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so-long-soldier-writes · 6 months

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Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it.

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention.

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers.

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.”

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher.

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach.

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment.

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can.

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical.

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own.

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours.

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits.

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class.

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly.

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go.

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute.

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident.

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time.

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that.

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation.

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking.

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly.

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better.

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs.

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room.

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty.

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile.

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go.

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are.

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it.

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door.

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe.

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe.

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind.

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees.

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance.

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature.

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them.

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest.

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet.

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough.

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips.

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink.

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?”

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

#i feel like i'm cheating on kai #but i promise kai isn't going anywhere!!#nor are the mikaelsons - those for which i'm trying to write more #i have simply ✨ added ✨ another man to my collection #y'all i spelt his name wrong so many times writing this #have i ever mentioned i had a crush on a boy named isaac in my junior year of hs?#he was a twin #anyway #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction

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within-your-eyes-if · 6 months

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April 1st Progress Update

Hello everyone!

First, this update isn't an April's Fools joke, as much as I wish it were. Secondly, maintaining a level of transparency is important to me. It lets you all understand where I'm at and what to expect. With that, I apologize there was no March update.

In my last update, I hinted at some hardships in my life, and things were looking better. Unfortunately, sometimes life tends to kick you down when you're trying to get back up, and that's what happened not long after that update. This time, however, it took a heavy toll. I really tried, but I could not get back up on my own this time.

I had to step away for the most part and work on healing. I'm genuinely starting to feel better now, with each day being a little clearer and brighter than the last. Writing is slowly becoming easier again, which is a huge relief. It's strange how little time has passed, yet it feels years away.

As I believe I've stated before, I have no intentions of abandoning my story; this still rings true. There's just a regret I lost the momentum I gained.

Progress hasn't been at a complete standstill, and I'm still slowly working on drafts. It's hard to explain without delving into personal details — know I'm trying my hardest. I'm unsure what the word count is at the time of writing this, as I'm still going over and refining it. However, I have finished a few more scenes and I'm nearing the finish line.

Lastly, I'm sorry I disabled the asks. There are quite a few I need to catch up on, but answering was, and has always been, hard for me. I'll probably put together a FAQ post in the next few days (as well as finish a certain post I've been neglecting). Anyway, I hope to enable asks again in the near future.

Thank you all once again for your incredible patience. I'm sorry if this update isn't what you hoped for. Regardless, I hope Part Two is well worth the wait!

#within your eyes if #wye progress update

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crescencestudio · 4 months

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๋࣭⭑ Devlog #41 | 5.28.24 ๋࣭⭑

It's hot girl (/gender neutral) summer season

HAPPY MAY!!

Hope you're all doing well <3 We're already getting into summer, which is a little crazy to me. The year is flying by! Before I get into what we actually did this month, it wouldn't be a May devlog without our annual Mermay celebration!

Look at those locks. His Ariel/Rapunzel era fr

Since I already had updated Mermay pieces for the Alaris LIs, I decided to do one for our beloved Van this year ^^ Hope you all like it!

For writing this month, I spent a lot of it catching up on Etza edits. Being totally transparent, I wasn't Completely Happy with their route when their draft was finished. But now that I've started the editing process with Wudgey, I'm really excited to see how their route is shaping up!!! We've been fleshing a lot of little interactions out with their route, and I can already see Etza's character really starting to shine with these edits ^^

I've also been chipping away at Kuna'a's route! While it's nowhere near finished, I'm hopeful that this upcoming month will be the month of Kuna'a now that I don't have a bunch of releases I'm trying to balance. His route is also one of the ones whose outline is more fleshed out (Druk and Etza I would say were the least fleshed out, which might be why they also took a bit longer). So I'd love to see Kuna'a's first draft complete/almost complete by the next devlog!

This month, I had to dust off my art skills tbh LMFAOIJSDF. It's been.... a WHILE since I've made CGs since I've been in the writing and coding dungeon for so long. So most of this month's art updates are me getting tilted from redrawing an ugly sketch over and over.

I DID manage to get the Van Mermay piece out. And I also was able to sketch out Kayn's Tragic End CG; that leaves only one CG that has to be sketched out! Currently, six of their CGs are finished, two need to be rendered, and one needs to be drawn still.

And since Kayn's CGs are mostly done, I've started drawing Fenir's. I was actually able to finish one because I basically Locked In when I made it, so here is a sneak peek!

Kisses his little pink nose

You might notice there's not toooo many updates on this month's devlog. The reason for that is because this month, I spent a lot of it recovering both mentally and physically. April shenanigans and those back-to-back releases took a lot out of me, and after going full speed basically since this year started, I learned I REALLY needed a break. That coupled with the concussion I got made it so that most of this month was focused on recovering and then getting back into the groove of things.

Another thing I tried to focus on this month was finding a balance in my workflow. Going into this month, I felt like I was on the verge of a mental breakdown almost every day, in large part because I have a lot of big things I'm trying to accomplish this year. Between finishing my dissertation, Alaris, and a personal big event that I have to plan, I have a lot on my plate this year, and it's made it easy to get overwhelmed as the months pass by. So I wanted to find a balance between all three that didn't make me feel like I was also falling into insanity. After talking to beloved Wudgey of @herotome fame, I've started adopting a schedule that gives me enough structure and flexibility to feel like I'm making progress without going crazy and getting lost in the sauce.

While it's still early in the process, I'm really happy with the balance I've hit, and I'm feeling much more like myself now compared to a month ago!

I caught up on quite a few things in my backlog this month, which made me happy ^^ I always like to learn from and support other devs, so finally being able to return to that helped with the recovery process <3

I don't have any actual fanart pieces, but there are a couple of games I'd like to highlight!

First of all, of course I must talk about our hot girl (/gender neutral) summer cross-promo. If you haven't checked out these games, I can't recommend them enough!!

Links to each game can be found on the Alaris Game page under the magic and mystery otome section!

Specifically, Save the Villainess, The Good People, and Thorn for the Villain are amazing games if you're into thriller/political games layered with mystery

The Silent Kingdom (which I played recently and is AMAZING) and Dual Chroma (Otojam 2023 ALLY) have added mechanics of RPG for exciting action-adventure fantasy stories

Lost in Limbo, Obscura, and Snow White Ashes are BEAUTIFUL dark fantasy games. I've played all three of these and they have some of the most beautiful writing and visuals... BIG FAN OF ALL OF THEM.

Mask Beyond Lies and Sigh of the Abyss have that epic fantasy adventure appeal to them, in a way that I think is similar to Alaris! And Pearlglow Cafe (another Otojam 2023 ALLY) is a very lighthearted and charming game for those of you who like the comfy vibe that most of my stories have!!

Some other games that I played are Favor (@favorvn) by beloved @concreteparasite which is SOOOOO stylish. If you've played Binary Star Hero by Connie, you can expect that same stylish, dark, sultry vibe from Favor. If you haven't checked out either of those games by Connie, I can't recommend them enough, especially if you like yanderes. There is so much aesthetic and atmosphere to them!

I also played Where Winter Crows Go by @prikarin who is a VERY talented developer (and one I'm sure many are familiar with). I had a lot of fun romancing Crowe and both the MC and him have such strong personalities, it was so fun seeing their dynamic!!!! The CGs were also made by anta, who is the dev behind Thorn for the Villain, and they're BEAUTIFULLLLL. Each one has so much style and rly has a professional look to them. Can't recommend enough if you haven't played already ((heads up that it is another yandere game for those who can't do yandere!))

Okay I've yapped enough. If you've made it this far, you are god's strongest soldier LFMASLDIFJ. See you all next month with hopefully some exciting progress!

#devlog #alaris

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munsonownsmyass · 7 months

Text

Billy Russo x reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

Summary: A night out with the boys turned into something you never expected.

Notes: I was asked by a lovely anon to make a fic with Frank and Matt. Bonus if I could throw in Billy. Well, ask and you shall receive. It's the first time I've tried writing a foursome. A lot of poles, holes and peeps to keep track off. Hope i succeeded.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: Oh, where do i begin? SMUT! 18+. Exhibitionism/voyerism, fingering (f receiving, both vaginal and anal), handjobs, grinding, unprotected sex (vaginal and anal. Remember lube and wrap up irl, folks), double penetration, gay/bi sex. This is a lot, y'all.

Words: 1.5 K

It was one of those evenings that you never want to end. Scattered across the table is empty beer and wine bottles, another few half drunk. Frank is sitting in the armchair in Matt’s apartment, Matt casually situated on his lap and peppering Frank's neck with soft kisses as you and Billy were sitting on the couch. It had started as a few friends having dinner, now turned into you all being very tipsy as the evening slowly turns into night.

As the night progressed, you found it harder and harder to keep your eyes of Frank and Matt, their touches growing bolder. The conversation had been rather normal, considering the lives you all lived, although a bit slurred by the amount of alcohol. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve ever seen the guys this intoxicated before or if Billy has even noticed the show unfolding right across from the two of you.

You are not even sure Frank and Matt are aware of what they are doing. First it was just soft touches, then kisses peppered onto each other's skin, which was enough to catch your attention. But the more they drank, the bolder they became. They seem like they don’t know what their actions are doing to you.

You can't tear your eyes away as Frank sucks gently on Matt’s neck, the look of pleasure on Matt’s face as Frank gives him yet another love bite. The alcohol seemed to make Matt lose his inhibitions, the blush on his cheeks only caused by the wine and not by the position he’s in.

You suddenly feel Billy shift beside you. Glancing down, you can’t help but notice bulge in his pants. He does nothing to hide it, his eyes fixed on Frank and Matt. You would lie if you said you’d never thought of Billy in a sexual way, but now as you glance between his legs, all you can think about is how he was like in bed.

You try to dismiss the thoughts as a mere result of too many beers, but you know it’s a lie. Eyes again on Frank and Matt, unable to tear your gaze away from Frank’s fingers. Slowly the fingers run up Matt’s thigh, just barely touching his bulge before sliding back down. A pattern he repeats and each time Frank’s fingers graze Matt’s bulge, he bites his lip.

The odd thing is how casual the men are. Just sitting there with the conversation still flowing lightly as if all three of them aren’t hard.

Without even realizing it, you had moved your hand to Billy’s thigh. When did you move it? Whether you’re affected by the show before you, the wine or simply just the intoxicating scent of Billy, you don’t know, but you slide your hand up higher. Billy seems to lean into your touch, his breathing now strained.

At this point you’re so turned on you need a release for the ache between your legs. You let your hand wander from Billy’s thigh down between his legs, cupping his cock through the denim. He responds with a sharp intake, his eyes begging you not to stop.

Unable to hold back any longer, Billy leans forward and claim your lips in a kiss. Soft at first, but soon turns heated as his tongue slip into your mouth.

You melt into the kiss, letting your eyes gaze at Frank and Matt one more time before closing your eyes. They were lost in each other, all conversation now forgotten. Consumes by lust, Billy pulls you onto his lap, kissing you more passionately by the minute. You moan softly when Billy’s hands start roaming your body, cupping your breasts. His thumb rubs gently circles on your sensitive buds, making you shiver.

As Billy’s mouth moves to your neck, sucking at your sensitive skin, your eyes wander to Frank and Matt. While you were lost in Billy’s touch, Matt moved on top of Frank, both of them naked from the waist up. Matt’s soft moans fills the air as his hips roll against Frank, a soft ‘fuck Red’ spoken in passion.

Between kisses, Billy pulls your t-shirt over your head, exposing your soft skin to him. When his mouth latch onto your nipple, his name falls from your lips in a soft whisper.

One hand slide between your bodies, making your shiver as his fingers touch you right where you need him the most, your panties already damp. Your soft moans now attract the attention from Frank and Matt, both of them stopping and looking at you two now.

Frank quickly opens Matt’s pants and his own, releasing both their cocks. Holding them both in his big hand, they watch you and Billy as he pumps them slowly. They look as Billy’s fingers hike up your skirt, pulling your panties to the side and make you gasp, when his fingers find your aching clit.

Frank and Matt can’t tear their eyes of you, seeing the way your back arch when Billy pushes his fingers inside you, his mouth capturing your nipple again. No inhibitions left, you let out a big moan, letting them all know how good Billy makes you feel.

