thing is, despite the ship showcased in the fanfiction being one of my personal faves (platonic or romantic), when the two of them inevitably admitted their feelings to one another, I just... I don't know. It was strange to read them say "I love you" to each other, or give each other a "kiss" (not literally because, well, supercomputers), or describe themselves as "girlfriends". And the pining for each other in the previous chapters just felt... disingenuous?

I will reiterate that I am not disparaging the author in any way over this. Their fic was just the one that got me thinking about this.

And, well... thinking about it, if the explicitly romantic stuff was taken out, if it was just about their blossoming friendship or the romance was left vague... I dunno, would I be less conflicted? Would I have an easier time reading it? Maybe?

There's the same problem with other fanfiction with romantic stuff. I'm fine with the physical affection, the chemistry between two people, but as soon as they say "I love you" that first, definitive time? I just... feel myself disengage, or become a bit uncomfortable. Not enough for me to stop reading, but...

I've... only been in one serious romantic relationship in my life. With a childhood friend, back in high school. He had been dropping hints for a while, but I didn't really register it until he asked me out point blank. I wanted to at least try it. The thing is, my feelings about him never really changed. No romantic spark or 'aha' moment. I tried to be a good partner, but he moved away and we just started talking less and less, until he ultimately pulled the plug on the relationship, feeling like I wasn't meeting his needs. We parted ways respectfully, and though there were a few hiccups, we have both moved on with our lives. I am a bit sad that I lost him as a friend, but from what I can tell he's living out his best life. He's found someone else to love, and for that I'm happy for him.

I kinda wish that romantic relationships weren't so emphasized in media. Simultaneously, I understand the need, especially for queer relationships. I'm a bit wary of this for my own fanfiction, where I'll eventually explore the relationship between the same two characters that were the main subject of SY;SM. I don't want people to feel baited if I don't explicitly say their relationship is or isn't romantic. Right now the relationship is marked as platonic on AO3, but if it does go in a more romantic-y direction, yet I don't call it as such, I'm... worried for how that'll look.

I suppose that's a flaw in AO3 tagging. There are only two options; platonic or romantic. I understand the need to have separate tags, but they are... quite cut and dry. Not a lot of room for nuance.

I don't know where I'm going with this to be honest. Just my experience being an acespec and arospec person, I guess.

[captainjamster]

Starry, Starry Night

Pairing(s): Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader Warnings: mention and description of suicide, alcohol and medication abuse, reference to organ donation, retching, nausea, major character death Wordcount: 1.5k Summary: Kyle picks up your call. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Please check out the tags before you read this one.

Full fic is under the cut <3

“Mmmh, hello?”

The words feel heavy on your uncoordinated tongue as the line picks up.

“Hello, my name is Kyle. What’s going on tonight?”

Your heart drops for a second, and something like guilt stirs in your inhibited rational. He sounds young, not like the older individuals who usually work the hotlines. Young, with years left to relive this conversation. You sluggishly pull the phone away, thumb hovering over the end button, but his voice trails out the small speaker again with more concern this time.

“Hello?”

Fuck it. Won’t be your problem soon.

You slur out your name for the man on the other end, and he repeats it back. “Alright, and are you under the influence of any substances right now?”

“Fuckin’ all of them,” you grin, trying to keep up with how the stars swirl into vortexes against their black canvas. “Tryna – tryin’ to get a fatal concoct – hehe, cock – uhh, concoction in me. Poison in my tummy, yum.”

The confused snort he lets out tugs at your lips, and you can’t help the giggle bubbling up from your chest. “All of them?” He echoes, and you hear the familiar click click click of keys.

“S’not all of ‘em, tricked you. Jus’ alcohol, my medication, and uh… some shit a friend left in my car. Like a bottle of spirits, an’ ‘bout a thousand ‘n four hundred milligrams? Dunno what the other shit was, tasted bad.”

There’s silence for a moment as you listen to the clacking of keys again.

“I’m going to ask something a bit bluntly, okay?”

You make an agreeable noise, waiting for the question.

“Is this a suicide attempt?”

“F’it’s just an attempt, I’m gonna be so fuckin’ mad,” you mutter, cringing at the aching pulsating through your body.

There’s a moment where you hear him murmur something, and then he’s back at the line. “Can you tell me where you are right now?”

Realisation flickers in you, prompting your eyes open. “Ahhhhh, s’why I called, yeah.” He types again rapidly as you mumble the location. “Guess someone’s gotta find me, right? Better a professional than some – some poor fuckin’ guy.”

The man – Kyle – hums in agreement. “That’s good of you. You sound like a thoughtful person, considering those things even during a time like this.”

“Yeah, thoughtful,” you scoff. You know what he’s doing. “Can we just… S’okay if we talk for a bit?”

That wasn’t the plan. It was meant to be enough to give the address and then hang up. But the chill is seeping further into you, past the now-dirty fabric you carelessly threw on, and hearing his voice makes you feel just a little bit warmer.

“I’m not going anywhere. Got a topic?” Kyle questions, and you think you can hear him settle into his chair.

“S’pretty tonight. Clear sky.” It’s hard to force your eyes to stay open, the sparkling dots spinning in and out of view behind the canvas of the trees.

“Yeah? A long trip up that road to get there.” He mulls, and your aching legs agree.

“Yep, even longer walk.”

“Walk?” He sounds incredulous, and it brings back that dopey grin to your lips.

“Yeah, well. Sold my car last week.”

“Ah…” It falls quiet for a moment. “I see.”

“Don’t be like that,” you groan, wincing at the nausea as you shift against the dirt. “Savin’ the planet or some shit, right?”

Kyle laughs again, and you think the noise could get you higher than anything else coursing through you right now. “I like your humour.”

The compliment sounds more genuine than the last one; appreciation, not just pointing at empty positives. “Consider yourself lucky to hear it, m’not usually this uh, happy.” You offer, tasting bitterness in the confession.

“What are you like usually?” The question is tentatively curious, and you’re sure he means no harm, but the words tear through you.

“Dunno.”

Crickets chirp as you listen to the static whispers of silence, flicking through blurred memories. You don’t know if it’s because your brain is slowly slipping further into deterioration, or if you never wanted to remember in the first place.

“Tired.”

Moments of happiness feel far and few, peppered so sparingly amongst everything you’ve ever struggled through. When they cut you open, will they find anything but your rotted, ugly thoughts and the circuits they’ve carved into your mind? You hope your brain is better off in the hands of whoever gets it next. Maybe you’ll get to be some cool science demonstration.

“Friend had a baby last month. Couldn’t even feel something with the little guy in my arms.”

He was so small, staring up at you with big eyes, his warm hand wrapped around your finger. A chorus of ah’s and aw’s sung around you as the baby beamed, wet and gummy, up at your watery smile. All you could feel was a cleaver digging deeper into your heart.

“Jus’ wondered if I looked so hopeful when I was that young. An’ if this’s where my life was always going to go anyway.”

Something carves a fleeting shadow above you, blinking the stars out of and back into existence with the wide span of its wings. You think what it’s like to feel so weightless, amongst the branches rustling as a breeze picks up.

“Guess I was just born wrong. Here to make people happy until it – until I – wear off.”

It’s so quiet you think Kyle has hung up, until something rustles and he clears his throat. “You remind me of someone.”

The remark catches you off-guard. “Good or bad?”

“Both. He’d make you mad in the funniest ways; couldn’t even be angry at him. But he hid behind it, tried to help himself by helping everyone else. Good guy.”

The fondness in his voice squeezes at your heart in a way that hurts more than anything else you’re feeling. Has anyone ever talked about you like that? “You sound like a thoughtful person, talkin’ ‘bout others so nice.”

He chuckles at the call-back, and you wonder what he looks like. Is he as pretty as his laugh?

“Y’sound so young.” The words slip out before you can stop them.