Frank let’s go of Matt as he slips from Franks lap. Matt kneels, pulling Franks pants all the way off, before removing his own. With their eyes glued to you and Billy, their kisses turn heated as they stroke each other, enjoying the show.

Your hand finds its way into Billys pants, palming his hard cock. Pulling your hand out, you unzip his pants, allowing you to better stroke him. Billy groans when your hands wrap around his length, his own hands going down to his waistband, pulling his pants further down.

You pull your skirt up higher, exposing your ass to Frank and Matt as you lift yourself up before slowly lowering yourself onto Billy’s hard cock.

Matt looks at Frank, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Frank just gives a soft smirk, disappearing for a second, only to return with some lube.

Your eyes spring open when you feel a finger softly rubbing your other entrance. Looking over your shoulder, you see Matt smile back at you as his finger tease your opening. Frank is kissing Matt’s neck, looking into your eyes. They give you the opportunity to say no. But you don’t. You had never had an experience like this and who knew if it would ever happen again? So you urge Matt on with a soft moan, begging him not to stop.

His finger slips in, causing you to whimper at the new sensation. His finger slowly works you open as you ride Billy’s cock, feeling an ecstasy you’ve never felt before.

Matt adds another finger as Frank wraps his hand around Matt’s cock, pumping it as Matt gets you ready. Frank is rock hard against Matt’s ass, the tip leaking at the sight before him.

As Matt slips his fingers from your ass, he feels Frank’s fingers at his own, groaning as he places the tip of his cock against your tight entrance. Gently, he pushes into you, marveling in the feeling of Billy’s cock, only your thin walls separating them.

You whimper at the sensation of two cocks filling you, both of them pushing you closer to the edge. Frank, not wanting to be left out, pushes Matt’s legs apart, watching as both Matt and Billy’s cocks thrust into you.

Frank push into Matt, inch by inch, feeling how Matt clench around him. He wasn’t gonna last long, the sight and noises from the others already threatening to push him over the edge. Frank stills, just for a moment, to join in the pace with the rest of you and then start thrusting into Matt.

Slowly, as you all find the rhythm, the pace quickens, bringing you all closer to a much-needed release. One by one you come. First Billy, filling you to the brim with his cum as he gazes deeply into your eyes. The feeling of Billy falling apart for you, makes you come with a soft moan, his name falling from your lips.

When you come, you clench around Matt’s cock, the sensation triggering Matt to come hard and that in turn makes Frank come, the sound of Matt’s ecstasy too much for him.

The air is filled with soft pants as you all come down from your highs, none of you moving as your bodies still shiver in the aftershocks of your shared pleasure.

Slowly, you start to detach from each other, all of the men very soft with you, making sure you’re okay. The atmosphere in the room is a bit awkward, none of you looking the others in the eyes. That’s until Billy chuckles, breaking the tension with a simple question.

“Same time next week?”

You all smile, not sure if you’ll ever do it again, but... never say never.

tagging: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @theradioactivespidergwen @k-marzolf @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @murdock-and-the-sea @chvoswxtch @lucy-sky @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @idaofinfinity @fluffyprettykitty @kayhi808 @danzer8705 @sio-ina-bottle @darlingshane @anna-hawk @feelmyskinonyourskin @chellestrash @chelseasdagger @loveroftoomanyfandoms @boliv-jenta

#billy russo x reader #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #matt murdock x frank castle #billy russo fanfiction #matt murdock fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #billy russo #matt murdock #frank castle

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lev1hei1chou · 8 months

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pls pls plsssss! I desperately need part 2 of the angst breakup with nanami! Make it fluff ending plssssss! Ty!

Second Chances

Nanami x reader Warning: none Words: 647 Synopsis: Patching up with Nanami PART 1 PART 3 Masterlist

The soft chime of the bell signaled your entrance into the comfy little cafe that held uncountable memories of laughter, shared secrets, and loving glances. The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air and with that came a flood of emotions. This was the place where you and Nanami Kento, a skilled sorcerer with an unpredictable life, had spent countless moments together.

It had been months since the two of you decided to split up. The constant worry and fear that filled your heart every time he walked into the unknown had become too much to bear. Nanami's dedication to his duty as a sorcerer was firm, and your love for him had been both a major source of strength and pain. The decision to break up had been painful, but you somehow believed it was for the best, hoping that he would find a way to stay safe, just as he had up until now.

As you made yourself comfortable in a familiar corner of the cafe, all the memories flooded back. The way Nanami used to smile softly at you over a cup of coffee, the gentle warmth of his hand holding yours – all of it played like a bittersweet melody in your mind. Lost in thought, you didn't notice the figure approaching until a deep voice spoke.

"Long time no see."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, catching Nanami's gaze. His expression softened as he took in the sight of you. He wore his usual suit, the epitome of professionalism, but the lines on his face were the proof of all his responsibilities and burdens.

"Hello, Nanami," you replied curtly, trying to maintain your composure.

He took a seat across from you. The air between you was thick with unspoken words but was still comfortable for some reason. The tension was easy to note, but neither of you wanted to be the first to break it. The silence hung in the air for a while until Nanami finally spoke.

"I've missed this place," he admitted, eyes looking observing the surroundings.

A small smile played on your lips. "Yeah, me too."

The conversation flowed slowly but smoothly, both of you carefully walking on the delicate balance of the past and the present. You spoke about your life, the comforting routine that replaced the chaos and uncertainity that plagued it when you were in love with a sorcerer. Nanami, in turn, shared stories about his usual encounters with curses and spirits, a world that had always been his reality.

Time passed, and it was evening. The cafe's soft glow cast a warm ambiance around you. You realised that the cafe was not just a place; it was a symbol of your connection, a proof of the love you both once shared.

After sipping his coffee, Nanami set down his cup and looked at you intently. "I miss us," he admitted, his voice low.

You met his gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and longing. "I miss us too."

A shared understanding was in the air, and with it came the possibility of a second chance. The unspoken apologies and affection you had for each other pushed you both to the edge of reconciliation.

As you stood up to leave, Nanami mirrored your movements. The cafe was a witness to the progress of your relationship. The decision loitered in the air, implied yet absolute.

"Can we try again?" Nanami asked, his gaze unwavering with a hint of hope in his eyes.

A smile played on your lips, tears threatening to spill. "I'd love that."

Lo and behold, amidst of the familiar aroma of coffee and the calm bustle of the cafe, you and Nanami Kento took the first step towards rebuilding what was formerly lost – a love that rebelled against the boundaries of danger and the complexities of the supernatural world.

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cheeeryos · 4 months

Text

it's been ages since I've made a rec list so I'm going to try to catch some of my more recent faves: here's ur pynch 2024 summer reading list!

completed:

deeper than the sea and longer than the way - @toast-the-unknowing

maybe I'm biased because this was written to my taste but also I'm not biased and it's wonderful. if you like fairy stories, strange magic surrounding adam parrish, and hennessy being a smug shit-stirrer, you'll love this one as much as I did. toast is a master at stories that are fun, witty, original, and then hit you with some serious emotions on the way to a happy ending.

gets late early - @charactershoesfic

if you love baseball, you will love this fic. (if all the comments can be believed, if you hate baseball, or if you know less than nothing about baseball, you will also love this fic.) it's a love letter to the game in a way that's actually about the relationships between people who love the game, as all the best stories about baseball are.

patrimony - @whatimages

greywaren fallout fic! so the excellent thing about this one is while it is not my thing, this fic makes it fully believable that it's pynch's thing. they're freaks (affectionate). and I always appreciate when authors get that they don't need to tiptoe around each other, like the porn version of causing and then picking off each other's moving dolly scabs. mind the tags etc.

if shit goes south, I love you - Lil_Redhead

this is from about a year ago and I think it deserves a lot more love! another post-gw fic, this one exploring what would have happened if adam had lost some of his marbles. a little angsty, a little hopeful, maybe signs for a sequel coming up?

green; desire - @flightspathfic

a fun little morsel featuring ronan getting baby fever in the funniest possible way.

in progress:

18A / 19A - @yiiiiiiiikes25

the first one-shot is complete but the follow-up is ongoing. if you've ever wondered what adam would have grown up to be like if he and gansey hadn't fought out half of his issues in high school, this fic dives in headlong. he's awful 🥰💙 also it's hilarious and wonderfully written, and I'm sooo fuckign jealous of ronan for the version of the barns he's got in this one.

anyway, it's about old friends - pinkhorizon

when harry met sally au! I love every single story pinkhorizon begins and I am waiting patiently for them all to be finished, but this is a particularly excellent time.

same old ground, same old fears - sleeptodream

ok I'll be honest, this one is actually only on my marked for later, because I've been pretty busy lately. but I trust sleeptodream with all things, and I am especially a sucker for breakup/makeup fics so this is right up my alley.

#I know I've been bad at leaving comments lately I'm sorry I love u all mwah #pynch fanfic #pynch fic #my recs

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fantasy-relax · 3 months

Text

Sweet Alpha Dangerous Omega

Part 11 Part 12

*WOSH* *TACK*

The arrow embedded in the tree; the deer you were aiming at ran away in seconds.

“Wow, dinner is ready, tree bark with earthen sauce” Daniela demonstrated her support eagerly.

“I've lost practice also I'm better at carpentry” You said defensively.

“I had never imagined it, I thought you just had an extreme hatred towards the flora” Daniela used your shoulder as an armrest. “After you hit two trees and one bush, it was a good theory.”

“I'm going to check the traps; you catch the deer” You said practically through clenched teeth.

“Are you bossing me around?” She moved away from you and crossed her arms, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“Please Daniela” Even though you tried to contain it, the frustration in your voice was obvious.

The redhead looked at you for a few seconds before speaking.

“Cassie is driving you crazy with her order, isn´t?” Daniela said as she rolled her eyes.

You kicked a stone.

“It doesn't matter if I follow her instructions down to the smallest letter, she always rejects the easel.” You grab your hair as you walked from one side to the other. “First she rejected complaining that it was too thick or too thin, too heavy, too light, too much varnish, not enough varnish” You sat on top of a log “Now she doesn't even give me a reason, she just destroys it!” You say desperate.

Daniela, always empathetic laughed softly at your lament.

"Really?"

"Well yesterday..."

°FLASHBACK°

You crouched down to avoid the easel that ended up crashing against the wall, breaking into pieces.

That had been your fifty-two try.

“And you're supposed to be Relia's replacement?” The mockery and disdain were easy to notice in her voice.

You turned to see the easel destroyed on the ground, you didn't know what bothered you more the fact that all the easels you have built have been destroyed without mercy or that you had to apply self-control because both you and your alpha were wagging their tails for the simple fact of that Cassandra was close to you, interacting with you, her scent dancing freely around the workshop.

Remaining calm you grabbed your notebook and a pencil.

“What was the mistake this time?” You thought you had finally had the right balance.

She looked at you calling you idiot with her eyes.

You were able to suppress the purr that wanted to come out of your chest, but not your scent that while it was too light for Betas to perceive it was clear to her.

Her brow furrowed in annoyance.

You didn't say anything with pencil and notebook in hand you kept your gaze on her, you had no intention of dominating her you just wanted to show her that she was monopolizing all your attention.

Her face relaxed slightly, you saw her swallow softly and noticed the slight pleasure in her scent. You bit your lip to keep from smiling, in these few days you had confirmed something you suspected during her past Heat: Cassandra loved being the center of your attention.

“Lady Cassandra?”

She blinked and her gaze filled with anger.

“Do it again and stop wasting my time, I have many projects delayed because of your incompetence” She said practically in your face, now it was you who was swallowing, she was so close, she blinked again and hissed showing her fangs before leaving.

The workshop was silent for a few seconds.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, Relia looked at you sympathetically.

“You'll make it, Thea made me build the same cabinet more than fifty times because it didn't meet her expectations, be patient.”

Your colleagues followed her example, giving you words of support.

“You just need a little more of work”

“You're almost there!”

“Look, this time she not threaten to break it over your head, I call that progress.”

You took a deep breath and then nodded.

"Almost"

°End°

“For what try are you going now?”