There’s a hesitant pause before Kyle answers. “Few years off thirty. I’m a veteran,” he sighs. “Retired.”

“Retired?” The word is slurred as you echo it back, but he understands anyway.

“Lost a mate in combat. Was uh… Was actually the someone I mentioned before. Messed me up for a couple of years.”

“M’so sorry.” The words are getting hard to articulate, but it feels important to say them.

“Don’t be. It lead to better things. Found this organisation, realised I could do this for a job. So here I am, I guess. Six months next week since I joined.”

“That’s really nice. I’m s – fuuck, shit – so happy for you, Kyle.”

There’s noise from the speaker. “You right?”

“Feel funny, s’like… Dunno, m’stomach is gonna tear apart.”

The conversational tone slips as worry peaks back into his voice. “Just keep holding on, okay? Maybe you can work here too; we’d be menaces in the office.”

You know he can hear the hollowness in your laugh. “Yeah, sure. That’d be good.”

The sky is trembling more than before when your eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment to realise it’s you shaking, not the world moving. How much longer? Was it always burning this much? You catch the last syllable of your name, pulling you back to the phone resting in the dirt next to your head.

“Mmh.. M’here. What… s’your friends name?”

“… Johnny. He liked being called that.”

You hum, feeling the word in your mouth. “Johnny. Johnny. I’ll say hi to him for you.”

“Not just yet, okay?” His answer is strained, tinging the encouragement he’s trying to convey.

You don’t respond, forcing your chest to expand and contract. Nothing wants to work; everything is heavy, uncoordinated, and you’ve never felt drowsier. But you’re pulled back to the cold night’s air again as he calls out your name again, louder.

“Huh? Sorry. Jus’… so fuckin’,” you stop, groaning as something sears in your chest, “tired.”

“No, no,” he stutters, hitting aggressively at the keyboard in those nice sounding clacks. “Help is so close, just stay awake for me, okay?”

He sounds so desperate. Emotions well up in a chaotic rush; where was this compassion when you needed it? Why didn’t you just hang up? Is he going to remember the sound of your voice by next week?

“Oh, Kyle. Waited after I took ‘em, ‘fore I called. M’sorry.” You catch inaudible curses as something jostles. “Think you’re… t’only reason m’awake.”

“That’s good, that’s good – we’re gonna keep talking, okay?”

You don’t remember how to form words properly anymore, and everything sounds a little funny, like it’s travelling through cotton. Air comes in ragged gasps; you can’t pull it into your lungs through the fire that blazes up your oesophagus, forcing you to retch. The sky doesn’t look familiar anymore through your lashes, but as everything grows fuzzier, you remember the voice next to you.

“Fuck, ugh – fuck, Kyle?”

As you tune back into the distorted noises, hearing him choke out your name, you realise he’s crying. It takes everything in you to lift your hand, as if you could wipe the tears away from here. “T-Thank you. I, really hope – ah, shit – we… hah, meet again next time.”

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[ink-flavored]

OC Questionnaire Tag Game

I was tagged by two people for this one, so thank you to @leahnardo-da-veggie & @ink-enchanted!

Rules: Answer 3 questions in your OC's voice and then give the next player 3 different questions to answer.

I have six questions because I was tagged twice, so I'll put my answers under the cut and do everything else right up top

Tagging: @foxys-fantasy-tales @jezifster @bargainbincheese @friendlyshaped @saintarthur01 @hallwriteblr and anyone else who wants to play!

Your Questions

Do you miss someone?

Are you more selfless or self-centered?

How many hot dogs do you think you could eat in one sitting?

~

My turn! I'll answer these for Pride, Justice, Henry, and Priscilla.

My Questions

Which of the 7 deadly sins are you?

What is something you cannot live without?

If you are the "good guy", what, if anything, could make you switch to the "bad side"? If you are the "bad guy", what, if anything, could make you switch to the "good side"?

If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?

What is your most treasured possession?

Do you think you could win in a fight against your nemesis?

Which of the 7 Deadly Sins are you?

Pride: "You're fucking kidding me, right? Like, you're joking?"

Justice: "Uh... I don't like to think about it, sorry."

Henry: "Every man has his vice... Most people would guess greed, and I suppose they'd be onto something."

Priscilla: "Wrath. 💞"

What is something you cannot live without?

Pride: "Weed. It's proof that humans can do one thing right."

Justice: "People. The people I love. I wouldn't be anywhere without them."

Henry: "The farm. Percy'll get onto me for saying it, but I can't imagine ever living in any automobile-choked city again."

Priscilla: "I never go anywhere without the lovely engraved pistol Henry gave me for our first anniversary."

If you are the "good guy", what, if anything, could make you switch to the "bad side"? If you are the "bad guy", what, if anything, could make you switch to the "good side"?

Pride: "I'm gonna need the Big G to personally descend from His throne of gold and suck my dick before I even consider that. And I don't have a dick, so we're all gonna be waiting a long ass time."

Justice: "Depending on who you ask, I've already gone to the 'bad side', and the catalyst, for me, was trying to stop an injustice. To them, I prevented a good deed on purpose. I want to believe I'm still 'good', but I think it's all relative. No one wants to believe they're evil."

Henry: "Maybe if it ever stops being damn good business to be the bad guy, I'll hang up my hat."

Priscilla: "When the world gives back everything it's taken from me."

If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?

Pride: "I dunno... for my life to not suck?"

Justice: "Peace and understanding between people. It wouldn't fix everything, but it would go a long way."

Henry: "Enough acreage to board horses. Now that's good business."

Priscilla: "Darling, if you tell someone what you wish for it won't come true!"

What is your most treasured possession?

Pride: "Dante let me have some of their paints they didn't want. I've used them up now, but... yeah."

Justice: "My reading glasses! They don't actually do anything, but they're fun to wear."

Henry: "The dogs."

Priscilla: "This is cheating a bit, but our dogs are simply the most precious things I could possibly think of."

Do you think you could win in a fight against your nemesis?

Pride: "Abso-fuckin-lutely."

Justice: "I don't really have one. I guess the concept of injustice is my nemesis, in which case... I'm doing my best?"

Henry: "I'd rather not get close enough to find out."

Priscilla: "Oh, I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult. I've gotten this far, after all."

[prettyboykatsuki]

☆ tags ; nagi x gn!reader, fluff | ☆ wc ; 632

"Nagi."

You can feel your boyfriends breathing quiet down as you call out to him. It's a tell-tale sign he can hear you. For one reason or another though, he's actively ignoring you - likely because he doesn't want to be pestered. He likes his sleep and he especially likes not talking.

You have your 3-times rule in which you'll only call for him three times. If he really doesn't want to answer, he'll keep pretending but you normally get him on the second because he's weak to you and your various whims.

But this is your third Nagi, and he remains still as stone. Unfortunately for him, your question is really bothering you. Sure it's not urgent, but you wanna know now instead of later. You rub your feet together like a cricket under your sheets, then give a great big sigh.

"Seishiro."

This catches his attention because he breathes deep, then rolls over to look at you. The light is dim but you can make out his face. White hair half-mussed on pillows, while he rests his head under his arms. He doesn't look annoyed, just fussy. You give him a smile.

"Hm?"

He's handsome, you think. You always think that. Nagi is strange in many ways but he's got good looks. And he's tall, which is impressive - a good 6'3. Enough to make you feel funny when you think too hard about it. You glance at him, eyes lidded from sleep.

You're not sure what it is. You've never been super insecure dating Nagi. All the attention he gets is a nuisance but he's so focused on you. He doesn't give you many reasons to overthink in the first place.

Maybe you're just curious. Or maybe you just need some validation and you're having a hard time. Either way, it takes you a minute to conjure up the courage to ask.

"...Do you...like me?"

The sincerity of your voice seems to confuse him.

"We're dating." He replies, nonplussed. You make a face.