"For the number fifty-seven" You made four more in a single day and they were all rejected without giving details about their errors "It doesn't matter if I follow her instructions in detail, she doesn't like it and destroys it in seconds" Covering your face with you speak the truth “And yet I don't want to get it right because this is the closest I've been to her since her Heat.”

You felt a weight on your lap and out of habit you put a hand on Daniela's waist to prevent her from falling.

“Don't be discouraged, Cassandra is just being extra dramatic.” The redhead patted you on the head comforting you.

“The worst thing is that I don't know what exactly she feels or thinks about me” You rested your head on Daniela's shoulder “Her scent tells me one thing and from her mouth comes another” You hugged the Dimitrescu “If I'm going to be her Heat's partner at least I wish we could get along.”

“Is that all you want to be?” The redhead asked without any judgment in her voice as she caressed your back. “Just spend a week with her and nothing more, just have sex and that's it.”

“I already told you that Heat or Ruts are not just about sex Dani” You said rolling your eyes, you hated how all the inhabitants of the castle believed that an alpha only sought sexual pleasure during the Heat, all because of the alphas of the town acted like Pigs towards Beta women and like absolute beasts towards the Omega, you could count on one hand the Alphas who respected their Omegas Mates and did their duty properly.

"You don't answer my question"

You took a deep breath before responding, the pain of Cassandra's rejection still weighing on your chest.

“I thought that no one would ever choose me as a mate, temporary or permanent, I resigned myself to living the rest of my life in misery while trying to make peace with dying alone” Day after day, the same routine, just surviving “ Cassandra was the first Omega who didn't run away instead she challenged me without any fear, she showed her passion when she went into heat, she knew what she wanted it and would do anything to get it." You smiled remembering the brunette's actions. "At that moment both my Alpha and I knew that we could never deny her anything.”

“Cassie is not a traditional omega” Daniela said softly, “She will never be”

“Calling her my Omega will be more than enough” You whispered longingly.

The redhead didn't say more, she caressed your head and let you rest.

-------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------

Daniela caught two deer while you were collecting the rabbits caught by your traps, one of them had absolutely white fur, which had not been mistreated by your trap.

“It would be a good courting gift for the omega.”

“Daniela, can I keep this one?”

“I'm not sure, why do you want it?”

“I want to give it to Cassandra as a courting gift” You blushed as you heard the excited squeal of the redhead who dropped her load to grab your shoulders and shake you to the point of dizziness.

“YES, you have my full permission!”

“T-Thank you.”

After handing the animals to the kitchen staff, you asked Dorotthea for permission to use her tools while they proceeded with the meat preparations.

-----------------------------------------

Outside Cassandra's room you try to gather all your courage to knock on the door, every time you raised your hand the memory of her sneering at you froze you.

“Are you going to stay there all day?” Bela's voice surprised you and before you could respond, she knocked on the door smiling before vanishing into her swarm.

You heard footsteps and with your nerves on edge you proceeded to kneel with the rabbit fur raised in your hands.

The sound of the door being opened made you lower your head, partly to comply with the offering pose and to avoid looking at the brunette's reaction.

“For you Lady Cassandra”

Hope burned in your chest as you felt the fur being removed from your hands, you raised your head just to see how Cassandra threw the fur to the ground.

“Pathetic” With disinterest in her voice she continued “You haven't even been able to complete my order and you dare to come at me with more garbage, out of my sight.”

You moved to grab the fur, not wanting to make her hate you more, but someone was quicker.

"If you don't want it, I'll keep it, after all it's such a nice gift to be wasted." Bela held it carefully in her hands. "There's no problem, right Alpha?"

You closed your eyes to control your emotions, your Alpha did not have that ability whining in your head hurt for failing again to court the Omega.

“Is no problem, Bela.” Your alpha growled, annoyed by your decision, but you had never liked to waste things, and Bela was part of Cassandra's pack. A gift for her wasn't a bad decision.

“White looks good on me, don't you think?”

You stood nodding you didn't have the energy to talk anymore.

The blonde caressed your cheek and you rested your face on it seeking comfort, closing your eyes for a moment

“You are so sweet, dear Alpha.”

*THUMP*

The sound of the door startled you, you moved away from Bela's hand, but she brought you closer, placing your forehead against her.

“Don't be discouraged, if you want to win my sister's heart you have to persevere and survive her contempt.”

Survive, you know how to do that.

----------------------

*CRASH*

There goes your eighty-fourth attempt.

"Again!" Cassandra shouted before leaving.

You silently gathered your tools to start on the new easel.

Days had passed and the only change was that the middle daughter was more agitated and irritated with you. Every time you went hunting with Daniela you made sure to look for the perfect animal to give as a courtship gift, you prepared carefully and then went to Cassandra's room to be brutally rejected.

Daniela and Bela consoled you by accepting your gifts while they praised your ability, your Alpha stopped complaining when you gave them the gifts mean for Cassandra hurt by the Omega's cruel behavior, their sweet words gave you some peace.

Maybe you should carve a wooden figurine? Daniela had told you that Cassandra was a fan of art, something that was obvious from her order, showing your ability to build and create was an important part of courtship, an Alpha had to be able to create a shelter with their hands.

But if you couldn't create a simple easel there was no way she would accept another creation of yours.

What gift could you give her?

You finished your eighty-fifth attempt, but Cassandra did not go to the workshop to check it something that seemed strange to you however, you were distracted when Daniela entered.

“Hey Relia, there was a small accident in the library and one of the shelves broke.”

"Accident?" The carpenter asked with a mocking smile.

“Accident” Daniela crossed her arms, pouting.

"Are you OK?" You asked as you walked over to check her for injuries to which the redhead let out a laugh.

“You worry too much” She said, turning around in place to show that she was in perfect condition despite the dust on her clothes.

Seeing that she was alright, you walked away to start working however Daniela grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to hug you, rubbing her cheek against the right side of your neck. She let you go after a few seconds, smiling in a mischievous way.

“Bye!”

You brushed off the dust she left on you, smiling as you shook your head at the redhead's childish joke.

You were halfway through work when Bela arrived.

“Alpha come here.”

You left your tools and approached the blonde who having you closer grabbed you by your cheeks.

“Bela?”

The oldest laughed softly.

“Your classes are suspended until further notice” She said as she rubbed her hands on your face.

"Something happened?" Did you do something to offend her?

“You're not in trouble with me” She spoke calmly as she let go of your face to massage your shoulders and then rub your arms.

You yawned; Bela's scent was relaxing, more than once you had ended up sleeping in her office because of it.

She approached and rubbed against the left side of your neck and then walked away smiling with the same malice as Daniela.

“Remember to rest” Without further ado she left.

After finishing your work, you would go to sleep early.

----------------------------------------

Cassandra didn't go to the workshop all day; you tried not to think about it too much. Lady Dimitrescu probably asked her for help with some serious matter.

Or she just accepted the fact that you would never be able to complete her assignment.

You shook your head thinking like that would only bring you pain, you had to persevere.

Entering your room, you noticed a smell that was embedded in your mind.

Cassandra's scent.

You gulped as you looked towards your bed, hoping to find the brunette lying on top of it. However, the only thing you could see was the mattress.

Just the mattress. No sheets or pillows.

You looked at the laundry basket to find it just as empty.

You took a deep breath finally noticing the pheromones embedded in the scent.

“Omega is in heat”

Cassandra's heat has begun.

#resident evil village #cassandra dimitrescu #my work #omegaverse

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si1verghosts · 5 months

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you and me found love (lost under the shade)

re4r leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.3k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking, smoking, sex | tw: illusions to suicidal thoughts; author's general preoccupation with death and dying

read on ao3

title: falling asleep on a stranger by pierce the veil | art: taft bridge under the rain [#127] by carmonamedina

a/n: i honestly don't know if i am doing this whole tagging thing right idk how to tag on here so sorry if i missed anything.... anyways, this is the first thing i've managed to finish in months - i did not imagine the first leon fic i'd actually post would be reader insert but here we are!! i hope u enjoy :D

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

i do not own leon, yadda yadda, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chat bot and/or writing generator.

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"I can't be what you want," Leon had said, voice even. "Maybe you should try to find someone else; someone who can… be around."

Someone who can give you a straight answer. Someone who doesn't come home bloodied and bruised and can't tell you why. Someone who doesn't make you feel like it's all just a lie.

You had never heeded any of Leon's suggestions before - "You should go," he had whispered after that first night, and the second, and the third - but you wish you had; so you give it a shot now.

You let your friend set you up with the guy in accounting at her job she had been telling you about for months. "And get this - he always wears a tie bar! He just seems so put together," she had raved to you over drinks the weekend prior.

Accounting, tie bar, put together. Nice, neat, safe.

You had shrugged, "give him my number."

He's waiting for you outside the bar when you arrive, jogs over when he notices you approaching, holding his umbrella out over you. It's unnecessary - the cold precipitation is hardly a mist, barely coating the strands of your hair. "You look beautiful," he smiles. It feels rehearsed, platitudinous. You thank him, letting him guide you inside.

His hand brushes your arm as he helps you out of your jacket, skin soft. You pull away with the shock of it, covering with a small wave of beckoning. He falls in behind you as you traverse the familiar path through the room to your usual spot, settling in before he can manage to make a show out of pulling out your chair.

Same table, different seat; back against the wall - it's a whole new perspective. No longer focused solely on the person across from you, it's as if the whole world falls into your line of sight. It suddenly makes sense why you always found it so difficult to hold on to Leon's attention.

He slinks away to acquire your requested vodka soda from the bar. You pick at your nails until your fingers shake, shifting to look out the windows. The rain has picked up, pelting the glass and obscuring the view. You long for your car and the pack of menthols tucked away in the glove box, nobody to quit for now.

He returns with your drinks, water for himself - "trying to cut back on carbs, you know? I've been making real progress with my lifts lately."

"That's great," you smile.

He leans in, beginning to chatter away excitedly about weights and protein and bicycles and Wall Street. His cologne reeks of business school, of polo shirts and white picket fences and 2.5 kids. You hope you are nodding at all the right moments. His tie bar catches the light of the Budweiser sign hanging behind you, silver glinting red, as if informing you you aren't.

It's hard, much harder than it reasonably should be but you've forgotten how to do this. Leon and you hardly spoke; the silence was easier - until it grew violent from your overreliance.

You catch the ring of the doorbell over the drone of his voice, a familiar shape of blonde hair and brown leather entering your peripheral vision. You turn, a sick sense of satisfaction slithering up your spine.

Shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep in his pockets, he shakes off the water droplets clinging to his hair like a dog. He picks his head up, blue eyes and dark circles meet your gaze almost immediately.

You raise a brow, I took your advice; happy?

He spins around, setting the bell off again as he slips out the door.

"I'm sorry," you interrupt your date, who had been entertaining himself, seemingly never even recognizing your shift in attention. "I'll be right back."

You are out the door a second later, shoving your arms back into the coat you thankfully remembered to grab, shielding your skin from the rain clouding your vision. Blinking away the droplets from your lashes, you spot Leon making his way down the sidewalk and take off after him, catching up as he nears the corner.

You call to him, voice near enough to stop him, but only for a moment. "Go back inside," he throws over his shoulder, continuing forward.

You want to reach out and grab him, make him turn to look at you, but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Your touch is sure to set him off like a slingshot.

Steeling yourself, you dart around him, blocking his path. You find yourself in front of him without any idea of what to say. You gape at him stupidly, chest heaving from the exertion of chasing him down; maybe you should've asked what's-his-name for a good gym recommendation before you ran off.

Leon entertains you for a moment before he huffs, eyes narrowing, "what are you doing?"

It's an excellent question - one you had never bothered to stop and ask yourself.

What are you doing?

Why did you agree to go for drinks? Why had you put on the dress Leon had carefully unzipped and let pool around your ankles just a few weeks ago? Why had you asked Mr. Tie Bar to meet you at the bar you knew Leon always popped into after work?

Fuck.

You swallow harshly, "trying."

"Trying?" Leon reiterates, almost laughing. "And what is it that you are trying?"

Normal. To get over you. To make you mad. Honesty. To make you look at me. To make you want me like I want you. Safety. To hurt you. To get you to say something, anything. Trust. To get you to make me stay. To get you to stay.

You feel yourself frown, the familiar pressure of tears building behind your nose. You try to swallow the feeling but it just mixes with the venom stuck in your throat, bubbling back up after mutating into a bitter twinge of anger. "What the hell does it look like, Leon? You told me to try to find someone else - that's what I'm trying."

He rocks back on his heels, crossing his arms. "Well, it doesn't really seem to be working out, does it?"

"It was going great, actually." You smile, hoping it's not as hollow as you feel.

"Oh, yeah?" He cocks a brow, lips pulling into a sly smirk. "Then why are you out here with me?

"You," you huff, at a loss. His words seem to be coming easier than ever while you choke on every one. You shrug, "You looked upset when you left."

"And I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted, right?" His smirk stretches into an acetous grin. "Came to relish in the tears, huh? Sorry to disappoint." He moves to brush by you, but you plant yourself in his path once again.

"I can't believe-" you start, but stop short. Because you can believe he'd think of you that way - you'd never given him a reason to think otherwise.

You think back to the silence that had made its home between the two of you, realizing you had used it as a confidant, letting it absorb everything you should've given to Leon instead.

"I just wanted to check on you, see how you are doing." Your voice comes out as small as you feel under the weight of Leon's gaze. It's ironic - all this time you just wanted him to look at you, and now you wish he'd turn his eyes anywhere else.

He snorts, short and irascibly, "I don't need you worrying about me."

"I know you don't, Leon," you throw your hands out, rainwater flicking off your skin with your exasperation. "You've made that very clear. But I can't help it - I'm going to anyways."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?" You half-yell, half-whine. You cringe at the sound, feeling slightly delirious; freezing cold and nearly begging him to let you care.

"Because you can do better." His voice is even once again, feelings stacked neatly away and locked up tight.

"You don't get to decide that for me," you spit, ears ringing with the echo of your too-loud voice.

"Yeah," he nods. "I do."

He steps around you again, intending to disappear down the side street. But this time you grab him, fingers latching onto the slippery leather of his jacket, his arm as tense as a bowstring under your grip.

"Let me go," he requests without turning to look at you, voice still even, even, even. It's a courtesy, he could easily pull free - but you are sick of his kindness, his courtesies; that's how you ended up here. You don't want them anymore.

"Make me."

"Let me go," he repeats, slower and thicker.

"No." If you want me gone, you'll have to force me. You don't say it, but you know he got the message when his shoulders slump, fight draining out of him all at once.

With the thrill of victory that ripples through you, you make the mistake of loosening your hold on his jacket. He seizes the opportunity, twisting your arm and grabbing you by the bicep, pulling you close. He is running hot despite the chill of the rain, you have to force yourself not to relax into his heat.

A moment passes, and then another. Neither of you move. The precipitation falls in sheets around you. You can't bring yourself to care.

Your gaze slides from his chest to his neck to his jaw, backtracking the path of a stray raindrop. You chance a glance at his eyes, finding they are already on you, steely blue shimmering with the light of the streetlamp behind you.

You love him.

You wish the ground would crack open, allowing you to freefall straight down to hell. You imagine that would feel better - less painful - than this.

You love him, and your skin burns with the feeling of it. You want to throw up. You want to kiss him. You want to pound your fists against his chest, curse him for doing this to you.

You settle for allowing a sob to escape your throat.

He releases you from his hold instantly at the sound. You scramble to grip his jacket to keep yourself upright - it's pitiful, the teeth of the zipper biting into the skin of your hands. The sharp pain comes as a tether, gifting you the space to ground yourself, to shove the tears back down.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, tight and clipped. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," you cut him off, voice rough, grating. "It wasn't. You didn't hurt me."

"Okay," he mutters.

You laugh. You love him and you can't help but laugh, sinking into the insanity of it.

You feel him start to stiffen again, unsure. The feeling of his discomfort building under your fingers forces you back into yourself, realizing where you are, that you've been causing a scene on the corner down the block from his apartment.

You release him, but you don't step away, tilting your head just enough to take in the sight of him - parted lips and a handful of freckles, blonde hair tinted green by the neon sign over the entrance of the convenience store a few feet away.

"I'm sorry," you croak out, drifting back; wishing the rain would melt you down, suck you into the storm drain. That's the only thing that could pull you from him, you think; swirling down the gutters with the cigarette butts and the fallen cherry blossoms until you're laid to rest at the bottom of the Potomac.

His nose twitches. "For what?"

That I can't find someone else, can't force myself away from you.

That I love you, but can't tell you.

"For," you throw your hands out, weaker than before. "All of it."

He nods, "It's okay."

You don't want it to be, but you suddenly feel exhausted. Too tired to fight, to pull any more truths from him.

"Take me home?" You request, you plead.

He nods again, holding his hand out to you. "Yeah."

You intertwine your fingers with his own, the roughness of his callouses and scars soothing in their familiarity.

The walk to his place is short. You don't bother trying to shake off the water before entering, leaving a trail of raindrops up the stairwell, down the hall, through his front door, across his apartment to the tiled floor of his bathroom.

He reaches into the shower, cranking the hot water, allowing the stream to heat up as he helps you out of your wet clothes. He removes the drenched fabric piece by piece - jacket first, then your dress, unzipping it with even more care than the previous time. It doesn't slip off with the same ease, but his gentle fingers pull it from your skin until it falls away. He crouches to undo your shoes, allowing you to step out of them before reaching up and rolling your nylons, guiding them down your legs.

He moves to do the same with your underwear, fingers resting on the waistband as he glances up to you, silently asking your permission even though he already has it, always will. There's no heat behind his actions, but the tenderness sears your skin all the same. You nod, a low ache settling into the center of your chest as he slides them off you before standing. You unclasp your bra; he doesn't comment on the matching set.

The steam of the boiling shower envelops you as you undress him in turn. You struggle with his belt buckle, stiff fingers uncooperative. He takes over and you drop to your knees to untie the laces of his boots, finding them mercifully secured with single-knots. You make quick work of them and he reaches down to help you up, moving you out of the way before he kicks them off.

You assist him in pulling his shirt over his head, peeling the cotton away from his skin. You unbutton his jeans as he removes the clips from your hair, wet strands falling limply in front of your eyes.

"Go ahead and get in, I'll go throw this stuff in the wash." His voice is mellifluous, sickeningly soft.

It makes you feel like a kid, incompetent and helpless. You hate him for it. You hate yourself for twisting his kindness into something dark and disgusting.

"I can help," you offer, because that's all you can do; already leaning down to collect your things. "You have to hang the jacket, it's-"

"Wool. I know," his hand brushes your back lightly, "it's okay. I'll be right back."

You straighten up, allowing him to guide you across the bathroom and help you into the tub. You slowly ease your way under the hot stream as he slides the shower curtain closed.

You watch the shape of him through the cloudy plastic, shucking off his jeans and pulling off his socks. The sobs you had just barely choked down twice before make another escape attempt, clawing at your throat as you watch his shadow collect your clothes and move down the hall.

You shut your eyes against the sudden emptiness of the room, against the tears and the silence and the panic; against the loathing and inferiority. You take the coward's way out, turning away from it all to hold your face up to the showerhead.

He returns quickly, rustling around for a moment before slipping into the tub behind you. His presence awards you the bravery you needed to crack open your eyes, to clear your throat. "You're wrong, you know."

Exhaustion overshadows his amusement as he hums in question, "about what?"

Picking your hand up, you reach out slowly to slide your fingers along his collarbone, circle the puckered scar on his shoulder. "That I can find someone better."

He scoffs, dropping his head, hair fluttering down to obscure his face.

You move your hand to his neck, thumbing his jaw. "If anything, it's me who doesn't deserve you, Leon."

He shakes his head, but you ignore the action, continuing before he can protest. "Nobody can take care of me like you do - not even myself. I'm sorry" - for needing you, for burdening you; for loving you even though I'm unworthy of it - "for pushing you. I understand there are things you can't share, but I want whatever you can."

You sigh, shifting your hand at his neck to pull him to you; he follows you easily, achingly. "Even if it's just this."

He nods minutely, hooking his arms over your hips and resting his forehead on yours. Answer delivered on a breath that floats across your lips, "alright."

You remain in his arms, his agreement echoing in your mind in time with the beat of your heart in your chest. Seconds morph into minutes, only moving when the water begins to grow cold.

You wash first, your shampoo and conditioner still on the rack next to his own. Leaving him under the stream, you make your way to his room after wrapping yourself in one of the towels he'd brought into the bathroom.

Home. You had asked him to take you home and he brought you here, despite your own place being just a few blocks further in the opposite direction of his from the corner you had been on. But his assumption was right; this - he - was home to you.

The emptiness of his apartment was unsettling at first, but it quickly grew comforting - no regrets staining the carpet; no photos on the dresser of you as a girl you don't remember being. Here you could be untethered from the past you didn't want; white walls graciously offering a clean slate, even if you didn't deserve it, didn't earn it.

There is a shirt of his waiting on the bed for you, a pair of your pajama pants in the drawer next to his. Your stomach turns at the sight - no wonder he had tried to push you away; you had subconsciously settled into his space, his closet and his bed.

Your mug in the sink, your pills behind the mirror - the reckless domesticity of it all is startling, terrifying. He had given you an inch and you had taken a mile, too eager for the chance to be something new.

You pull on the clothes, making your way towards the balcony, a wave of nausea rolling through you under the soft cotton. Outside, it's still raining, translucent ropes sluicing off the overhang of the roof.

You almost immediately regret stepping outside, feeling as if it's a betrayal of the care Leon took to get you warm; but you needed it. The chill of the air forces your thoughts to line up, to wait to be addressed one by one.

His hand leading you home, your wool coat hung to dry, his shirt waiting on the bed for you to occupy - each act a silent invitation; the realization stirs inside you, grips your collarbones from the inside.

Could it be…?

You should ask him, but you've asked for more than enough tonight.

He slides open the glass door, sweatpants low on his hips; the lamp on his nightstand illuminates him from behind, feathering out all his sharp edges. Maybe it's not love; maybe it's just lust, desire - a need so great it's all-consuming. You have no point of comparison to use as a frame of reference, to assist in finding the distinction.

"I was away for a few days, there's not much in the fridge. Is ramen alright or do you want to order something?" He asks and it's love, you are suddenly sure of it.

You turn; the sight of Leon in the buttery glow of the bedroom acting as a beacon, guiding you through the terror. "Ramen is fine."

#(writing)#leon kennedy #leon s. kennedy #resident evil 4 #leon resident evil #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #geez how many variations of the leon x reader tag is there...#i do not think i got them all but this is More than enough

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 8 months

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The Art of Etiquette Part 5 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Jungkook accuses you of being taken and starts to shut you out. Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook, slow burn Word Count: 1.3k a/n: a bit of a shorter chapter since I'm stuck on how I want to continue it but I hope you guys like it anyways 💜

"You're late" I hear Jungkook say as I rush into the room we use for our more etiquette based classes.

"I'm sorry Jungkook the-" I start to explain but remember that he's told me that 'excuses will get you no where' as he so graciously put it. "I'm sorry" I settle on and set my stuff down before walking up to where he has his back turned to me while he's thumbing through a book.

"Was your boyfriend one of the reasons you failed to arrive on time?" he asks snapping the book shut, startling me with the harsh movement.

"Boyfriend?" I question, completely lost before remembering the events of last night. "Oh I do-" "Whether or not you have a boyfriend is none of my concern just make sure this fellow doesn't interfere with the work that is being done here" I shut my mouth and listen as he spouts off nonsense since he doesn't give me a chance to get in a word edgewise before I try again.

"Understood but Jungkook h-" "On second thought maybe we should keep things on a more professional level. I think we might've gotten a bit too comfortable with each other" he interrupts again, giving me a pointed look. "Meaning?" I question not really sure what he's getting at because the only time he had shown any sign of being comfortable with me was just recently and from my perspective no real lines were crossed.

"Meaning I would like for you to continue to address me as Mr. Jeon. Understood?" he questions, looming over me no doubt trying to use intimidation to try to put that wall up between us again.

"Understood" I respond in a small voice but loud enough to avoid further scoldings.

When he turns to walk aways I grab his hand, leaving him stopping in his tracks, this being one of the few times I've initiated physical contact, catching him off guard. "He's not my boyfriend" I say hoping that will keep him from trying to shut me out so harshly, "and he wasn't the reason I was late. My class ran over and there was a car accident that I had to go around" I say looking down at where our hands are connected and smiling at the fact that he hasn't tried to shrug me off yet.

"If it makes you feel any better" I say looking up and just noticing the fact that he's been looking at me, making me feel a bit nervous, "He's definitely more into you than he is in me" I say and see his face scrunch a bit in confusion.

"He's gay Mr. Jeon" I finish putting it plainly and I see a small smile crack his icy façade. "Duly noted" he chuckles dryly.

"Can we please go back to being a bit more civil with each other? I felt that things were a lot better after having warmed up to each other" I ask, smiling up at him to which I swear I could almost see a light dusting of pink cover his cheeks. Before I can take another second to study it more he's already turned his head and cleared his throat almost confirming my suspicions.

"I suppose that could be arranged" he says refusing to look at me. "Can I call you Jungkook?" I ask trying to angle my face a bit to catch his glance.

"If you so desire" he mumbles still refusing to meet my gaze. "How about Jungkookie?" I tease and watch him whip his head around towards me, "Absolutely not!" he says, putting his foot down so to say. "Duly noted" I laugh while enjoying his flustered state.

"So should we get started?" I ask, trying to move past this and show him a little mercy. "Get started with what?" he questions, clearly very very caught off guard from my slight advances.

"With my lessons" I say, trying hard to hide my amusement.

"Oh! Yes! You're right, my apologies. Where were we?" he asks, going through his notes that he's been taking to keep track of my progress in the ridiculous course schedule he has laid out for me.

"You were scolding me for being late" I say walking over to my things and putting on my heels that I haven't changed into since I had been pressed for time.

"Right, well like you had explained earlier it wasn't your..." he says trailing off and watching as I struggle to get the clasp fastened around my ankle, this being the first time I've worn these shoes that seemed to match my outfit a bit better that my usual ones. "Wasn't my what?" I question, lifting my head, and catch him checking me out. "What?" he asks, breaking out of the trance he had been in for mere seconds. "Never mind" I chuckle and go back to trying to fasten them but for the life of me I can't get them to close.

"Allow me" he says getting down on one knee and fastening the clasp gently before reaching for my other leg to take off my regular shoes I wore to school today and replacing it with the heel, his hands roaming up and down my calf and ankle to accomplish his goal.

"Does that feel alright?" he asks and I don't even realize how far I had leaned down to observe his ministrations before he straightens up and is close enough that he bumps his nose against mine.

"I-" I start but my voice gets caught in my throat, my mind going blank from being this close to him. He leans back a bit only to give himself a chance to look down at my lips which I have been nervously chewing on ever since he knelt down in front of me.

Bringing his hand up and resting it against my cheek he brushes his thumb ever so slightly on the corner of my lips before dragging it along the bottom of my lip and presses down slightly as a silent plea to release it and I comply.

He runs his thumb along the bitten and reddened lip before almost placing it on the tip of my tongue.

"Words" he says in a husky voice, bringing my focus back on him and not only his touch. My eyes glance back up at him with a glossy dazed look in them, cheeks no doubt a bright pink color as I had been so lost in the feeling that I didn't remember the question.

"Huh?" is all I manage to get out, not wanting to be broken out of this moment just yet. "I asked you to use your words. Do they feel alright?" he asks again slowly, his warm breath fanning my lips with a slight sent of spearmint while his fingers toy with the clasp on my ankle, no doubt as a way to remind me as to what he was asking me.

"Yes" let out, almost inaudibly. "Yes what? he asks, leaning in closer and switching to running his nose just barely along the side of my neck, sending butterflies through my stomach and causes me to take too long to respond. "Yes what?" he asks again, nudging his nose against the base of my neck. "Yes they feel fine" I choke out and just barely feel how he's almost smiling against my skin.

"Good" he says, leaning in again to nudge his nose against my sensitive skin before standing back up and finally giving me space to breathe. "Hurry up so we can get started" he says giving me an almost smug smile, delighted at my reactions.

Once he turns his back on me I realize just what he's done.

He's settling the score.

I take a deep breath and clear my throat before standing up and walking towards him to begin our lesson. If he wants to play around with me like this then I'm not backing down anymore. If he wants to level the playing field that's fine but I plan on coming out on top.

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wren-kitchens · 2 months

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you’re not as brave as you were at the start

7159 words

because now he’s gotten over the initial shock of having what he’d consider to be his arch nemesis at his front door, joel finally notices the worryingly large wounds littering stella’s body. some of them appear to be done by a knife, one or two still have an arrow embedded in his skin, and one has to have been done by talons. all of which look intentional, and none of them self inflicted. stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?” stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

cw: injuries, mentions of attempted murder

when I tell you this has taken me MONTHS to complete oml. i've only written something this long once and it has been lost to the void

this is for an au that icl I made up so I could have a 'I didn’t know where else to go' moment with joel and scott HKFHD so if you notice any inconsistencies no you don’t

joel watches the last rays of sunlight vanish over the horizon from where he’s trying his best not to burn his toast. before you say anything, no he’s not bad at cooking—in fact, he’s the best at cooking—but since his last toaster got shot by that stupid ice prick, he had to buy a new one. the new one is bullshit. how on earth is he meant to make toast if the first setting barely makes the bread warm and the next one practically reduces it to charcoal? he’s honestly tempted to try and sue the stupid watchers to get a new toaster. it might work, if he pretends he’s a civilian—though, he reckons stella only shot his window because he knew it was joel’s.

the toaster pops up and joel gives an embarrassingly loud shriek of surprise, accidentally setting the rug on fire. he stamps out the flames, before hurrying over to check if his toast is at least somewhat edible—which it isn’t. he huffs, wondering if he ought to take the toaster back or just cut his losses and buy one that costs more than five quid. he’s heard argos do toasters for thirteen pounds, though he has no clue if they’re any good.

by the time joel has his phone out and is searching for the best toaster brand, there’s a knock at the door that startles him so much, he sets the rug on fire again.

cursing whoever happens to be outside his flat, joel extinguishes it once again and notes, disgruntled, that he’s gonna need a new rug before walking to the door. he can’t imagine who it’d be at this time of night; maybe someone trying to sell him a random newspaper he couldn’t care less about, or telling him why he should support the local gardening community—which he has never heard of before or since, even after some extensive discussions with some of his neighbours. he thinks someone was trying to scam him.

but when he opens the door, joel doesn’t find someone handing out newsletters about their tulips, or someone asking for the last owner of the house. if the toaster and the knock at the door weren’t startling enough, joel has somehow found himself standing face to face with stella.

there’s a pause in which joel tries to process stella’s existence on his doorstep, becoming progressively more angry and confused as he takes in the surroundings. nothing is on fire or under attack outside, so why the fuck is stella at his flat?

“you- what the hell are you doing here?” joel hisses, tempted to shove him. “you broke my toaster and now you- you-“

stella stumbles a little and joel catches him automatically. “what the fuck happened- why come to me?”

stella gives an ironic laugh that soon turns into a hacking cough. it takes a moment for him to recover, and when he does, his voice is ragged and weak. “sorry for this, I just- i had nowhere else to go.”

joel stares at him for a moment. he could kick him out, he could tell him to find somewhere else to lick his wounds and never have to think about it again. after all, stella has been a thorn in his side since day one of his vigilante career, and it’d be the ultimate revenge for joel to turn him away at this moment of need.

.. but. there’s no way he can actually bring himself to do it. even the thought of telling stella to get lost when he’s so desperate, he’s come to joel for help, makes him want to throw something smashable against the nearest wall. it’s stupid and ridiculous because stella is his enemy and once upon a time, he’d have taken this opportunity to slam the door in his face and laugh about it for a very long time. and yet-

“well, are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna get inside before someone sees?” joel snaps, and he doesn’t miss the look of desperate relief that flickers across stella’s face as joel helps him across the room and onto the sofa, kicking the door shut behind him.

joel hurries into the kitchen to find his medical supplies, something beginning to gnaw at his chest as he does so.

“why- I mean, why out of all places would you come here?” he asks from across the room. “you literally just broke my toaster. we’re enemies and shit.”

“if- if you hadn’t already noticed,” stella gets out, and even as he sounds like every word he speaks is agony, he still manages to sound exasperated. “I am not in the best- the best situation right now.”

“well yeah, but you hate me.” joel says. crouching down by stella in order to check the injuries for any signs of infection. they all look pretty recent—worryingly so—but there’s no infection that seems to be present at least. “and you know I hate you. how would you know I wouldn’t just kick you out?”

something akin to fear passes over stella’s face, gone as soon as it came. “I- I didn’t. I told you, didn’t I?” he grunts in what sounds like a suppressed gasp of pain as he shifts a little. “nowhere else I could go.”

joel looks at him for a long moment. “well. you’re lucky i’m such a good person.” he lands on, taking out an antiseptic fluid and soaking the cloth in it. “now, this is gonna hurt, and it’s gonna be funny.” he preempts.

“what a good person you are.” stella deadpans. joel can’t pretend he doesn’t feel a small sense of vindication as stella winces when he dabs the cloth around the biggest slash wound on his leg.

the two fall into silence, broken only by the occasional hiss of pain from stella as joel works on his leg. luckily, as joel is able to spot now he’s closer, most of the wounds are fairly shallow and will be a lot faster to heal than he’d initially thought. in all honesty, he didn’t expect the advanced first aid course to be nearly as helpful as it ended up being; joel is very glad jimmy pressured him into taking it with him.

as he works, joel finds himself noting the size of each gash, the length of the talon marks, the colour of the arrows still embedded in stella’s flesh with a growing sense of unease. he recognises the pattern on the arrows as the watchers’ own terra, notes the length of the talons as stupid sol’s, the shallow gashes undoubtedly from luna’s sword. something sours in joel’s stomach at the thought of terra attacking stella, despite his loathing for the latter.

of course, he’d always been suspicious of the watchers—after all, jimmy had found his way to the vigilantes after being rejected from the watchers for being ‘too soft’, whatever that meant—but he’d never expected them to do something like this to one of their own. either stella fucked up bad, or they simply outgrew him and decided to get rid of him.

joel wants to ask what stella did, why they’d get rid of their most perfect hero, why they’d tried to eliminate him entirely. when he looks up to do just that, stella’s face is a blend of far too many emotions for a single person to be feeling, and it strikes joel that he feels at least some kind of way for stella (other than loathing, anyway) because he instead mutters,

“I don’t like that you know where I live.”

stella gives a pained scoff of a laugh. “what, you thought I wouldn’t- wouldn’t keep track?”

joel resists the urge to glare at stella (see, he is such a nice person) as he sets the cloth on the floor next to him and grabs the roll of bandages. “you shot my toaster.”

there’s a moment of confused silence. “I- what?” stella says.

“you shot my stupid toaster.” joel huffs, beginning to bandage the gash and suppressing a smirk as stella lets out a hiss of pain. “and then I had to get another one but it’s shit ‘cause it was only, like, eight quid.”

stella scoffs, exasperated even through his pain. what a dick. “get a better toaster then, why should I care?”

joel does glare at him now, thoroughly done with this stupid hero. “not all of us earn millions a year, stella. you broke my window last week, so I had to get that fixed, so I can’t get a better toaster right now.” he tries to sound as pissed off as he feels, but the end of that last sentence dips into something sadder than joel ever wants to sound in front of stella. “you’re lucky the window was open that time or I would have kicked you out immediately.”

there’s another pause, and joel assumes it’s just stella being confused at the concept of money before he says in a softer voice, “I didn’t- i’m sorry. I didn’t.. think.”

“too right you didn’t.” joel says, but his frustration gives way to confusion and he looks up. “but you’re thinking now. which is out of character for you.”

stella glares at him, but it’s not angry enough for joel’s liking. “why did you let me in, pyro?”

joel rolls his eyes. “same reason you came to me.” he huffs a little at the absurdity of it all as he ties the bandage around stella’s leg and begins to clean the smaller gash. “what else was I gonna do?”

“slam the door in my face.” stella says. “tell- tell me to fuck off, or just- demand I pay you for it.” he tries to shrug, apparently forgetting the whole ‘almost mauled to death’ thing he has going on, and gives a sharp gasp of pain. “i’d- I wouldn’t just let you in.”

it takes a moment for joel to answer. after all, he has to think of a valid reason first. “I just- you looked terrible. you still look terrible.” joel glances up briefly and sees stella looking back at him with an entirely confused expression. “you never- you don’t let people see you. if you let me see you like this, you had to be desperate.”

stella is audibly frowning when he says, “I still don’t understand.”

joel hesitates. “you were turned on by the people you considered family. they were told to kill you, and so they tried.” he cuts another piece of bandage for the small gash as he speaks. “I wasn’t gonna be the last straw.”

there’s a longer stretch of silence than what seems appropriate for that sentence, and joel looks up. stella is staring at him like he’s just said his full name and address. “how- I never said-“

joel shrugs. “easy.” he nods at the arrows, as briefly as he can. “those are terra’s.” joel gestures to the now-bandaged talon marks. “that’s from sol.” he’s careful not to touch the wound when he points out the gashes. “those are from luna’s sickles. right?”

stella just nods, looking less startled and more defeated now. “I didn’t- I thought you might not notice.” he says quietly.

joel raises an eyebrow. “i’m not an idiot.”

“I hoped you were.” stella admits. he scoffs a laugh, which dissolves into a cough. “you- it’d be easier to dislike you if you actually were a dick, you know.”

halfway through deliberating what the best method for removing the arrows would be, joel gives stella a withering look. “i’ll make a note of that.” he says sarcastically. “right, so, i’m gonna have to pull these out.” he points at the arrows.

“that’s how you do it.” stella mutters. “sure- fine. just- do it fast.”

joel stands up, wincing as his knees crack, and braces one leg on the sofa. he pointedly ignores the look of fear on stella’s face and thinks instead of the fact that he’s going to enjoy lording it over stella that he saved his life that one time.

joel grips the first arrow and glances at stella. “do you want, like, a countdown or-“

“just do it.” stella snaps. joel is electing not to take that personally—he’d probably also be a bit pissy if he were in stella’s situation.

“right- yeah.” joel yanks the arrow out, thanking whatever potential deities there might be for how smooth that was- and realises that his sofa is frozen. but stella’s leg is bleeding again, and joel decides to figure out the sofa after he’s prevented infection. ice melts anyway.

stella is breathing heavily, tears in his eyes and teeth clenched. joel can’t find it in himself to make fun of him—which is a little concerning. he might have to go to the doctor. “sorry.” he manages.

joel blinks, entirely bewildered. “for what?”

“your- your sofa.” stella says, beginning to relax a little as joel finishes wiping the arrow wound and starts bandaging it. “I can’t- I don’t know how to undo it.”

“I can’t express how much I don’t give a shit.” joel deadpans. “you’ve probably stopped me from setting this on fire next time one of my enemies comes knocking on the door at nearly midnight.”

there’s a lengthy pause as joel ties the bandage. “I did wonder about your rug.” stella mumbles.

for another fifteen-ish minutes, joel works on stella’s wounds, occasionally making fun of him as random things begin to frost over whenever joel scrubs a bit too hard with the cloth. stella has threatened to turn joel into an ice statue too many times to count, but the threat loses any value it had when joel leans against the frozen sofa and his touch alone melts half of the ice away. joel doesn’t miss the relief on stella’s face as he realises joel is iceproof. huh.

it’s deeply strange how much he and stella seem to be getting on with each other—considering that they were mortal enemies about forty-five minutes ago. of course, they are threatening each other, but stella doesn’t seem to be actually pissed off, and joel isn’t either, so he considers that a win.

once joel is done, he isn’t quite sure what to do. instead of hovering awkwardly around stella, he elects to tidy the bandages and cloth up, melting the rest of the sofa as he does.

“do you want something to eat?” joel calls from the kitchen as he shoves the kit away again, dumping the cloth in the washing basket. “I- do you eat? or is it like, some injection of steroids you all get every night?”

there’s a pause before, “you- that’s from a spy film.” comes from the living room. “of course I eat.”

“okay, well, i was gonna make myself dinner before you came here, so i’ll make some for you too.” joel says, dumping the burnt toast into the bin and moving to the fridge. “what do you want?”

another long pause. “I- what?”

joel notes the suspicion in stella’s tone with a slight sense of concern, which- lets be clear, he is nothappy about this new development. since when is joel worried about stella?

but- well. stella’s suspicion at joel’s offer to make him food, coupled with him being attacked and nearly killed by his fellow ‘heroes’ and coming to joel of all people for help.. it’s not looking great. not to mention how panicked he seemed about all the frost before joel reminded him that he has fire powersand that he can get rid of it in a matter of seconds if he cared that much.

“i’m not- I don’t know what they did to you in the hero place,” joel starts to say before he can realise how awful of an idea it is. “but I didn’t fix you up just so I could kill you another way. I mean- that’d be a huge waste of bandages, and you were pretty easy pickings, so it’s not like I couldn’t.”

stella is silent from across the room, and joel glances over to see the hardwood beginning to ice over. he hopes that’s not gonna ruin the price of this apartment any more than his constant.. incidentsalready have.

“so, y’know. don’t be any more of an idiot than you already are and tell me what you want for dinner.” joel says. he can’t help the slight grin that makes its way onto his face as stella gives a quiet snort.

“i’d- okay. fair.” stella says. “i’m- if you don’t mind- can i have soup?” the tentative way he asks is so bizarre—especially when considering how sure of himself he seems to be in combat. joel doesn’t like how.. worried it is.

“soup it is.” joel says, grabbing an armful of vegetables from the fridge, shutting the door with his shoulder. “I hope you like mushroom, ‘cause that’s what you’re getting.”

“i’ll survive.” stella says dramatically, and joel snorts.

—-

there is absolutely nothing in this world that could ever be stranger than eating soup with your enemy of several months—made even stranger by the fact that the enemy in question is annoyingly good at cooking. scott had always assumed that pyro was the kind of guy who could maybe make beans on toast and not much else, but apparently he was wrong about that too. not that he’s about to complain about getting a warm, homemade meal that he knows for certain isn’t poisoned on a day like this one.

it’s just- it’s so ridiculously domestic in a way that scott hasn’t felt since.. well, since ever, to sit on a rapidly defrosting sofa, eating soup and watching some home makeover programme with pyro of all people. although, based on pyro’s response to- well, everything that’s happened, he also finds it completely bizarre.

“what?”

scott blinks, only now realising that he was zoned out. pyro is looking at him like he’s doing something out of the ordinary, and scott instinctively frowns at him. “what?”

pyro nods at him. “you’re sat weird.“ is all he says, and scott is about to say something snarky before he notices that- yeah, okay, fair. he is sat weird.

“I didn’t wanna freeze your sofa again, what’s wrong with that?” scott huffs, not moving from where he’s scrunched up against the side of the sofa arm.

“all you’re gonna do sat like that is hurt yourself.” pyro says. “and- y’know, normally I wouldn’t care, but it’d just be a waste of bandages.”

scott gives pyro a withering look, but allows himself to spread out a little more across the sofa. annoyingly, the strain against his wounds lessen as he does so, and scott finds himself relaxing a little.

“why’re you so worried about freezing my stuff anyway?” pyro says, not even looking at him. “my whole thing is literally just fire.”

“I- because it’s dangerous.” scott says, shocked that pyro wouldn’t even know. “I can’t-“ he hesitates as pyro looks back at him with something akin to worry in his eyes. “it’s- it’s dangerous, okay.”

“why’s it dangerous?” pyro says, and there’s something in his tone that makes scott a little nervous. “‘cause, like- I can’t control my powers all that well, and i can guarantee that fire is gonna kill you a lot faster than ice is.”

scott huffs. “maybe you’re just foolish.”

pyro looks him in a way that makes scott feel like he’s being somehow psychoanalysed. can pyro read minds? did someone forget to tell him that pyro can read minds or something, because it’s certainly looking that way right now. “you’re scared of yourself.”

scott stares at him. “i’m- you don’t-“

“you are.” pyro raises an eyebrow, as if he’d only been guessing before.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” scott snaps. “i’m not- I know my own strength, i’m not scared—i’m careful. unlike you.”

pyro scoffs, amused. scott knew there was a reason he didn’t like him. “is that what they told you?”

scott rolls his eyes. “oh sure, i’ve been told that i’m some- fucked up monster or something. the watchers aren’t evil godparents, y’know.”

“stella, i’m not sure if you’re aware of the situation right now,” pyro is saying, somehow both exasperated and deadpan. “but you are literally at your enemy’s house because the watchers turned on you because- well, I don’t even know why, but clearly it wasn’t that big-“

“I compromised the facilities.” scott interrupts. he didn’t exactly want to tell pyro this, but if it’ll make him stop going on about him being cinderella’d, then it’s worth it. “I could have hurt someone badly. it was right for them to-“

“to try and kill you?” pyro looks less exasperated and a lot more concerned and- scott does not like the idea that pyro is worried about him. “do not tell me that’s okay.”

scott huffs. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. they didn’t want to, it was necessary to protect-“

“oh, and that makes it all better?” pyro says, voice dripping with sarcasm. scott is tempted to hit him. “you seriously don’t realise how fucked up that is? what did you do- specifically, what did you do?”

“I- well, I.” scott finds himself hesitating, needing a moment to remember. “I froze a cctv camera, accidentally.” pyro looks like he’s about to lose his shit, and scott cuts him off with, “someone could have gotten in- I could have endangered the whole association.”

pyro is staring at him. “you froze a camera. so they tried to murder you.”

“they didn’t- it wasn’t murder-“ scott defends, but pyro isn’t listening.

“jimmy wanted to join.” he’s muttering to himself. “fucking hell- no fucking wonder you hate yourself.” pyro says to scott, who feels like he’s several chapters behind.

“hate myself? what are you-“

“you- stella, you are justifying someone trying to murder you because you froze a fucking camera.” pyro’s voice is getting louder, and scott finds himself shrinking away unconsciously. it’s ridiculous. pyro, the dick, seems to notice, and softens his voice. “you can’t- you have to recognise how fucked that is.”

scott stares straight ahead for a long moment. it’s- it all makes complete sense, of course—to kill someone because they temporarily disabled a singular cctv camera by accident is ludicrous. if it’d happened to anyone else, scott would be questioning everything by now. but since it happened to him.. he keeps thinking- what if he deserved it? he didn’t, but he might have. no one else would have deserved it. what if he deserved it?

“are you sure?” scott asks, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable and everything he never wanted to be, ever, because- well, because the watchers told them it was wrong.

“I- dude.” pyro sounds sad, and scott doesn’t think he’s ever heard pyro sound like that in his life. “i’m sure. i’m one-hundred-percent sure about this.”

scott hesitates. “how do you know?”

pyro gives a slight scoff. “well, ‘cause i’m not an idiot. no one deserves to die if they fuck up. if that was the case, humanity would be wiped out, like- a thousand years ago.”

“am I- have I been a massive dick this whole time?” scott turns to pyro.

“you-“ pyro blinks, apparently taken aback. “well, you broke my toaster. and my window. so- I mean, you’ve been a bit of a dick.”

“I will pay you for those.” scott says, slightly sheepish, and pyro grins at him. “I am sorry for that- and any more grief i’ve caused you.”

pyro looks both amused and pleasantly surprised. “don’t worry about it.” he says, before he apparently realises what he just said and pretends to gag at himself. “fucking hell- that was weird to say. even weirder to mean.”

“I said worse shit to you.” scott says competitively.

“well, there’s nothing bad about my life, so it's not like I could say that to you.” pyro brags, and scott has to doubt that, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “unless you count having a million friends and the best wife and-“

“wh- you have a wife?” and- okay, scott didn’t mean to sound that surprised, but- well, it’s a surprising fact! he expected pyro to be single or dating the canary, in all honesty. unless he calls the canary his wife-

“you- yes, I have a wife!” pyro exclaims, offended. yeah, no- that’s fair enough; scott was kind of rude about it. “you think I couldn‘t be in a relationship?”

“i’m- no, i’m just surprised.” scott says, allowing a slight smirk to play at his lips. “I thought you were with the canary.”

pyro snorts, apparently entirely accidentally, based on the way he covers his mouth a second later. “you- you thought I was dating jimmy?”

“alright- it’s not impossible.” scott defends as pyro continues to cackle at him. “you two are inseparable. it was always very annoying.”

“yeah, he’s my best friend.” pyro grins. “he was my best man- besides, he’s already with tango.” scott must be looking as blank as he feels because pyro adds. “oh- you’d know him as tek." he gives a huff of laughter, apparently remembering an inside joke as he then mutters, "tango of the tek variety.”

scott tries his best to keep his expression neutral. “so- the canary and tek are together?”

“yeah, i’m surprised you didn’t notice, they’re-“ pyro stops mid-sentence, a shit-eating grin on his face. “wait- you like one of them, don’t you?”

“wh- no!” scott says, hoping he sounds offended. “that would be- it’d be unprofessional, and-“

“you do!” pyro crows, looking mischievously delighted. scott isn’t sure he wants to find out what happens after this point. “c’mon, who?”

scott gives what he hopes is a convincingly exasperated huff. “neither, I don’t know what you’re talkingabout. besides, we were talking about your wife, not my hypothetical love life.”

something in pyro’s eyes light up on the word ‘wife’, and scott has to admit that it’s pretty sweet. “you’d know her as the sculk.” he says, fondness coating every word. it almost makes scott overlook the actual sentence.

“you- your wife is the sculk?” scott practically squawks in surprise (and a little fear).

“yeah. has been for.. jeez, it must be nearly five years now.” pyro gives a little huff of laughter. “y’know when we met, she was trying to kill me. she almost did.” he grins, like that’s meant to be a meet-cute. “she thought I was trying to kill her, because she’d startled me and i’d accidentally set her hat on fire, so- fair enough.”

scott blinks at him. “you’re making me feel better about my love life.” he says without thinking, and regrets it the second pyro smirks at him. “i’m not telling you anything.”

pyro rolls his eyes and turns back to the tv, which is playing some house renovation programme. “you will. eventually.”

scott snorts. “if that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

over the span of the next few hours, scott finds himself making- well, it can’t be called pleasantconversation exactly, but it isn’t unpleasant, which he decides to call a success. pyro really does have some ludicrous stories to tell about his experiences in the vigilante career—which somehow manage to be even more bizarre than scott’s; he’s not quite sure how he missed a time loop, but it sounds unbelievable all the same.

it’s kind of strange how quickly he and pyro seem to be getting on—considering how they were at each other’s throats for the better part of a year. scott wonders if they were always capable of this kind of- friendship? friendliness, if nothing else. it’s.. oddly comforting.

“-and jimmy somehow managed to-“ pyro stops in the middle of a story about the canary and tek (both of whom scott is determinedly not thinking too much about) almost destroyed half of manchester one time, and gives scott a weird look. “I- dude, do you wanna sleep? you look exhausted.”

scott had begun to nod off about two minutes ago, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was meant to ask to go to bed—partially because he wasn’t sure where he was meant to sleep. “i’m- well, yes, but I don’t know where I would go?”

“oh, you can sleep in my bed, i’ll take the sofa.” pyro says simply, gesturing for scott to pass him his now-empty soup bowl. he must have noticed the shock on scott’s face, as he adds, “i can change the sheets if you want.”

“that’s not the- I can’t ask you to sleep on the sofa for my sake.” scott insists. “I can manage perfectly fine-“

“you’re not asking me though, i’m telling you.” pyro grins. “besides, you almost died; you take bed priority.” he goes to take the bowls into the kitchen and pauses. “I don’t suppose you took pyjamas with you.”

scott gives him a withering look. “oh of course. because whilst the watchers were trying to kill me, my top priority was my pyjamas.”

“you could have just said no.”

in all honesty, when scott came to pyro’s house in a last ditch attempt at a safe place to reside, he absolutely did not expect that the cause of most of the conflict would be the sleeping situation. pyro was entirely set on scott sleeping in the bed, but scott drew the line once pyro was about to try buy some pyjamas at eleven at night—as if any clothing shops would be open anyway. luckily, pyro seems to value comedically baggy pyjamas, and so scott was able to fit into a spare pair with relative ease. amusingly, they’re still a little big on him.

the second scott’s head hit the pillow, he was entirely dead to the world—awkward situations be damned. weirdly enough, however, he was woken up by- something about five minutes ago, and scott knows neither what woke him up or why it did so when he was sleeping so deeply. he must have slept for a while too, because the time on the alarm clock next to the bed is saying 3:28am, and he knows he couldn’t have fallen asleep later than twelve. it doesn’t make sense for him to have been woken up at this time unless there was something that had disturbed him, and right now, he can see or hear nothing.

after about ten more minutes of trying to go back to sleep (in vain) scott gets out of bed to investigate the something that woke him up, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. he wonders blearily whether the watchers have somehow found him, and that if they have, he’ll have to complain about the time of night they deem appropriate for their break-ins. perhaps it’s a burglar who does not yet know that they’ve chosen the worst house to attempt to rob, but who will soon find out. does pyro have a cat that he forgot to mention earlier that knocked something off a shelf?

when scott pushes the door out of the bedroom open and peers into the living area, he finds that the disturbance was none of the above. it is, in fact, a very anxious looking pyro, sat awake on the sofa in way-too-big pyjamas. there’s a small puddle of water next to the end table, covered haphazardly with a tea towel. next to the puddle lies an shattered mug. scott supposes that’s what must have woken him.

pyro’s eyes focus on scott, and something akin to fear flickers across his face for a second before that familiar look of smug indifference takes over once again. “i’m surprised you’re awake, after everything.”

“you dropped your cup.” scott says, gesturing to the mess. “it woke me up.”

“oh- sorry.” something about pyro’s manner changes as he picks up the remaining pieces of the cup and puts them on the table. it’s far too guilty for such a small matter, and distinctly anxious.

“it’s alright.” scott gives pyro a curious look. “why are you up? it’s very late.”

“couldn’t sleep.” pyro shrugs. scott doesn’t believe that easy nonchalance for a second, but he can’t quite decipher what it’s veneering. he gives a grin that scott refuses to accept at face value. “it gets very boring when you can’t sleep, I have to say.”

“i’ll stay with you. if- that is, if you’re okay with that?” scott says. he watches as something behind pyro’s eyes lights up in poorly concealed joy. interesting.

“that’s- yeah, that’s fine. i’ll take all the entertainment as I can get.” pyro snorts to himself as scott sits beside him.

scott watches pyro for a moment, taking in the way he shifts so he’s sitting a little straighter, the slight redness to his eyes, the way his smile wavers once he turns away from scott. “are you okay?”

for a split second, pyro looks a little like a cornered animal. “i’m- yeah, of course i’m okay. why wouldn’t I be?” pyro’s whole ‘i’m so much smarter and better than you’ thing doesn’t work too well when his voice is shaking. he clears his throat.

there's a stretch of silence as scott tries to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound completely ludicrous. unfortunately, every single thing he can think to say is utterly ridiculous—which is honestly unsurprising, considering the attempt on his life yesterday and the fact that it is three in the morning right now. maybe he should just go with the least odd option he can think of.

"can I hug you?" oh wow, yeah okay that sounds even weirder out loud. on the bright side, confusion often helps ground people—maybe that might help right now? who knows.

pyro practically freezes, looking at scott with the most bamboozled expression he has ever seen. "you- huh?"

"I mean, say no if you don't want to." scott says, watching the way pyro's expression shifts as he seems to consider if this is a genuine proposition, and if so, whether he wants to accept or not. "it- you don’t have to." he adds, suddenly realising how embarrassed he is about what he just asked. "that was weird, I-"

scott stops abruptly as pyro shifts a little closer and leans against scott's shoulder—he probably should have expected it, but- man, pyro is warm. if scott thought he couldn't get any more embarrassed, he was wrong, because it occurs to him just how much he wanted this as his chest begins to ache gently. it takes a moment for scott to build up the confidence to put his arm around pyro's shoulders, but when he does, pyro sinks into him. there's a lump in scott's throat, and he swallows aggressively. he is notabout to cry because he’s hugging pyro; he'd never hear the end of it. probably.

"this isn’t- i’m doing this because you wanted it." pyro says suddenly, and scott looks at him.

"I appreciate it." scott says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, but it breaks in the middle and he clears his throat, looking away.

there's a pause. "i’d- we're kind of fucked up, huh?"

the bluntness of it startles a snort out of scott, and he looks over to see pyro giving him a weak grin. "that's not quite the way I would have put it, but- you’re not wrong." he rubs a thumb idly against pyro's shoulder and pyro closes his eyes, flicking his tail in what appears to be contentment. scott might cry again.

"I- thank you." pyro mumbles, barely audible, and scott is pretty sure that's the most open pyro has been all night. "i’m- it's usually-" pyro gives a huff. "thank you."

"'course." scott says, voice coming out far softer than he meant it to. "I mean, you saved my life. giving you a hug is the least I could do." he smiles to himself.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter. "yeah, well. your debt is repaid, or whatever." he shifts a little closer, and scott wonders how long he must have been without this kind of affection for it to make him want to cry right now. in a good way.

there's a pause, in which scott finds himself almost drifting off again (he can't decide if that's embarrassing or not) before pyro says, "what are you gonna do now?"

"I don't really know." scott admits. he racks his brain for some kind of solution that isn't illogical or impossible, and comes up blank. he has no friends, no family, no source of income anymore. he has enough saved up, hypothetically, to find somewhere else to live, but that's only assuming that the watchers haven't withdrawn it all already. "I- I don’t know."

"you- well, you can- the vigilantes have an open spot." pyro says, almost nervous. "that's- if you want to."

"would-" scott says suddenly, anxiety rising in his chest, along with a kind of hope that he isn't ready to feel just yet. "is that something that's- feasible? until- like, five hours ago, I was- y’know."

"I can't imagine people would be too upset." pyro says, confidence back in his tone. "not- I mean, especially now."

scott hesitates. "would you be upset? if- if I were to join."

"why would I be?" pyro asks, and apparently realises how honest that sounded, because he adds, "that- I just mean- I asked you. I wouldn't- it'd be dumb if I asked and didn't want you to join."

"what would.. what do you think would happen, if I did join?" scott says.

pyro frowns, apparently considering it. he seems to be considering it far more in depth than scott initially meant him to, because it takes a long moment until he says anything again. "I think lizzie would be suspicious until you do something to prove yourself. tango would be suspicious for, like, five minutes, and then he'd warm up to you." pyro snorts fondly. "jimmy would be suspicious but he wouldn’t do anything about it. mumbo would probably just be nervous about everything, but as long as you don't- like, kill someone, you'll be fine."

scott blinks, somewhat reassured—surprisingly enough. "I- thanks. anything else?"

"uh," pyro cocks his head to the side. "skizz will probably give you a dumb nickname. gem might ask to fight you, but that just means she likes you." he smiles at that, and scott wonders how many of pyro's scars were from spars, rather than the huge battles he assumed they must be from. "impulse will be more intimidating than you think he should be. bigb- he might just confuse you, honestly, but that's just what he does." he thinks for a second, before adding on, quieter, "ren will probably ask you how mars is."

"oh." something twists in scott's chest as he remembers that look on mars' face as he stood back and watched as-

scott blinks, something dawning on him. "it- mars, god- he didn't-"

it takes a moment, but pyro seems to realise too. "he- oh- do you think- was that intentional?"

"it- there was no way it couldn't have been." scott's chest is tight. "they- I couldn’t-" he takes a breath. "there was no way he could have missed me."

"were you two close?" pyro says, half zoned out, as if he’s trying to come up with some sort of plan.

embarrassingly, scott's face flushes, and he wills himself to act normally. "I- well, we- he. he meant a lot. to me, anyway."

pyro glances at scott, and upon processing his expression, gives a grin. it's- somehow, scott doesn’t think it's teasing. "I guess you meant a lot too."

a knot of anxiety seems to loosen in scott's chest, just a little, and he relaxes against pyro's side. his wounds are aching and his limbs are heavy but he can't find it in him to get up and go back to bed. "maybe it's not hopeless."

pyro stretches in a way that reminds scott of a cat, what with the quiet grunt he gives. "it's not hopeless, but it's gonna be really annoying." he says, resting his head on scott's shoulder again.

"yeah." scott says, half distracted. "I- you’re really warm." oh- okay, that's probably gonna come back to haunt him later.

pyro gives a scoff of laughter, and he almost sounds embarrassed. "yeah- I get that a lot."

scott smiles to himself as he spots pyro flicking his tail contentedly out the corner of his eye. "it's nice."

"thanks." pyro is definitely embarrassed by now, and scott can't pretend like he doesn't find it funny. "I- just- if you do want to join us, would you still be stella?"

scott pauses, still slightly distracted by pyro's warmth. "I don't think so." he manages. "I- y’know, they named us. I don’t know what the significance was, but they got pretty heated about it after luna."

pyro huffs. "creepy." scott isn't facing him, but he can hear the way pyro's lip curls as he says it. "what do I call you now then?"

"it- uh." something akin to anxiety bubbles up his throat, and he swallows. "you can call me scott."

there's a little pause, in which scott can practically hear the cogs turning in pyro's mind. "oh." he finally ends up with. "well- in that case, you can call me joel."

scott looks at him. "really?"

a grin tugs at py- joel's lips—no doubt at whatever silly expression scott is wearing right now. "no, i’m jeremy, but joel sounds better." he says sarcastically.

scott is smiling before he even registers the action, settling down against joel again. it- god, it feels weird to call him joel. "you have a boring name."

"wh- okay, scott." joel scoffs, and scott cackles at how indignant he sounds, releasing far more tension than he knew he was holding along with it. "like that's an exciting name."

scott elbows him, and joel grins. "I meant in comparison to 'pyro'." he pauses, leaning his head on joel's shoulder. "though I suppose 'stella' isn’t much better, when compared to scott."

joel gives a soft huff. "yeah, it's not." he says, suddenly quiet. he stretches a little, akin to a cat, and settles back down. "I- thanks. this helped."

"no problem." scott smiles to himself. "thanks for saving my life."

joel scoffs a laugh. "yeah, well. you’re welcome."

#wren writes #scott smajor #smajor1995 #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #trafficblr #injury #murder

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gabessquishytum · 1 year

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Not especially horny, but I had the thought of retired Dream having to learn corporeality again (like everyone, lol).

I specifically pictured him... being bad at Video games. He'd love them, they've got such beautiful stories, and it's so like a dream, the setting is something given and the player decides what they'll do.

But he's not that good, because he hasn't got the hand-eye coordination, and the buttons are just so fiddly, and so it becomes a regular occurrence for Hob to see Dream coming to him with pleading eyes, extending the controller his way.

And for every ledge he hops for Dream, for every monster he kills, he gets a kiss on the cheek. Hob loves it. He also loves watching Dream play, because even if it takes him a moment, he's so immersed, so excited about it.

After a few months Dream has gotten better at being human, but not at video games. It takes for Hob to come home early and finding Dream expertly smashing around a Zelda boss to find out that Dream has been... lying, a bit. He's very sorry about it, really, but he just likes when they do this together, and if Hob could forgive him?

But Hob just smiles and tells him about multiplayer games.

Dream is not, actually, good at those, because shortly after starting their first game together, because it turns out that kisses on the cheek for killed monsters are more difficult when you're both trying to look at the screen.

And it's even more difficult to kill said monsters when you've just discovered that apparently, your best friend/housemate is not at all against being kissed on the mouth.

This is the cutest thing I've ever read I'm literally dying!!! Also!!! I feel like we don't talk about Hob and video games enough and I think he would absolutely love them. He would spend hours staying up until 2am with his eyes aching from staring at the screen because he's so engrossed. And Minecraft!!! He would love Minecraft so much!!!!!!! So would Dream!!!!!!!! Imagine retired Dream making a whole little world in Minecraft and its like he can rediscover a spark of creativity he thought was utterly lost to him!!! Anyway.

So Dream starts out playing Kirby or something with pretty cute graphics and stories but. He does struggle with the jumping and the switching skills and so Hob is like ok. Let's try a different story kind of game. And then they try Zelda which Dream really loves but again. He's a little bad at it. Hob gets to be the hero, beats up the bosses, and Dream gets to run around doing silly little quests. Hob gets many kisses. All is right with the world.

He was a bit suspicious that Dream seems to be spending so much time on his games without his skills improving, but he doesn't exactly mind. The worse Dream is at killing monsters, the more kisses Hob gets. Except the truth is, Dream is now definitely better at the game than Hob...

And when Hob catches him beating a boss for the first time, of course he has to give Dream a kiss in return. A slow, soft kiss on the lips that makes Dream drop his controller and melt into Hob’s arms. Hopefully he saved his progress, because suddenly he's being carried off in the direction of Hob’s bedroom like Peach being carried off by Bowzer (only with a lot less protesting, and no pesky plumber coming to rescue him).

(I need you all to know that I really really really like golf games like Golf with Your Friends and Golf It so I have vivid scenarios in my brain about Dream and Hob playing together. The glitching golf balls. The bizarre courses. The rage. Hob making terrible puns about holes. Whoever wins on each hole gets a kiss. Hob absolutely loses on purpose so he can kiss his beloved <3)

#the sandman #dreamling

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male-reader-haven · 2 years

Text

❚█═Bulking Up, Eh?═█❚

Y/N pays his best friend a visit after working abroad for 6 months.

Tags: Bangchan x male reader, wholesome

Warnings: Suggestive content

Suggested by @dimensionaldrifter , thank you for the adorable concept, I absolutely loved writing this! <3

You take a deep breath as you step out from the plane into the familiar atmosphere.

It's good to be home.

You had previously been involved with a hefty internship at a producing company where you were learning skills and being taught under professional and popular producers and just finished the course with flying colors. It didn't seem like a long time while you were working, since you kept yourself busy with projects and taking better care of yourself, but once the plane touched down it all sunk in; six months of hard work finally paid off! You continue walking to pickup your luggage and make your way back to your apartment, eager to unpack and settle in.

Your apartment is just as neat as you left it, which surprises you slightly since you had left a key with Christopher Chan (you called him Chan), your long time friend, so that he could come and check up on things every once in a while. Back when you were in high school together, you being a senior and Chan being a junior, you remember Chan being forgetful and messy, so you feel warm thinking that he put in extra effort to keep it nice and clean for you.

Ah, I forgot to text him that I landed safely...

You pull out your phone and are met with a new text.

Chan: Hey man! Let me know when you get here, we gotta catch up if you're not too jetlagged!

You smile. Chan always checks in with you, even if you are his hyung, and you find it heartwarming how much he cares. You type a response.

Me: Just got to the apartment. Honestly surprised at how nice it is, I half expected it to be a pigsty 😂

Chan: You gotta give me more credit!! I've gotten better since you've last seen me

Me: So should we meet at your place then?

Chan: No! No, its far too messy lol

Me: Lol ok, lets meet at the cafe in an hour then

Chan: KK

You chuckle to yourself and finish unpacking. Sure, you enjoyed your time abroad, but you miss Chan and your hometown more than anything, and you can't wait to catch up.

After waiting only a few minutes at "The Crick" cafe, you notice a figure walk in wearing a black hoodie and joggers and a casual beanie. You immediately recognize him by his curly brown hair and adorable pronounced nose.

"Chan, over here!" You wave your arm to signal him. His eyes light up when he sees you and he rushes over. You practically jump out of your seat and Chan grabs you into a bear hug.

"Wow man, I feel like you've been gone forever!!!!" He is grinning ear to ear.

"Haha, yeah, I missed you too bud." You laugh and hug him back. You both sit down, grinning ear to ear. You genuinely missed this goofball.

"Gosh, you gotta fill me in on what went down. Don't think I didn't notice your gorgeous biceps. You been hitting the gym?" Chan jokingly winks at you. You laugh.

"Yea actually! I've been trying to be healthier mentally and physically, especially since I've been busy at the internship. I'm pretty proud of my progress." As you talk, Chan sits back and takes it all in, still smiling. He looks you up and down. Conscious of his gaze, you find yourself blushing slightly.

"You should be proud. Dude, you're doing it! You're living your dream and doing what you want to do. You lost weight and started taking care of yourself better. I know how much effort and motivation that takes." He leans forward and puts a hand on your forearm. "I am so proud of you, Y/N!"

You are slightly taken aback by the sudden praise and chuckle nervously. He always finds a way to make you flustered, even if you are older than him. His shining excited eyes remind you of a golden retriever.

"Why don't you come over for a few drinks and hang out? I could use the company. Plus, I owe you for keeping my place up." You take a sip of your coffee. "I can show you some of my routine." You wink and flex at him jokingly.

"Haha, of course I'm down." Chan laughs and glances down for a second, avoiding your gaze. You aren't certain, but you think you spot him blushing.

A few hours later and a few drinks in, you both find yourselves laughing heartily and catching up at your apartment and reminiscing on old times and stories.

"Dude, I will NEVER forget when you got into a fight with that Woojin guy, that was intense." You flick Chan's shoulder as he makes his way to a chair, handing you another drink.

"Yeah well, he deserved it. He was being way too rough with Felix. I swear, I knew that guy was a dick from the start." He grimaces and shakes his head at the memory.

"I think it was really cool of you actually, to step up like that. You're protective. It's endearing." You smile, trying to make him smile again. It works, and Chan turns to you with a soft expression.

"I really fucking missed you."

Something about the way he looked you in the eyes with that soft smile and warm expression made your face go red. You can feel his eyes raking over you.

"Y-yeah. Me too." For a moment you just stare at each other, slightly inebriated from the alcohol, but also just because you were drawn to him. Chan coughs, breaking the tension.

"Be right back, gotta take a leak."

"No worries."

You stand up and take your glasses to the sink while Chan gets up to go to the bathroom. Your heart is beating faster than usual and you feel butterflies in your stomach. Something about Chan is just so adorable, and something so obvious is happening that you are just a little bit too afraid to accept.

"Think fast!" Chan bursts out from the bathroom door to throw a roll of toilet paper at you. It bumps off your back and you turn to face him.

"Oh, it's on!" You grab the roll and throw it back at him, engaging in battle. He catches it and attempts to run smuggling it away, but you run up to him and grab him in a bear hug from behind, turning it into a wrestling match. You both laugh and horseplay for a second, you trying to pry the paper roll from Chan who is holding onto it for dear life. You manage to pry it out of his hands and victoriously push him to against your wall.

"Ha! I win." You hover over him, grinning while holding his hands up to the wall. Chan giggles with his squinted eyes and wide grin that make you feel soft inside, and you stand there for a moment.

"Okay, I may have underestimated just how strong you got. I mean look at you." Chan runs his hand across your arm that is pinning him to the wall, feeling your biceps. You aren't sure if its the alcohol kicking in or your imagination, but you could have sworn that your faces were not this close 10 seconds ago. Chan's smile falls into a longer look, tilting his head slightly and eyes on your lips. Before you even realize what is happening, you find yourself in Chan's arms and his lips on yours.

Fireworks.

You bring your hand to his face and kiss him back. You can feel his arms running down your sides and pulling you closer, and you are locked in a passionate embrace. His lips carry the faint taste of the rice wine you were drinking earlier and you can smell his faded cologne. The feeling of his hands feeling your stomach and abs send a rush to your head as you take it all in. Only when he separates to breathe do you open your eyes.

"F-fuck..." You say under your breath, still recovering from what just happened. You look at Chan, whose eyes show passion and a hint of fear.

"Fuck... good?" He cocks his head slightly and smiles awkwardly, awaiting your response.

"I don't know, do you?" You smirk as Chan blushes deeply. He chuckles and looks down, grinning. You lift his chin to make him look back up at you. "Shut up and kiss me, Christopher Bang." He doesn't need to be told twice. He leans in to kiss you again, this time needier. He turns you around and pushes you to the wall this time, trading places, and hastily you both take each other's shirts off. He holds your arms up on the wall and looks you up and down for the nth time that night.

"God you are one sexy motherfucker."

Chan never fails to make you blush.

Send me suggestions on what to write next! ~ <3

--Masterlist--

#christopher bang #bangchan #chan #bang chan x male reader #chan x male reader #stray kids #skz #stray kids x male reader #skz x male reader #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan x reader #bang chan x reader

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