"No I know but...I don't know," You bite the inside of your cheek. You feel stupid for wanting to cry. It's unusual "But do you... like me? Like as a person?"

"Yeah."

He says it so easily you want to believe him. You do believe him, deep down. But it's still gnawing at you, just a little. You can feel your insecurity bleeding into your little gestures.

"Really? Like really, really? Sometimes... I dunno. Guess I worry we're too different."

You don't know what you're expecting from Nagi on behalf of your insecurities. You don't even really know what you want him to say since emotional support isn't his strong suit. Maybe you're hoping for a hug.

"I don't really care. And I don't waste time on stuff I hate." He says honestly, then pauses as if he's trying to think of anything else to say. You feel a large arm drape over you before dragging you close - making you yelp.

He looks down at you for a while like that, studying your face in the lowlights. His eyes are deep and brown like earth, and you feel like if you look too long you'll get lost.

"I don't really get excited about a lot. But I want to be with you. I think for someone like me, that's probably more than enough."

You feel your hear thump at the assurance of his word. Despite his placid way of speaking, the weight of it is so heavy in your hands. But it's not burdensome. Grounding is a better word. You bury your face into his chest and he squeezes you tight, chin on top of your head.

"Thanks, Nagi."

"You should call me Seishiro again."

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his jawline - only to look up and see him flushed pink.

"Thanks, Seishiro."

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Personality through quotes

Thanks @illarian-rambling here!

Rules: give quotes from your OCs about a given prompt

My prompt: What do you do when your friend is sick?

Lexi: "Well, I guess I identify what's bothering them first. And then I try to relate it to myself to show I'm being empathetic, and I understand what they're going through. I let them know it'll be okay, and then I give some advice."

Maddie: "Hm. I guess I try to look around to see if there's anything to help now. And...I guess if there's like an objective solution. Maybe a hands-on method. I, uh, I look for that, since I work better like that. I dunno, I guess I'll then do something to try and help."

Ash: "The way I see it, the sooner you get rid of the bad stuff, the better. So I usually try to look for an easier way out. Practical solutions. I'm not that good at being comforting, but I can solve any puzzle you throw at me."

Gwen: "Considering my friends send me to comfort someone, I think of myself as empathetic. I really try to put myself in their shoes and imagine what they must be going through. I comfort them, validate their feelings, then I take a step back and look at the big picture. I think I'm good at long-term solutions."

Robbie: "I guess I try to figure out what they need. Like, do they need me to leave or, like, stay. When they say they're alright, I need to figure out if they mean it. I can shut up long enough to listen, believe it or not. I try to, I guess, empathize with them. And I try to piece the puzzle together and somehow I end up connecting things. It is hard not to give all the ideas I can think of though. Sometimes they need to, like...be in the moment. I struggle with that, but I try my best."

Akash: "I try to detach myself first, which is a little difficult to do. But it's easier to restate what's going on, then work it out from there. I can't always relate to what's going on, but I do try to use my experiences to give advice. I know that just saying it'll be okay is lame, so I try to assure them in other ways. Like if I think it will be okay, I specifically tell them it's an I think situation. And if I'm not sure, I'll just say that I'll support them through it."

Jedi: "I always try to see things from an individual's point of view. I understand many perspectives, so I will be able to understand them. I will likely take an optimistic approach that most of what is going on in this person's life will resolve in time, and I will provide multiple solutions dependent on multiple scenarios I anticipate happening."

Carmen: "... I don't comfort people.... But if Jedi was upset... I suppose I would simply point out the facts. And then figure out the problem to make a solution. Reliable plans are the way to fix your problems."

Your prompt: What is the worst place you have been stuck in for a long time?

Tagging @little-peril-stories @mk-writes-stuff @willtheweaver @dyrewrites @chauceryfairytales

@writernopal @the-stray-storyteller @loopyhoopywrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @cowboybrunch

@elsie-writes @melpomene-grey @mysticstarlightduck @theeccentricraven

+ ANYONE ELSE

TSP

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy