#anyone is welcome to adopt this to a full fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 2 months ago

Text

what you want

summary: you and taeyong have been best friends since college, sharing your adult lives side by side—your flower shop, his branding firm, countless shared memories. but as you near your 30s, the yearning to become a mother grows unbearable. during a reunion trip to jeju island, a tipsy conversation turns into something tender, raw, and irreversible. what begins as comfort and shared vulnerability becomes something deeper—intimate confessions, unspoken love, and the beginning of a quiet forever.

pairing: bestfriend taeyong x fem!reader

genre: slow-burn, friends to lovers, emotional smut, soft romance, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, eventual pregnancy.

warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex (consensual, emotional context), impregnatio, pregnancy mention, emotional vulnerability, suggestive adult themes (18+), heavy romantic tension with soft resolution.

wc: 4,5K

notes: hi hiiii, okay so i've been dying to read smutty taeyong fics lately and it's been ALMOST impossible to find 😭 like 90% are mxm and there's barely any tae x reader content out there... if anyone has recs pls drop them in the comments ily. alsooo it's probably painfully obvious by now that i'm obsessed with the whole breeding kink + domestic fluff combo BYE that's literally my favorite thing ever ��🫠💗

you’ve always been close to taeyong.

since college, really—when you met in that ridiculously stuffy marketing class during your second year. he was late that day, hair still damp from a rushed shower, a printed branding portfolio tucked under one arm, and somehow, he still managed to slide into the seat beside you with an easy smile and that soft voice.

you became inseparable after that. group projects, late-night convenience store runs, silent study sessions that turned into hours of talking about everything and nothing. you built a quiet rhythm with him, one that never required a label or explanation.

you opened your flower shop right after graduation. taeyong built his own creative agency, specializing in branding and design—sleek, intentional, always poetic in its aesthetic. you sent him flowers for his launch day; he designed the logo for your storefront for free. "it’s a gift," he said when you tried to pay him, his voice warm over the phone. "besides, i owe you for all the coffee you bought me during thesis week."

now in your late twenties, things feel stable. solid. your dreams are real. you run a blooming business. taeyong’s agency is doing well. life, on the surface, is soft and good. but there’s one thing that sits heavily in your chest.

you want a baby.

you’ve wanted one for years. even when you were young, you imagined yourself as a mother before anything else—before being a florist, a business owner, a woman navigating city streets with earbuds in and a tote bag full of errands. you crave that connection, the physicality of pregnancy, the quiet intimacy of raising someone who came from you.

but dating? nonexistent. your schedule is tight, your circle small, and the men you do meet are more interested in weekend flings than parenting plans. you’ve been obsessively reading about IVF, sperm donors, even traditional remedies your grandmother used to whisper about. you bring it up to taeyong one night, half-laughing as you scroll through forums.

“i don’t know what to do,” you admit, looking over the rim of your mug at him. “i’m not seeing anyone. i don’t want to wait until i’m forty. and i want to carry them. i want to feel them growing inside me.”

taeyong goes quiet.

he doesn’t have the answers, but he listens. tells you that you’d make an amazing mother. suggests maybe you could consider adoption, but you shake your head gently.

“i want to be pregnant,” you whisper. “i want them to be mine from the start.”

he nods.

he doesn’t push.

a few days later, he messages you.

taeyonggie👺 [11:13am]: remember our old classmates? they’re planning a reunion trip to jeju. want to go? they said you’re welcome too.

you hesitate, then say yes. maybe a change of scenery is what you need. something about the sea and the quiet and the way jeju always smells like citrus and wind.

you don’t expect to feel so at ease.

you arrive together, him beside you on the plane, headphones shared between you as you both doze off mid-flight. you’re staying at a cozy hotel not far from the beach—modern but warm, all wood accents and soft lighting.

there’s a mix-up at check-in.

“two rooms for y/n and taeyong?” the clerk asks.

“no, just one,” taeyong corrects, glancing at you. “two beds, please.”

you nod. it’s nothing new. you’ve stayed over at each other’s apartments before. this is the same. right?

your room has two full-size beds, a window view of the ocean, and barely enough space for both your suitcases. you joke about how you’ll end up tripping over each other, and taeyong just grins, tossing his duffel onto the bed by the wall.

the first two days are calm.

nakamoto yuta—now a travel content creator, all sun-kissed skin and open laughter—is the life of the group. seulgi, working as a creative director for a fashion label, is effortlessly elegant, always with a camera around her neck. also in the group: kwon eunbi, a vocal coach; hwang minhyun, managing a production company; kim seolhyun, running a podcast on pop culture; and kim hanbin, now a choreographer.

you spend your days exploring the island.

taeyong helps you pick tangerines from the orchard. you braid small wildflowers into your hair, and he snaps a photo when you’re not looking. he buys you honey ice cream and insists on carrying your bag when your shoulder starts to ache.

it feels like nothing’s changed.

but there’s a moment.

you’re inside the hotel lounge, grabbing drinks. yuta and taeyong sit near the back, shoulders low, conversation soft between them.

“you still in love with her?” yuta asks, voice easy but not teasing.

taeyong chokes on his drink. coughs. blushes.

“no,” he says, eyes flickering. “i mean, not anymore. that was...college. i’m over it.”

yuta raises a brow. “you sure?”

taeyong doesn’t answer right away. his fingers tap against the glass, slow. thoughtful.

“she wants a baby,” he says eventually. “that’s all she talks about now.”

“so give her one,” yuta shrugs.

taeyong laughs quietly. like it’s ridiculous. like it’s tempting.

he doesn’t bring it up again.

but something shifts.

you notice him watching you a little longer than usual when you laugh. his gaze lingers on the curve of your jaw, the line of your collarbone, the way you absentmindedly rest a hand over your stomach when you’re lost in thought.

you don’t say anything either.

you’re still just friends.

sharing a room.

sharing a life.

almost.

dinner that night is golden.

the kind that stretches out with laughter, grilled seafood, tangerine wine, and flickering lanterns strung up between pine trees. the restaurant is open-air, tucked near the cliffside with a view of the ocean glowing beneath the full moon.

everyone's a little tipsy by the time dessert comes around. yuta’s telling stories about backpacking in morocco and the time he accidentally ended up at a wedding. seulgi keeps taking pictures of everyone's reactions, cheeks flushed from wine. hanbin and seolhyun are arguing about the best era of k-pop choreography. eunbi sings a soft verse of something nostalgic, and minhyun smiles so softly you wonder if he's thinking of someone he left behind.

taeyong is beside you. always beside you. refilling your glass with something citrusy. resting his arm along the back of your chair. letting his knee bump into yours and not pulling away. the heat from him is steady. familiar. almost too much.

later, the drinks keep flowing back at the hotel. minhyun brings out a bottle of plum soju he brought from seoul, and that’s when it really starts. shots. dares. flushed cheeks and slurred memories.

you’re warm. glowing. a little too honest.

“i mean it,” you say, your voice low, shoulders loose as you sit with taeyong on the floor by the balcony door, away from the noise. “i think about it every night. sometimes i dream about it.”

he looks at you, gentle. “dream about what?”

you lean your head against the windowpane, watching the wind rustle the curtain.

“having a baby,” you murmur. “being pregnant. the little kicks. the soft cries. the weight of them on my chest. it’s so clear in my mind. like… i can almost feel it already.”

taeyong swallows.

you’re drunk. not sloppy, just vulnerable in a way you rarely let yourself be.

“i’ve tried not to obsess over it,” you continue, voice quieter now. “but it’s hard. i want it so much. and i know it’s selfish to want the whole experience—the belly, the pain, the birth. i just… i don’t want to feel like i missed it, like i missed the chance to be the kind of mother i’ve always seen myself becoming.”

taeyong doesn’t know what to say. you can feel it in the silence. his fingers curl slightly, brushing the edge of your sweater.

“you’d be such a good dad, you know,” you say suddenly, eyes half-lidded, smiling gently now as the alcohol softens your words. “like… annoyingly good.”

taeyong blinks.

“you’d be the kind that warms up the milk just right. that kisses tiny foreheads. that always carries extra snacks. that reads the bedtime story even when he’s tired. you'd probably cry when they take their first step.”

he laughs under his breath, a little shaky. your words are melting something in him.

“and your baby would have your eyes,” you add, like it’s nothing. “those pretty lashes. and maybe your laugh. and you’d panic the first time they got sick. and hold them all night until they stopped crying.”

he’s staring at you now. full-on. wide-eyed, a little undone.

“you’d be so gentle,” you whisper. “you already are.”

taeyong shifts. swallows again. his voice is rough when he finally speaks. “don’t say that.”

you tilt your head, confused. “why not? it’s true.”

“because,” he breathes, gaze flicking down to your lips for half a second before pulling back to the ceiling. “you’re drunk. and i’m trying really hard not to do something i’ll regret.”

you blink slowly, the alcohol making everything feel suspended.

you’re suddenly aware of how close you are. how intimate this has always been. not the words. not the night. just you and him.

taeyong stands. runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“i’m gonna get some water,” he mumbles, stepping away from the room.

you stay behind, heartbeat thudding, his warmth still lingering beside you.

you meant every word.

but you don’t know if he’ll ever believe that.

taeyong returns to the table with your glass of water clutched between his fingers like it’s something to hold himself together. his pulse is still uneven, the weight of your words clinging to him like sea salt in the air—soft but undeniable.

you’re laughing at something when he returns. yuta’s grinning, telling a story about a disastrous photoshoot in cambodia that involved a monkey, a drone, and his own foolish confidence. your cheeks are still flushed, but your expression dims a little when your eyes catch his, like you can feel the shift. like you remember what you said.

taeyong sets the glass in front of you gently, and you whisper a quiet “thanks” without looking up.

he doesn’t sit down again. instead, he hovers, letting the chatter of the group wash over him, standing on the edge of it all. seulgi pulls hanbin into a debate about concept staging in idol tours, seolhyun’s already half-asleep on the couch, and minhyun is texting someone with a small smile. the night has thinned out. the fire outside has died, leaving only the dim golden lights strung overhead and the soft hum of a playlist playing someone’s nostalgic mix of late 2010s ballads.

by the time the clock hits nearly two in the morning, someone mumbles about calling it a night.

you blink blearily, your words slurring just a bit now, your weight leaning more and more toward the backrest of the couch. taeyong’s already there before anyone else moves, slipping a hand beneath your elbow and helping you to your feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“come on,” he says quietly, warm breath by your temple. “let’s get you to bed.”

you nod sleepily, your body soft, trusting. your fingers find the edge of his jacket sleeve as he steadies you, and he doesn’t pull away. the walk to the room is silent, the hallways dim and muffled. your steps are clumsy, and he catches you more than once, his hand curling around your waist like second nature.

inside the room, it’s dim and warm. the faint scent of saltwater and clean cotton lingers in the air from earlier. you collapse on the edge of the bed you claimed the night before, one of two queen mattresses sitting side by side with a single nightstand in between. the tension returns with the silence, thick and cloying. he walks to the dresser and grabs a bottle of water, offering it to you.

you drink half of it. then sit there. watching him.

he avoids your gaze at first. fiddles with the hem of his shirt. looks out the window like he might say something—then stops himself.

but you’re still drunk. and honest. and maybe a little bold in the way you never let yourself be.

“you know,” you start, voice quiet, “i wasn’t drunk when i said you’d make a good dad.”

taeyong turns slowly. you meet his eyes.

you swallow thickly, fingers wringing the edge of your pajama top. “i’ve thought about it before.”

he blinks, lips parting like he wants to ask but isn’t sure if he should.

you continue.

"not just in the abstract. not just... you as someone’s dad. but you as my—" you stop, heat blooming up your neck. you exhale. “sometimes, i think about what it’d be like if you were the one.”

he says nothing, but his expression crumbles—something tender and wounded flickering behind his eyes.

“i mean, we’ve been in each other’s lives forever,” you say, softer now. “we grew up together in every way that matters. you’ve seen me fail and get back up and fall apart again. you’ve never walked away. not once. not even when i was unbearable. i trust you with everything. i always have.”

taeyong doesn’t breathe.

you keep going.

“so yeah. i think about it sometimes. about what it’d be like to have your kid. to raise them with you. to wake up to you and a messy little human with sleepy eyes and your stupid laugh. and maybe i’m insane, maybe it’s just my hormones or my loneliness or whatever—but the thought doesn’t scare me. it grounds me.”

you laugh, a little bitterly, wiping at the corner of your eye. “and that’s the worst part. because i know you don’t see me that way. or if you did once, it’s long gone. and i shouldn’t be saying this—i know that. but there’s something about tonight that makes me feel like i’ll burst if i don’t.”

taeyong moves before you can finish.

quiet. careful.

he kneels in front of you. not touching you. not yet. just there, looking up at you like he’s memorizing every curve of your face.

his voice is raw.

“don’t say i don’t see you.”

you meet his eyes.

“i’ve always seen you.”

your breath hitches.

taeyong lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “you talk about me being a dad like i wouldn’t spend every second wondering how the hell i got so lucky to build a life with you. like i haven’t already imagined it too. maybe not with words. maybe not out loud. but… i have.”

you whisper, “you have?”

he nods.

“every time you smile like that. every time you bring me coffee with your name scribbled next to mine. every time you hug me like home. yes. i have.”

you don’t move.

he reaches for your hand—slow, reverent, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“but i never let myself say it,” he murmurs. “because i didn’t want to mess this up. not with us. not with you. and definitely not like this. but if i’m being honest… the thought of you carrying my child?” he swallows. “that doesn’t scare me either.”

the room is silent.

you stare at him, your fingers trembling in his grip.

you whisper, “then kiss me.”

he does.

not rushed. not heated.

just true.

the kind of kiss that feels like coming home after years of wandering.

like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t crazy after all.

the kiss deepens slowly.

taeyong’s hands are warm on your cheeks, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. you melt under his touch, your fingers sliding up his neck, into his hair, pulling him closer, closer still—like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go.

he’s the one who gasps first when your lips part just enough to whisper his name. it falls from your mouth like a secret you’ve kept buried for too long, and he swallows it whole.

he pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his thumbs brushing over your flushed skin. you can feel his heart racing beneath his shirt.

“y/n…” his voice is hoarse. “are you sure?”

you nod, soft and breathless. “i’ve never been more sure.”

and there’s something in your voice—something so certain, so full of quiet longing—that makes taeyong inhale like he’s taking you in for the first time.

his lips find yours again, slower now, more deliberate. his touch trails from your face to your waist, pulling you gently into his lap, like he needs you close enough to feel everything—the way your body trembles against his, the way your thighs tighten around his hips, the way your breath stutters when his mouth moves down your neck.

he tastes your skin like a prayer, like something he’s dreamt about in the quiet hours of the night when your voice was the only thing that could calm him down.

you whisper into the space between kisses, into the curve of his jaw, “i want it to be you.”

his breath hitches.

“i want your baby,” you murmur, your hand pressing over his chest, right where his heart is pounding. “i want to carry your child. someone small and perfect and warm, someone who has your eyes… your smile.”

taeyong lets out the softest sound, almost like a whimper, and you feel his fingers tighten on your hips, his body tensing like he’s trying to hold himself back.

you lean into his ear and say it again—this time slower, your voice shaking. “i want your baby inside me, tae.”

his hands slide up your sides, under your shirt, reverent and gentle. “god,” he breathes. “you have no idea what that does to me.”

“tell me.”

he leans back just enough to look at you—really look at you. his pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen and parted.

“i think about it all the time,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “what you’d look like with my baby growing inside you. your belly round and soft, your body glowing. coming home to you with your shirt stretched over the bump, your hands cradling it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

he presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another, lower. “i want to see you like that. i want to wake up and run my hands over your belly, feel it kick. talk to it. kiss it.”

you whimper, your fingers knotting in his hair. “tae…”

his hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, thumbs brushing over your hipbones like they belong there. “i want to fill you up,” he murmurs, voice thick and trembling. “not just for tonight. not just for the fantasy. i want this to meansomething. it does mean something.”

you nod, cupping his face. “i know. it does to me too.”

he kisses you again, deeper now, one hand at the small of your back, guiding you down onto the mattress. the room is quiet, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window, and everything feels soft. intimate. warm.

he undresses you slowly, carefully, as if every piece of clothing he removes reveals another piece of your heart. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer until there’s no space between you, nothing but breath and bare skin and whispered names.

when he enters you, it’s slow and deep, like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him. your back arches, and he moans into your neck, your name a broken sound on his lips.

you’re both trembling—emotion thick in your chests, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes. because it’s not just sex. not just lust. it’s home. it’s years of friendship and quiet yearning finally coming undone in the safest way possible.

taeyong presses a kiss to your temple and whispers, “you’re perfect. you’re mine.”

you cradle his face in your hands, smiling through the tears. “give me everything, tae. i want to feel you. all of you. i want to feel you stay.”

his rhythm falters, just for a second, overcome by the weight of it all. “i’ll give you everything. i’ll give you a family.”

you tighten around him at the words, gasping.

“i want to make you a mom,” he whispers. “tonight.”

you nod frantically, lips parting, “do it. please. i want to feel it—i want to feel you—when you fill me.”

taeyong groans, hips stuttering, burying his face in your neck. “fuck. y/n…”

you whisper, “put a baby in me, tae.”

he thrusts deeper, harder now, the restraint beginning to crumble. your bodies are slick with sweat, moving together with a kind of desperation that feels like both a beginning and a promise.

when he finishes—inside, just like you wanted—it’s with a gasp, his arms locked around you tight, like he’s scared to let go. and for a long moment, neither of you move.

“i want you full of me,” he says against your mouth, already hardening again. “i want to make sure.”

you nod, dazed. open. warm.

“don’t stop,” you whisper. “please don’t stop.”

and he doesn’t.

he makes love to you over and over again, slow and focused, like each time is another chance to seal your wish into reality. sometimes he holds your hips, watching your face as you fall apart for him. other times he lays you on your side, kissing your shoulder while whispering how beautiful you are, how perfect you’d be with his child inside you.

when dawn breaks, you’re tangled together in silence. your body aches, sweet and sated. your thighs sticky, your heart full. his hand rests on your stomach again, like he’s already waiting.

he is groaning your name, whispering over and over, “mine. you’re mine. our baby. our future.”

you’re crying. he is too.

and when the trembling stops and the world is still again, he kisses your lips, then your cheeks, then your stomach.

“i can’t wait to see you grow,” he whispers, resting his head just below your ribs.

you run your fingers through his hair, heart pounding.

you whisper back, “i hope it has your eyes.”

the sunlight pours through the thin curtains like a slow, golden confession. the air smells like salt and lemon shampoo. taeyong wakes up first this time, his arm heavy over your waist, your back pressed flush against his chest. sunlight filters through the cream-colored curtains, warming the bare skin of your shoulder.

it kisses your bare shoulder first, then the soft curve of your waist, then the scattered marks taeyong left across your chest like constellations only he could read.

you’re the first to stir, eyelids fluttering open to the unfamiliar ceiling of the hotel room. for a second, you forget where you are. but then you shift slightly and feel the weight of an arm draped across your stomach, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed into your back, and the unmistakable warmth of taeyong’s body, still wrapped around you like a second skin.

his breath ghosts against your nape, slow and deep, and you realize he hasn’t let go of you all night. not once.

you smile.

when you turn your head just enough to see his face, it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs. he’s peaceful like this—softer, younger somehow. his lashes rest against his cheeks, and his mouth is parted slightly, lips still swollen from all the kisses you gave him. his hand, large and warm, is splayed gently across your lower belly, protective and possessive in the same breath.

you reach down and lace your fingers with his.

as if he feels it, he stirs, humming sleepily against your skin. his nose nuzzles into your shoulder. “mmm… morning,” he mumbles, voice thick and low, still soaked in sleep.

you twist around slowly in his hold so you’re facing him. he blinks a few times, eyes still heavy, but when they focus on you, they soften in that way they always have—like you’re the center of his world and he’s been waiting all night just to see you again.

“you stayed,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

he smiles lazily, eyes fluttering shut again. “of course i did. where else would i go?”

you tuck yourself into his chest, your nose against his collarbone. “you feel so warm…”

his arms tighten around you instantly, drawing you closer until there’s no space between you. “you kept me warm first,” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “i didn’t want to let go.”

you stay like that for a while. breathing together. existing.

and then you feel him shift, one hand still resting over your belly, thumb drawing lazy, absent-minded circles over the skin there. he hums, low in his throat. “do you think… do you think it worked?”

your breath catches.

you look up at him, searching his face. he’s watching you carefully now, no longer groggy, eyes wide open and impossibly tender.

“i don’t know,” you whisper. “maybe.”

he leans in, kisses your forehead. then your temple. then the spot just below your eye. “i kind of hope it did.”

you feel your throat tighten with emotion.

“you do?”

“mmhm,” he nods, nudging his nose against yours. “i kept thinking about it last night… the way you’d look months from now. the way i’d get to take care of you. rub your back. cook for you. kiss your belly every morning.”

you let out a small laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“i’d be so annoying,” you murmur. “always crying. craving weird stuff. complaining about everything.”

he smiles, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you’d be perfect. i’d love you more every day. and our baby… our baby would be lucky.”

you bury your face in his chest, overwhelmed by the sweetness of it. the certainty.

he strokes your back gently. “and if it didn’t happen this time… we try again,” he says softly. “no rush. no pressure. just us. just love.”

you pull back, tearful and smiling all at once. “you want to try again already?”

he grins, lips brushing your cheek. “i want to make love to you every morning for the rest of my life. but yes… also for the baby.”

you laugh, breathless, and he kisses the sound right out of you.

his hands start to wander again—slow, exploring, remembering. he murmurs against your lips, “can i stay inside you today too? just like this… all day?”

you nod, whispering, “don’t leave me empty.”

and he doesn’t.

he makes love to you again—this time slow and languid, under the weight of sunlight and morning warmth. he kisses your face like you’re already glowing. like you’re already carrying a part of him.

when he comes again, deep inside you, he doesn’t look away. he holds you through it. kisses your tears. whispers your name like a promise.

afterward, he pulls the blanket over your bodies, still tangled. still joined. he keeps his hand on your belly, and you both stay quiet, smiling softly.

as if the future is already there.

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wayneskluv · 5 months ago

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summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: ???

pairing/s: platonic!damian x reader (definite, set in stone) and then i’m not sure maybe dick x reader or jason x reader idk atm

warnings: basically none at the moment. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

authors note: um so hi. i’m back! probably. this might be a new sort of fic if anyone is interested.. like just chaos and perhaps a romantic pairing.. i will actually work on the peraltiago fic at some point but life has been HECTIC.

find chapter one here!

WAYNE Manor looms ahead, all gothic spires and looming stone, like something out of a horror novel rather than a billionaire’s estate. You shift the strap of your duffel bag, inhaling deeply. The air here is thick with old books, expensive wood polish, and—oddly enough—gunpowder. Fitting, considering the people inside.

The massive doors swing open before you can knock, revealing Alfred, ever the picture of poise. His expression is unreadable, but there’s warmth in his voice. “Miss. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

You nod. “Thanks.”

Inside, the house is even grander. High ceilings, walls lined with paintings older than some civilizations, and a staircase that looks like it was built for dramatic entrances.

Bruce is already there, waiting near the banister like some brooding gargoyle. Arms crossed. Stance firm. His usual intimidation tactics, but you’ve faced literal gods.

“You’ll be staying in the east wing,” he says. “Alfred will show you to your room.”

You raise a brow. “No speech? No ‘my house, my rules’?”

He exhales sharply. “You already know the rules. You’re not a guest—you’re an ally.”

Which is Bat-speak for I trust you, but I’ll still be watching you like a hawk.

Then, Chaos.

Dick is the first to approach, all bright smiles and easy warmth. “Hey! Glad you’re here.” He pulls you into a quick one-armed hug before you can react. “Don’t let the gloom and doom fool you—this place is kinda fun once you settle in.”

Jason, leaning against the staircase railing, snorts. “Fun? Sure. If you like near-death experiences and questioning your mortality on a daily basis.”

Tim, slouched on the couch with a coffee in hand, barely looks up. “Give it a few days. You’ll either love it or start reconsidering your life choices.”

“Tt.” The noise comes from Damian, standing stiffly at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed like a tiny warlord. His eyes flick over you, assessing, calculating. “You may be the daughter of an Amazon, but that does not mean you are above scrutiny.”

You smirk. “And you must be the infamous Damian. I’ve heard so much about you.”

His scowl deepens. “I highly doubt that.”

Dick slings an arm around your shoulders, grinning. “You’ll fit right in.”

You glance around at the absolute mess of personalities—grumpy billionaires, reckless vigilantes, over-caffeinated detectives, and a pint-sized assassin with a superiority complex.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

#jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #batfam #wayneskluv

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sickskz · 3 months ago

Note

I loved your Lee Know fic 🥺 Could I request exhausted Lee Know getting an awful headcold & fever while they’re on tour, and Felix and I.N taking care of their hyung? ❤️‍🩹 (bonus points if you can include Lee Know’s usual double sneezes turning into triples like they seem to do when he’s sick)

Heeeere you go, sick Lee Know for you 🙂‍↕️ I tried to include the triple sneezes to the very best of my ability😎 This is also longer than usual, so I really hope you like it!!

Ps: also incorporated a couple other vague requests into this one (hint in the alt title😙)

Alternative title: “Of nosebleeds, nuggets and nonsensical dreams“

The cats of Berlin

Sickie: Lee Know

Caretaker/s: Felix, I.N/Jeongin

____________________________________________

Touring was always a thrill; an electrifying, exhausting and unforgettable thrill. New cities, new venues, new faces in the crowd. Somehow, it just never got old.

There was something so magical about stepping on a stage so far from home, only to hear their fans sing every word from their songs right back to them, in a language most didn’t even speak themselves.

The energy. The unity. The deafening cheers that echoed in their bones and made their blood buzz. It was a kind of high that couldn’t be put into words, but it was what made being an idol worth it.

It was what made Stray Kids stay.

So when the eight members finally left the familiarity of South Korea to embark on a brand new world tour, their excitement was palpable. The first leg had taken them throughout southeast Asia, each and every performance leaving them with full hearts and aching bones. Then, they touched down in Europe.

Germany, to be precise.

The journey itself had been surprisingly smooth. There had been no delays, no lost baggage, no turbulence or unexpected chaos. After a warm welcome at the airport and a sleepy drive into the city, they checked into a nice hotel nestled in the heart of Berlin.

Room assignments had been finalised ahead of time, an arrangement they had long adopted. It was simpler that way. No need to bicker or draw straws when they were already running on empty.

Felix was with Lee Know,

Jeongin with Hyunjin,

Changbin with Han,

and Bang Chan with Seungmin.

It was a relief, really. After the madness of airports, the press, the flashing cameras, stepping into the quiet of their hotel rooms felt as soothing as slipping into a warm bath.

It was peaceful, a place to finally breathe.

But something was off.

Felix noticed it almost immediately after entering their room.

Minho was unusually quiet. And while silence wasn’t necessarily out of character for him, this was a different kind of quiet.

Normally, even when Minho didn’t say much, his presence had a way of filling the space around him. There was always a subtle mischief in his eyes, exuding a playful and confident aura that made you notice him, even when he sat in silence.

Minho didn’t need to speak to be heard, which admittedly, was something Felix had always admired about him.

But now, as Minho trudged over to the bed and flopped onto it, that energy was nowhere to be found. He seemed withdrawn, almost sullen, and the silence didn’t feel comfortable or fun, it just felt hollow.

Felix figured it was probably just jet lag catching up to him. After all, the whirlwind of performances and the leap across time zones would wear anyone down.

But then another symptom became apparent.

“Aah’TCHHhh, Hhhh’tCHH, hh’TCHHhhs!“

Felix, who had busied himself with unpacking his suitcase, spun around with a start. “Geez.” He fixed his eyes on the man sprawled out on the bed, arms and legs splayed like a starfish. “Bless you.”

Minho grumbled an almost incoherent thanks in return, and Felix couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow at him. The older man held a box of tissues hostage in his grip, ripping out one tissue after the other like the poor box had personally offended him.

As Felix stepped closer, his expression softened, a hint of concern flickering through his eyes. “You okay, Lino-hyung?” He asked hesitantly, noting his pallid complexion and the warm flush that seemed to have risen in Minho’s cheeks.

Minho dismissed him with a wave of his hand and a low mumble of ‘I’m fine’, his voice hoarse. He fumbled with one of the tissues and blew his nose into it with a resigned sigh, looking utmost defeated as he slumped back down.

Without another word, Minho rolled onto his side with a huff, turning his back to Felix in quiet defiance. The message was clear; he was done with the conversation. If you could even call it that.

Ah.

Felix paused, his eyebrows lifting mild surprise. The urge to comment on the sudden spike in attitude sat right on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. A grouchy Minho was a force to be reckoned with, and Felix knew better than to provoke him further, especially with jet-lag added to the mix.

Besides, there were now two things Felix knew for sure: one, Minho was definitely lying about being ‘fine’, and two, pushing him right now would get him nowhere.

So, when Minho burrowed himself under the covers, barely muttering a ‘night’ before falling asleep, Felix let it go. He simply let him rest, holding onto the quiet hope that a good sleep would be all the cure Minho needed.

The next morning, Felix woke to the sound of soft snoring in the bed beside him, gentle, but unmistakable. It was the third clue in less than twelve hours indicating that something was wrong. That there was more than just jet lag and exhaustion lurking beneath the surface...

Even if the sound was subtle, to Felix, it may as well have been an alarm blaring. Because Minho never snored. Not unless he was congested. Or sick. Or both.

Felix made a mental note to keep a close eye on him throughout the day, unable to shake the way his intuition told him not to brush this off.

Minho was clearly under the weather, but knowing how stubborn he was, Felix also knew he wouldn’t admit it until his body was practically falling apart at the seams. And before the concert in a couple of days, they had a venue visit to attend…

Careful to not disturb the snoring heap on the other bed, Felix slipped out from under the covers and started getting ready for the day, letting Minho rest as long as possible.

He busied himself with exploring the hotel, talking to some staff, and getting a free smoothie from the very tall, very handsome man in the breakfast bar.

But by the time they were supposed to meet up to eat breakfast together in less than thirty minutes, there was still no sign of Minho waking up.

That was strike four.

Even when exhausted, Minho was usually the type to be up and on schedule, always punctual and reliable. If he wasn’t, now that was cause for concern

Felix popped his head back into the room after a quick stop by the hallway lounge, and lo and behold, the same blanket-wrapped lump was right where he’d left it.

The same heap on the bed, bundled so far up in the duvet that only his nose and eyes were visible, the sounds of soft snores filling the room.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Minho looked so small, so undeniably adorable huddled up in the hotel bed. Even if the cause was less than trivial, there was something so endearing about the way he had cocooned himself, soft snores spilling out like a congested lullaby.

Felix closed the door with a soft click before padding over to the bed, perching at the edge of the matress. “Liiino-hyuuung~” he sing-songed, gently laying a hand on the mound of blankets and rubbing slow circles through the fabric.

Minho stirred, grumbling in protest as he sunk deeper into the warmth like a grumpy, old cat.

Felix chuckled softly. “G’morning to you too, sleepyhead. Breakfast is in thirty, you think you’ll be up by then?”

A muffled sniffle. Then, Minho rolled onto his back slowly, sluggishly, like he hardly had the energy to do so. He cracked his eyes open, lashes fluttering like the effort alone might knock him out again.

“Mmm..” came a raspy hum in response.

Felix narrowed his eyes at the vague answer. “And that means...?”

Minho let out a dramatic sigh, lifting a hand to wave him off with a weak flick of his wrist. “‘M not hungry… I’ll grab something later.”

That made five signs, Felix noted grimly.

He frowned, but he knew arguing was no use, not with Minho, so he accepted his rejection with a nod.

“Alright.” Felix said, trying to keep his voice light. His instincts were practically screaming at him to fuss, to try and coax an admission out of him. But he knew there was no use, not yet.

“Just… let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do, mom.” Minho muttered hoarsely, the faint, sarcastic lilt in his tone soothing Felix’s worries just slightly. At least the Minho he knew and loved was still in there, even though he was much subdued from his usual vigour.

Felix scoffed and rolled his eyes affectionately before getting to his feet. He paused at the doorway, blowing an exaggerated kiss in Minho’s direction.

The grouchy scowl and disapproving groan he got in return had Felix giggling all the way down the hallway.

While Felix shone as bright as the sun, waking him up with the tenderness of a loving mother, Minho felt like he’d been run over by a bus. Multiple times, and with a garbage truck in tow.

Every muscle in his body ached, and exhaustion clung to him like a thick fog, weighing his body down like lead.

After Felix left, Minho begrudgingly extracted himself from his cocoon, shivering at the contrasting temperatures between his burrow and the air of the hotel room.

His eyes instinctively flickered to the thermostat on the bedside table, squinting to read the numbers on the display.

23°C (73.4°c)

No way, he thought. There was no way in hell the room was that warm, not when the air around him felt like a chill straight from the North Pole.

“That’s.. wrong…” Minho muttered, a little surprised by how little sound his voice made. It was barely a scratch of breath, a dry whisper that lacked any strength or substance. Not very suitable for singing, he reckoned with a scowl.

Sitting up, he took a moment to steady himself. His head felt like it had been packed with damp wool, heavy in a way he hadn’t felt in years, the pounding headache amplified by each throb of his heartbeat. His nose was almost completely blocked, his sinuses clogged up to the point in which breathing almost made him feel nauseous.

Because since when does breathing have a taste?

With a low groan, Minho pushed himself to his feet, staggering against the wave of dizziness that instantly crashed over him. He braced himself with a hand against the wall, waiting for the room to stop spinning before trudging into the bathroom.

Once Minho got a look of himself in the mirror, he was convinced he must have caught the plague somewhere along their travels. He wasn’t sure where, he wasn’t sure how, but he was fairly certain that this was the beginning of the end.

Not only did he feel like death was approaching at an alarming rate, but he looked the part, too.

Minho winced at his own reflection, blinking a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

His dark, tousled hair stood in stark contrast to the pasty, almost lifeless tone of his skin. The only indication that he was still alive were the rosy blotches on his cheekbones and the raw, irritated tip of his nose. His eyes were dazed, lacking their usual sharpness, and dark, almost hollow circles were etched beneath them.

Jesus Christ.

Admittedly, Minho had started feeling the preamble effects of his illness on their last flight; the telltale tickle in the back of his throat, the ache in his muscles that seemed to linger just a little longer than usual.

At first, he too thought it could all be chalked up to jet lag and the recirculated air of the airplane cabin messing with his sinuses. But now, there was no denying it.

Minho was sick. On death's bed by the look of it.

A warm shower did little to soothe his troubles, but when he stepped out, he blew his nose in a humbling attempt to clear whatever he could with the help of the steam. The effort left him dizzy and as the lights danced before his eyes, he sank helplessly down onto the closed toilet seat.

On his phone screen, the numbers glared at him, reminding him of the day ahead. The schedule was set in stone. After breakfast, they were heading to the venue for a walk-through , followed closely by the first round of rehearsals.

Minho wasn’t going to allow himself to fall behind, not yet. He wasn’t going to let this sickness take him down without a fight, even if it was the plague.

As he lifted his gaze, the harsh glare of the bathroom lights made his nose twitch, and he doubled over with a sharp hitch of breath.

“Hh’TcCH! Hhh’tHhsHQHSH!” He lifted his hand, eyebrows pinched together in a suffering expression until, finally. “HHhH’tCCh-ah… ugh.”

He blew his nose again, less forcefully this time, and pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain edge of the sink as he waited for his vision to return back to normal

Once it did, Minho reached for the small makeup bag Felix had left on the counter with a resigned sigh. He knew the basics, just enough to make himself appear a little more presentable and, hopefully, ease the burden of everyone else’s concern.

With a couple of fever reducers swallowed down and a packet of on-the-go tissues tucked into his pocket, Minho stepped out of the hotel room to face the day.

And by god, it was going to be a long one.

After forcing down some breakfast, fighting through his rapidly fading appetite, Minho found himself in the back of a van, staring blankly out the window as the streets of Berlin blurred past.

The hum of conversation from the other members was muffled in the back of his mind, tuned into nothing but a distant white noise.

Minho was glad they didn’t pay him much attention, relieved to be able to relax whenever he could, wherever he could, but there was one thing that kept gnawing at him...

Felix.

His designated roommate kept sneaking glances at him from the row in front of him, subtle but persistent, as if he was making sure Minho was still alive at each turn or stoplight.

If there was anything that could blow Minho’s cover, it was Felix’s quietly insistent, concerned eyes. Despite their softness, they sliced right through him, digging through his very soul until they figured out all his darkest secrets.

Keeping anything from Felix, especially when it came to his well-being, was like trying to hold water in a sieve. Fucking impossible.

The best course of action would be to avoid him completely, but given their circumstances and the nature of their relationship, that wasn’t really an option.

As if sensing his frustration, Jeongin shifted in his seat beside him. He saw Minho staring blankly out the window and carefully nudged him with his shoulder. "You okay, hyung?" he asked quietly, as if trying to keep the moment between just the two of them.

Minho forced a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and nodded. “Yeah, ‘m fine… ‘ust tired, y’know, jet lag.”

Jeongin studied him for a moment longer, eyes narrowing in a way that made it clear Minho's act wasn’t fooling him as much as he wished it would.

For a split second, Minho wondered if Jeongin was in on the whole ‘not so subtle surveillance’ thing Felix had going on.

But then Jeongin gave a small nod and turned away again, and Minho let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding.

Turning his attention back on the cityscape outside, he could feel sweat beginning to trickle down his back, the fabric of his shirt already sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He could make it through a small venue visit…

Right?

Wrong.

As they sauntered through the second part of the venue, trailing behind a broad-shouldered man speaking with a heavy Germanic accent, Minho could practically himself deteriorate with each step. The lights above them seemed to follow his every movement, imprinting in his vision like drops of oil in water and distorting everything around him into dizzying swirls.

The chills were becoming harder to hide, and the faint coverage of makeup he’d applied earlier had long since melted away, washed off by the relentless streams of sweat trailing down his skin. He lagged behind the rest of the group, head ducked low and eyes blinking rapidly as he struggled to keep pace with his own unsteady feet.

With each shuffle, Minho’s limbs grew heavier, his head cloudier, and the deep, relentless ache burrowed even deeper into his bones. Maybe, he thought hazily, maybe he really was dying.

The air of the arena felt thick and muggy, clinging to his damp skin like a heavy, suffocating weight. No one else seemed bothered by it, though, which already confirmed what he already knew. The air wasn’t the problem. He was.

And as if being on the verge of death wasn’t miserable enough, every time a light flashed in his direction, the tickle in his nose flared up, reflexively triggering another sneeze.

He hacked out a series of chesty coughs into his elbow, following it up with a triplet of sneezes that left his head spinning. The sting of tears burned in his eyes from the effort, and he quickly dug a tissue from his pocket, trying to stem the relentless pressure in his sinuses. But the moment he blew his nose, he felt something pop, and before his brain could even register it, warm liquid was gushing out.

He had a nosebleed, he quickly realised.

Not the kind that just lightly spotted the paper, but the kind that spilled out in heavy and alarming amounts, quickly turning into something out of a horror movie.

Minho let out a choked gasp, cupping his other hand under his face as the tissue instantly soaked through, warm blood dripping past his lips and down his chin. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as he stumbled to a halt, his brain stunned and struggling to catch up.

“Oh shi—hyung?!”

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, firm and steady, but Minho was already unraveling. His knees buckled, dropping him to the floor with no grace whatsoever. One hand braced against the floor as the other still desperately tried to catch the blood, and he ducked his head, mortified.

God, talk about causing a scene.

Minho could hardly register the words passing between the group over the sound of his own pulse beating in his ears, embarrassment curled tightly in his chest like a vice. All he could feel was the weight; of the fever, of the blood, of the pain, and now, of everyone’s eyes on him.

“Lino-hyung!” Felix’s voice reached through to him, cracking with panic, footsteps pounding over as he rushed to his side.

“I’m fine.” Minho mumbled quickly, voice barely audible, thick with congestion.The blood was running down his throat, making him swallow helplessly, his breath hitching in small gasps. “I’m oka—”

“You’re not.” Jeongin cut him off, already crouched beside him with a hand on his back. Ah, so he was the one who’d grasped his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here…”

Minho wanted to protest, but the warm blood sliding down his knuckles and the black dots clouding his vision left no room for argument. He let the two of them steer him away from the main floor, his gaze down, not daring to look at any of the staff or meet the concerned eyes that followed them.

He didn’t look up until he was ushered to sit on a bench, breathing shakily as he took a moment to compose himself. The blood was slowing down, but he was pale as a ghost, his hands trembling and sweat clinging to his hairline. Probably dying, he reminded himself.

Felix knelt before him, dabbing a damp tissue to his upper lip with the sort of tenderness only he could pull off. “Oh, hyung…” he muttered softly, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “You should’ve said something earlier.”

Minho scoffed weakly, shutting his eyes against another spell of dizziness. “Didn’t wanna make a fuss…” he muttered, jaw clenched in embarrassment.

“Oh yeah, because collapsing on the ground with blood gushing from your face is totally lowkey. I see your vision.” Jeongin quipped dryly, though an edge of concern still laced his every word.

If the joke hadn’t been at his expense, Minho might’ve actually been proud. Honestly, as much as it was unexpected, it was a solid line. Sharp delivery, perfect timing…

“You’re lucky being stubborn hasn’t killed you. Yet.” The maknae added, dropping onto the bench beside Minho with a huff.

Minho turned his head just enough to shoot him a tired glare, but before he could make a feeble attempt to snap back at him, a cold water bottle was pressed into his palm.

With a resigned sigh, he accepted it.

Minho leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees as he let the coolness of the water bottle press against his forehead. His hands were still shaking, smeared faintly with dried blood, and remnants of it still stained his upper lip and chin despite Felix’s best efforts to clean him up.

The backstage area was quiet compared to the open floor of the venue, and Minho could feel his headache gradually receding to a dull throb the longer he sat there.

He could hear the faint murmur of voices in the distance, some clattering when gear was being moved around, but in the little pocket of space he shared with Felix and Jeongin, it felt blissfully still.

Felix pressed his hand against Minho's cheek, his fingers brushing over his flushed skin so tenderly it took him by surprise “You’re burning up.” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes flickered to Jeongin. “Can you text Chan-hyung and tell him we’re taking him back to the hotel?”

Jeongin was already typing. “On it.

“N-no..! wait–” Minho sat up straight, his body swaying as his eyes opened wide. Hadn't it been for Jeongin’s steadying hand against his back, he might as well have fallen off the back of the bench. “We still.. I can’t– we still have the floor markers.. And the lightning cues…”

“Hyung, stop it, please..” Felix pleaded, exasperated. Minho met his eyes, swallowing thickly.

“But…”

Minho sighed shakily, letting the water bottle drop from his forehead as he hung his head between his knees, reluctantly accepting his loss. “I’m sorry..” he rasped, his eyes fluttering shut. “This is so...”

“Don’t.” Felix cut in immediately, his hand gently pressing against Minho’s shoulder to push him back up, not wanting to trigger another nosebleed. “You’re allowed to not be okay, y’know? You’re sick, hyung.” he said, his voice both calm and resolute.

Jeongin handed over a fresh wet wipe without a word, having gathered a box from some staff passing by. Felix took it, gently cleaning off Minho’s hands and wiping away what was left of the blood, his eyebrows drawn tight in a worried frown.

Once satisfied with his work, he forced Minho to meet his eyes, offering him a thin smile. “Your body is literally screaming at you to stop and take a break, so please… For once, don’t push back and just.. listen to it.”

Jeongin had finished sending the update to their leader and slid his phone back in his pocket, leaning in to join the conversation. “Felix is right.. We just want to help you, alright? Let us.”

Minho’s gaze flickered between them before his shoulders dropped with a sigh. He knew protesting would get him nowhere so long as he could hardly even keep himself upright, and the dull roaring in his eyes . “Okay, fine…” he said, so quiet it almost didn’t carry. “Just get me out of here.”

Minho didn’t remember anything from the drive back.

Much to Felix and Jeongin’s horror, his fever started spiking the second he was seated in the van, turning his brain into hot mush in the blink of an eye. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, moaning and sighing with discomfort, all they could do was try not to panic and keep him upright.

By the time they reached the hotel, Minho was deadweight, slumped over Jeongin’s back as the maknae carefully carried him up to their room. They managed to get him onto the bed, where he collapsed, sprawled out like a discarded ragdoll.

For a moment, the two of them just stood there, catching their breath and staring helplessly at their sick hyung.

Felix was the first to speak, his voice low and shaky. “I’ll go get some cold rags… and call down to the reception for supplies.”

Jeongin nodded his head faintly and sat down at the edge of Minho’s bed, watching over him with a scowl etched on his face.

Minho’s breathing was laboured, clearly congested, and his skin was so pale, his eyes so sunken that he looked more like a ghost than a living man.

Jeongin found himself zoning out, counting each shallow inhale and exhale as if to reassure himself that Minho was actually alive, and that it would stay that way...

When Felix returned, he laid a cold compress across Minho’s forehead. Minho groaned disapprovingly as water seeped out the fabric and trailed down his skin, trying to swat the washcloth away with a grumble.

“Shhh...” Felix soothed, catching his wrist and wiping the water droplet away with the pad of his thumb. “Sorry, hyung, but you are in no position to refuse our care right now.” he murmured sympathetically, shaking his head as he grabbed ahold of the cloth.

Minho slowly blinked his eyes open, staring up at the white ceiling with a dazed expression while Felix carefully smoothed the washcloth down his face and neck. His eyes kept fluttering, shutting for a few seconds before opening again, still as glossy and distant as before.

He was awake, but he wasn’t really there, Felix noted.

Every now and then, Minho would mutter something incoherent under his breath, his words slow and slurred as if he were trying to remember how to speak. Jeongin stayed close, only leaving his spot to retrieve the supplies the hotel staff had kindly sent up for them.

At one point, Minho’s glassy eyes slowly rolled towards Felix, his brows pinched in a hazy, scrutinizing look. He blinked a few, sluggish times, before whispering. “Yongbok-ah..”

Felix paused his ministrations with the washcloth, immediately leaning in closer to hear him. “Yes, hyung? I’m here.”

Minho squinted up at him, confusion clouding his features. “How… How’re you doing that?” he asked incredulously, lifting his hand as if trying to grasp onto something.

Felix blinked, his eyes following at his hand as if trying to see what he was grasping at. “Uh… doing what?”

Minho sighed heavily, his own brows pinched together as his glossy eyes roamed over Felix’s frame. “You’re all… pew-pow-heee..wow.” he gestured vaguely, his wrist flopping side to side. “You’re… glowing.”

Felix stared for a moment, processing his words. Then, he turned to look at Jeongin, who only shrugged helplessly in return.

“Oh, uh.. thanks?” Felix said carefully, letting out a faint chuckle as he continued wiping at Minho’s flushed cheeks. “Pretty sure that’s just your fever talking, hyung...”

His eyes flickered to the boxes of medication that they received, a hint of desperation in his eyes once he realised Minho’s fever was starting to distort his grasp on reality.

But Minho was already too far gone, sheathed in a haze of fever and tipping on the edge delirium. His eyes fluttered shut again, his hand flopped back down to the bed, and a dopey, lopsided smile spread across his lips. “Yongbok-ah, I…I’ve been thinking.”

Felix held his breath, waiting patiently for him to continue.

”I think I’d like to try it someday…” Minho sighed almost dreamily, a chill running down his spine and making his teeth chatter.

Felix and Jeongin shared a look, both equally confused. They had no clue what Minho was going on about, but then again, they realised he probably didn’t know himself, either.

“Try what, Lino-hyung?” Felix decided to ask lightly, his lips turned up in a small reassuring smile.

Minho’s head tipped to the side of his pillow, an exasperated groan slipping past his lips. “The nuggets, duh…” he mumbled thickly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Chick’n… but dinosaur shapes..”

Suddenly, his fever-glazed eyes popped open wide, as though he had just realised a critical flaw in his wish. “‘Wait, Lix-“ he gasped softly. “ ‘r you one of ‘em..?”

Silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the faint, whistling wheeze of Minho’s congested breaths.

"One of them?" Felix echoed, stunned.

“Oh lord, it’s started..” Jeongin muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. Minho looked exceptionally regretful as he grasped at Felix's arm.

“‘m sorry… If-if you know them..” he inhaled sharply, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing in a proper breath. “Then I won’t… won’t eat ‘em.”

Felix felt his eyes soften, and though his chest still felt tight with concern, he felt a wash of affection filling in around it. “Pssh..” he scoffed gently, reaching out to brush some sweat-matted hair out of Minho’s face. “Gee, thanks, hyung.” a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “you’re so considerate sometimes~”

Minho smiled sleepily, seemingly pleased with the praise, before his eyes fluttered shut again, slipping back into a hazy state of unconsciousness.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Felix had a fond look in his eyes as he wrung out another cool cloth and replaced the tepid one on Minho’s forehead, careful not to startle him.

Jeongin was still rifling quietly through the small collection of medicine and supplies they’d gotten from reception, looking increasingly frazzled as he skimmed over each and every user manual.

“Oookay..” The youngest muttered at last, frowning at a packet of fever reducers. “I think this is the one we give him? Or- wait, it might’ve been the last one..”

Felix sighed softly. “Just bring it here, Iyen-ah.” he chuckled, beckoning him over with his free hand. “I’ll check.”

As Jeongin sat down beside them, Minho stirred, mumbling something unintelligible once more. Felix and Jeongin fell silent, exchanging a k nowing glance before leaning in to catch fragments of his fevered rambling.

“‘S raining… gotta save the cats…” Minho slurred urgently, his forehead creased in concern. “Tiny.. tiny shoes… no puddles.”

Jeongin shot Felix a bewildered scowl, as if expecting him to somehow be able to decode the nonsense. “…What does that even mean?”

Felix covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Ah, I think he’s on some sort of rescue mission.” He said softly, voice thick with amusement.

Jeongin still looked far too serious, so Felix gave his shoulder a reassuring pat to appease him. “He’s dreaming, Innie, the fever is messing with him. one of it’s supposed to make sense.”

Minho twisted and turned weakly, but a determined look had washed over his slack features. “No, no… rain.. ugh.” His fingers twitched against the sheets, reaching aimlessly, and Felix instinctively grabbed his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles to calm him.

Jeongin cast a glance at the window, and sure enough, the sky seemed to have opened up. Fat drops of rain cascaded down over the city in an endless pour, tapping gently against the glass.

The soft pitter-patter seemed to have stirred something within Minho’s fever-addled mind, and despite their worry, Jeongin and Felix shared a small, helpless smile at the way their hyung was weaving reality into whatever fever dream he was lost in.

“Yongbok-ah.. Promise me…” Minho blinked sluggishly, squeezing Felix’s hand weakly. “No puddles… the cats, they get cold beans..”

Felix didn’t even try to hide his smile this time. He gave Minho’s hand a reassuring squeeze back, nodding along earnestly. “Mhm, got it, Lino-hyung. No cold beans on my watch. I swear on my life.”

Jeongin let out a breathy laugh, half exasperated, half endeared, shaking his head. “I’ll make sure to fetch those tiny shoes too..” He added as he finally handed Felix the right pack of medicine

But before they could start coaxing it into him, a rattling noise rang from deep within Minho’s chest. His whole body tensed up as a brutal fit of coughing wracked through him, his eyes screwed shut and every muscle straining.

Felix’s eyes widened in alarm, but Jeongin was quick to respond, rolling Minho onto his side and patting his back in firm, steady thumps. Felix fumbled to grab a few tissues, holding them up to Minho’s mouth just in time to catch the miserable glob of phlegm that the heavy, congested coughs dragged up.

When the fit finally tapered off, Minho was left trembling from the effort, his chest heaving in short, wheezy gasps. His skin was still ashen and slick with sweat, and every breath sounded patchy, like the air was somehow clawing its way out of his lungs.

Jeongin kept rubbing slow, grounding circles into his back, his jaw clenched tight with worry. Meanwhile, Felix wiped the remnants of mucus from Minho’s lips with tender and precise movements, before ultimately tossing the tissues away in a nearby trash bin.

“See..?” Minho slurred out hoarsely between shallow breaths, his voice raspy and thick. His body slumped heavily against the mattress, his eyes cracking open to just a sliver. “Even ’m drownin’… s’too much rain for the kitties.”

Felix let out a small, shaky laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was just so Minho to still be worrying about the imaginary cats his fever had conjured, even while he was hacking up a lung.

The stubborn, deep-rooted sweetness of it made Felix’s heart flutter with tenderness, a small smile pulling on his lips. "It's okay, hyung.." He reached out, smoothing a hand over Minho’s damp hair. “We’ll make sure to keep ‘em dry, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

Jeongin gave a low huff of agreement and tucked the blanket a little more securely around Minho’s legs, his expression unusually tender. “Yeah, we’ve got the kitties, hyung… You just focus on breathing, okay?”

With that, the tension in Minho’s face eased, and his features softened as he slipped back into a restless slumber. His breathing slowed to small congested snores, and the faint furrow in his brow loosened, replaced by the faintest traces of peace.

The medication would have to wait for now, but that was okay, it wasn’t going anywhere.

For now, what mattered was the comfort they could offer him, in whatever form it took. As long as Felix and Jeongin were there, grounding him, assuring him that the imaginary cats of Berlin were safe under their watchful eyes, Minho would be alright.

It didn’t need to be spoken, but there was a quiet understanding passing between Jeongin and Felix as they watched over him.

They grew more confident as the hours dragged on, and their actions started to flow more effortlessly, almost as if guided by instinct. What once felt awkward and uncertain slowly morphed into something smooth, like a rhythm they were just starting to discover.

They worked together like a finely tuned instrument, finding the right notes together, knowing exactly where to be and what to do at just the right time.

Though a long night lay ahead of them, they were both resolute in seeing it through to the end, side by side. With their seamless teamwork in motion, they knew they could face anything, coughing fits and feverish fantasies alike.

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Was originally planning on ending it here, but I wanted some more tender loving care for LK the day of the concert soooo… <3

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A couple days later, Minho was finally on the mend.

Felix and Jeongin had both stayed with him the entire time, refusing to leave his side.

They took turns sleeping on Felix’s bed throughout the nights, watching over him in shifts. During the light of day, the other members stepped in to lend a helping hand as well in between rehearsals and concert preparations.

Chan had made sure to organise a doctor visit when Minho’s fever kept spiking throughout the first night, reaching a peak at 39.4°C (103°F).

After a quick and thorough examination, the doctor concluded it wasn’t the plague, as Minho had initially suspected, but the flu.

Which was a relief, of course, but he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Surviving the flu just didn’t have the same dramatic flair as surviving a plague…

Later that same night, the stadium buzzed with light and noise, and the energy of the crowd surged like a tide. Minho sat offstage, bundled in an oversized hoodie, sipping water out of a glittery straw Changbin had gifted him, and wrapped in a blanket that someone (probably Chan) had tossed over his shoulders like a cape.

His fever hadn’t completely broken yet, and he was still too out of it to perform whatsoever, but the staff had agreed to let him watch from the wings if he stayed seated.

So there he was, quietly cheering from the sidelines, his voice barely there and his lips pulled in a lazy grin, as his members owned the stage the way they always did.

Every now and then, Felix would throw a glance his way between formations, offering him a toothy grin or a cheeky wink.

Han and Changbin sent him finger hearts and blew him exaggerated kisses, Seungmin gave him the annoyingly teasing smiles of his every time he caught his eye...

And Jeongin? Jeongin sent him a thumbs-up as he passed by him during a quick transition.

But Minho noticed the way he kept checking up on him, too. It was more subtle than the others, but it was there, and it made Minho’s chest feel warm for reasons other than the lingering fever.

Chan explained his absence to their fans, and Minho stifled a fit of laughter that quickly turned into coughing as he watched Seungmin pull up Chan’s shirt on the big screen shouting: “FOR LEE KNOW!”

The crowd roared in return, and Minho struggled to catch his breath between coughs and giggles, watching Chan stumble backwards and sheepishly pull the shirt back down over his toned stomach.

Despite the way his lungs ached and his vision blurred, a sense of ease washed over him.

Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye from the effort, Minho flashed a genuine smile and gave a very smug, expectant Seungmin the most enthusiastic thumbs-up he could muster.

For once, Minho didn’t feel as guilty for sitting out. There was peace in knowing his team had him covered, that even when he was struck down by illness, he could always rely on them to pick him back up again.

Even from the sidelines, Minho was still a part of them. His absence didn’t erase his place in Stray Kids; they didn’t forget him. His contribution mattered, and they made sure he knew just how much they missed him.

They were a team, a family, and even when Minho wasn’t dancing beside them, he knew he would never be out of step.

E N D

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Hope you enjoyed this piece 🙂‍↕️ I’m already looking forward to write more LK delirium in the future lol

Also, I just realised this is my first fic writing LK as Minho! Because, well.. it's just simpler than writing Lee Know all the time

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allbark-no-bite · 2 years ago

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december and devotion.

jake seresin x reader (wc. 1.4k)

summary: Jake keeps his promise. or the fic where Jake comes home just in time for Christmas

warnings: none, just fluff

author’s note: just a little short and sweet reunion for you guys before christmas. this can totally be read alone from ‘Marriage and Honor’ but it makes this fic that much better if you read the other one before :)

(read parts one and three here: marriage and honor, cats and christmas)

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You get Jake back exactly eleven months to the day that he deployed. Eleven months since you dropped him off on the carrier and hugged him goodbye. Eleven months since you fell in love and then had to let it go on the same day. Eleven excruciating months of endless emails and long phone calls at any and all hours of the night.

It didn't matter if it was four am or four pm, you were just happy to hear his voice. It meant that he was conscious and breathing and that meant he was alive. Sometimes the two of you would schedule a time to call when Jake knew he would have a few minutes to spare, and when the call didn't come you would just sit by the phone and wait for hours. You knew that things happened and sometimes Jake just got busy. But that was the thing, things did happen, and so far you were 2-0 for those things playing out in your favor.

When he did get caught up, Jake was always sure to call you back, even if it was hours later, and he'd poke fun at you for working yourself up so much. 'C'mon baby, it was just a little air strike. Nothing for you to worry about,' he'd tease, both of you choosing to ignore the apprehension in his voice in favor of finding humor in the moment because that meant getting to murmur 'I miss you's and 'I miss you too's for just the few extra seconds that the call allowed.

The holidays rolling around makes Jake's deployment even more lonely. Despite being much closer to home now that you're living on base, you don't have much family left and Thanksgiving ends up consisting of you and the orange cat that you've still yet to tell Jake about. You're not sure he's going to believe you accidentally adopted a cat, the cat that now sleeps on Jake's side of the bed every night.

Regardless, having another body in the house makes things a little more bearable as Thanksgiving comes and goes and soon enough it's Christmas time on base. Just when you were starting to think that Jake's deployment was going by quicker than you thought, December hits and the days start crawling by.

Thankfully for you, Christmas comes early.

December 24th.

Is the text you receive from Jake bright and early one random Monday morning. You hadn't been expecting to hear from him for another few days, and when you see his name pop up on your screen, your stomach drops. But as soon as you read his message, you know exactly what it means.

Jake was coming home for Christmas.

The port is more crowded and even colder than what you expected it to be at six am on Christmas Eve. It's full of families and children bundled in various layers of scarves and coats, holding signs and cards, anxiously waiting to welcome their service member back home. The atmosphere is incomparable to anything that you've ever experienced. It's full of hope, and happiness, and maybe even a little heartbreak.

You’re feeling a little bit of all three yourself. It's been in the back of your mind that despite having had two brothers in the Navy, you've never gotten to do this. You've never gotten the chance to welcome anyone back home.

The sound of a horn blowing pulls you from your thoughts.

Shouts of celebration erupt and children break out into runs, screaming with excitement, and you watch as soldiers begin pouring out from the entrance of the ship, a sea of white amidst the crowd. You linger behind as families around you reunite, feeling a bit lost having come by yourself. You watch as returning fathers gleefully scoop up their children and proud fathers tearily welcome home their daughters.

Walking a bit closer to the ship, you glance around you in hopes of spotting a familiar face. You catch sight of Javy and his family a bit off to your right, and he waves to you with a quick smile but offers no indication of where Jake might be. You walk a little further, passing almost every member of the Dagger squad, until you finally come to a stop back in the middle of the crowd. With so many people all around you, you begin to wonder how you're ever going to find Jake.

"Looking for someone?"

It's the same voice that you've been straining to hear over some crappy military base service line for months. Only this time it's ten feet away and not across the world.

You spin on your heels, bolting into Jake's arms quicker than you've probably ever moved in your entire life. You don't even take the time to take him in before you're burrowing your face into the crook of his neck, your body clinging to his like he's going to disappear at any given second. Jake has to drop his bag to catch you, wrapping both arms around your waist and shuffling backwards a few steps so that he doesn't lose his balance. His skin is warm despite the chill outside and you revel in the press of his cheek to your own, your cold nose nuzzled into his ear.

Jake holds you for god knows how long, his body swaying occasionally with yours in the embrace. Eventually you loosen your grip around his neck, as much as it pains you to do so, but you want to see his face so you pull away, your hand moving to either side of his face to get a good look at him.

Jake's green eyes shine at you in what you can only describe as pure adoration. He looks a bit tired, maybe even a bit older than he did when he left, but he's still the Jake you said goodbye to all those months ago. The lines by his eyes still crinkle when he smiles and his cheeks dimple right along with them.

Jake says nothing as you examine him, just smiles at you warmly and allows you this moment to yourself. He'll have plenty of time to kiss you later.

His hair is much shorter than what you're used to, almost certainly to adhere to military regulations, and your fingers scratch at his scalp in a moment of wistful melancholy. "Your hair," is all you can say, fond tears threatening to spill over your eyes.

A laugh rumbles from his chest and his eyes crinkle as he takes your hand in his own. "It's gonna grow back in no time, baby. I promise."

You're not genuinely sad about his hair and he knows this, it's just that there so much to say after eleven months of being apart and not enough time in the moment to say it.

So instead of trying to find the words, Jake just squeezes your body against his once more before setting you down to grab his duffle bag. He keeps one arm wrapped around your waist, the other bearing the load of his over stuffed duffle. As happy as he is to has his girl back in his arms, all he wants is to go home and have you to himself. And maybe get some sleep. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you home. It's too cold for you to be standin' out here."

Only when he starts walking away, you don't budge. Your feet are planted into the ground and he ends up a few steps ahead of you once he looks back. Jake turns around, duffle bag in one hand and the other held out to you in question. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now. I've only been back for about five minutes," he laughs. He's mostly teasing, but you pick up on the faintest hint of hesitation in his voice.

You cross your arms, trying to keep yourself from smiling. "You're forgetting something."

A look of confusion crosses his face before his brows lift and his smile returns. Chuckling, Jake drops his duffle and walks back towards you, taking your face inbetween his hands like you had held his a few moments ago. He can't help the massive grin on his face as he leans into kiss you.

Your cheeks are flushed and cold but they heat right back up as his mouth captures yours. His lips are soft against yours but the kiss is firm and sure—tender but packed with all of the longing that cannot be expressed with words. You immediately miss the warmth of Jake's lips when he pulls away.

"Merry Christmas," he murmurs, so close that he may as well have been speaking it into the kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you murmur back, smiling back against his mouth as you lean in to kiss him again.

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #topgun christmas

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absurdthirst · 2 years ago

Text

Vivid {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, dubious consent, fuck or die, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, face sitting, blindfolds, sex in the dark, vaginal sex, rough sex, overstimulation, cream pie, cum eating, masturbation

Comments: A chance encounter in the canyon just beyond Din's little house on Nevarro leads to a sticky situation. A vivid pink flower, a powerful aphrodisiac, and a need to fuck has Mando bringing you home.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The changes around Nevarro are….nice. The little house that was deeded to Din is far enough away from town that he doesn’t feel crowded, yet it’s close enough that he can walk Grogu to the little school that he had enrolled him in. His journeys needed to include more socialization than bounty hunters, killer droids and Mandalorians. He needed to be able to move throughout many different cultures respectfully and what better place to learn than school?

Din’s own education happened in the Fighting Corps. Effective, but he had a mind to raise his adoptive son and apprentice better than his own teacher had. Especially since Grogu had an advantage that he had never wielded, the force.

“No Grogu,” Din shakes his head and sighs softly as the fifty year old baby tries once again to float his little school pack off the shelf to where he is sitting. Wanting to go to school, even though it’s the weekend. “There is no school today.”

****

It had been a long day so far, you’d run your usual errands and finished a few tasks around your home. A few of the children in your class had been requesting some more painting time during the week, and never one to dim anyone’s excitement for the arts, you couldn’t say no.

You like to make sure that art class is just as educational as it is fun, so you grabbed your book of plants and flowers and got ready to make your way out of town to collect and pick some plants and flowers for the kids to paint and learn to identify.

The cool breeze was welcomed as you began your trip, a wicker basket hanging comfortably from the crook of your elbow as you made your way through the town, greeting everyone politely and with a warm smile as you did so.

You like Nevarro. Especially as of recent, the town was much friendlier and a new sense of community had fallen across the planet.

After a brief chat with one of your overexcited students and his parents you continued your walk while nibbling on some fresh fruit from a stall you had passed.

The kid is passed out in the little bed that Din had bought for him, the Mandalorian steps out of the house, striding off towards the canyon. He needs to tune his blaster, having replaced the plasma cartridge earlier. The domesticity is unusual, but he likes it, a set schedule and a home to make meals in. It’s oddly appealing, even though he does often wonder how the covert is doing on Mandalore.

After a nice breezy walk, your basket is almost full, you’ve picked multiple flowers and plants for the children to paint and learn about. The canyon is quiet, peaceful, the only sound coming from the soft breeze shaking the trees and the occasional twitter from the out of sight creatures.

You’re just about to leave and make your way back home, before it catches your eye and steals your attention. A vivid shade of pink and standing alone. The petals are perfectly uniform and it’s the most perfect looking flower that you’ve ever seen.

Din sighs, seeing someone in the canyon ahead of him. There wouldn’t be any practice unless the person was just leaving. Making him huff under his helmet and hope that it wasn’t someone who is looking for trouble.

You kneel down in front of the flower, appreciating its beauty before reaching into your basket and pulling out your holopad. Unable to resist taking a few snaps of the gorgeous flower.

Zooming in on the photo you notice a figure in the background that you immediately recognise as the father of Grogu - the new and unbelievably adorable little green foundling in your class.

You place your holopad back in your basket, figuring he’ll want some space. He’s polite, not much of a talker but there’s something about him that’s… intense. The kind of intenseness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand upright and makes that magic button downstairs pulse uncontrollably until it gets the attention it deserves.

You gently snip the bottom of the stalk and gently scoop up the flower in your hands, inhaling its gorgeous and intoxicating scent and letting it flood your senses.

And then it hits you.

Walking closer, he recognizes that it’s Grogu’s teacher. You are a newcomer to Nevarro, at least, you hadn’t been here when it was a bounty hunter’s hive. One of the more gentle settlers, and it doesn’t hurt that besides him, you are Grogu’s favorite person.

He smiles slightly under his helmet, wondering what you are doing out here in the canyon, although he spies the basket on your arm.

The effect is immediate, within seconds fire is coursing through your veins and pain meets a new type of pleasure in the most delicious way.

Every nerve ending in your body is set alight, and the pleasure center in your brain is working overtime. Arousal floods your core, your nipples harden and your clit is pulsing with desperate need out of nowhere.

You start to whimper as your legs threaten to fail beneath you, you’re still kneeling but you feel as though you’re about to collapse in a heap on the floor. The sounds that leave your mouth are nothing short of filthy, and you become more and more aware of your need for something to quench the flames that are burning stronger with every passing second.

Seeing you stumble, Din rushes forward. Hand on his blaster as he tilts his head up, searching for danger. Why else would a healthy woman nearly collapse? “Hey! Hey, get down!”

“The flower,” you say with a breathy moan, “I think it’s the flower.”

He’s already reached your side, grabbing you and your basket and dragging you behind a craggy outcrop in the canyon, getting you to cover. Unaware of your moaned words, they were too unintelligible. The pollen from the flower drifts under his helmet, not pressurized against contaminants and floods his nostrils in a heady rush.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you babble, as you start to pull on the collar of your dress. The material feels much too constricting and far too warm despite the cool breeze.

“Dank ferik.” Din hisses, his own armor suddenly feeling as if it weighs more than the great forge on Mandalore. “It’s- it’s the pollen.” He croaks out, slapping the basket out of your hand, but he knows it’s too late.

“What’s w-wrong with the pollen?” You gasp out, unsure why your clothes feel heavy and your body is trembling uncontrollably. Your need to be touched now is desperate.

“It’s an aphrodisiac.” He grunts, cock already hardening and tenting the fabric of his flight suit. “It- it lasts for hours and-“ His eyes under his helmet widen as he remembers one particular trait of this toxic flower.

“And?” You ask frantically, “And what?”

“Your heart explodes if you don’t- uh, have sex.” His hand slaps against the rock wall of the canyon and he groans, thinking about an activity that he has long denied himself. He’s been too busy with the kid to seek out any companionship, even for a night.

“What?” You say with a pained laugh, “How is that -fuuuuck- how is that even possible?” The lace from your bra rubs painfully against your hardened peaks and you have to physically fight the urge to free yourself of your dress and bra.

He doesn’t fucking know, but the digital display in his helmet is broadcasting that fact as he looks down at the flower. “What the fuck were you doing with it?” He demands, trying to think about something other than pushing you against the rocks and burying himself in your cunt.

“I was just.. I’m picking flowers for the kids to paint,” you say between labored breaths, “Please, do something. It fucking hurts.” You start to beg, unsure what can be done.

He hadn’t anticipated that response. Groaning, he shakes his head. Knowing that a quick fuck in the canyon isn’t going to do it. Plus it’s too exposed out here. “Hold on to me.” He orders, stumbling next to you and wrapping his arm around your back before he kicks on his Rising Phoenix.

You squeal with shock as you’re shot upwards into the deep blue sky, your arms wrapping so tightly around The Mandalorian that it hurts.

Din’s groans are covered by the sounds of the jetpack and the wind. His cock is throbbing and leaking into the flight suit and he knows you have to be feeling worse. Your exposure was vastly greater than his own.

He senses the moment that the pain becomes too much for you to bear, his arms wrapping even tighter around you as you start to lose your grip. Pain shoots throughout your body as you whimper in his arms.

“We-it’s- it’s close.” He groans, his own body used to pain although he’s never experienced an arousal that might override all his senses like this before. All he can think about is stripping you down, burying himself in your body over and over until relief is finally achieved.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” you gasp, as the aching between your thighs grows stronger and more uncomfortable.

The outline of his small cabin appears and it can’t be a second sooner. His entire body is tense and his jetpack is nearly sputtering as it sets down on the ground in front of the remote dwelling. His star-fighter is parked off to the side and he is grateful that the baby is still asleep in his own little room.

His grip on you stays firm as you reach the ground, and he gently pulls you into his cabin. Spinning you around he presses you up against the door and gently palms your tit with his gloved hands.

“Tell me-“ Din groans and bites his lip under his helmet. “Dank ferik, tell me I can fuck you, Mesh’la.” He begs.

“You can fuck me,” you say with a moan as you press yourself up against him, desperate to feel him inside of you.

His head turns towards the door where Grogu is sleeping, relieved to find it still closed and he steps back to drag you away from the wall. “My room.” He demands, knowing the kid didn’t need to wake up and see anything.

“Yes, sir,” you say as you follow him on shaky legs into the room. Your clothes feel heavy against your skin, but you wait for his command to remove them. Standby patiently but writhing in discomfort as he walks towards you. “I need to take my dress off,” you say, as the material irritates your skin.

“Take it off.” He knows he will rip your dress if it touches it and he needs to get out of his armor. It’s chafing his skin and he’s overheating.

You immediately unzip the dress and let it fall to the floor, before working on your bra and panties. “Need you so badly,” you whine and you climb down onto the bed, and spread your legs. Dipping your fingers into your entrance and spreading some of your arousing through your folds and circling your clit.

“Dank ferik.” The armor clanks to the floor carelessly. Unable to treat it as reverently as he normally does. Fingers fumbling as his cock throbs, visor trained on your cunt.

“Hurry,” you beg, as you circle your clit faster, you’re soaked enough for him to slide right in with little resistance. “Am I allowed to touch you?” You ask as you continue working your clit, you know a little about Mandalorian creed but you’ve never fucked one before and want to make sure you’re respectful and you don’t cross any boundaries.

“I-I’m going to turn out the lights.” He groans, wanting to see you, touch you. And have you touching him. “And I need to blindfold you.”

“Whatever you need,” you say, as you turn your head so he can blindfold you. “I won’t touch you unless you explicitly tell me where it’s okay, and I promise the blindfold will stay on until you take it off.”

“You can touch me.” He is panting as he ties the blindfold and quickly strips out of the flightsuit and his boots. Even though he is burning, he hesitates when reaching for his helmet.

You reach out and let your fingers run across his chest, “Fuck,” you say, as your pussy clenches around nothing, “Want you to fuck me so badly, but I really wanna suck your cock first, Mando. I want to rub my little pussy while you fuck my throat.”

“No.” He chokes out, knowing that your body is screaming for release worse than his own is. It makes the decision easy and the click of the locks is accompanied by a slight hiss as he lifts the helmet off his head and it clatters to the ground.

“Oh,” you say, clearly disappointed but still rubbing your clit as fast as you can and chasing your release. “How do you want me?”

Din knocks your hand away and climbs up on the bed to pull you up and spin you around. A lifetime of training makes picking you up easy and he flips you onto your stomach on his chest. “Suck my cock and I’ll lick you.” He rasps out, his voice unmodulated and clear. “Never done it, but I want to. You need it.”

The sound of his voice is even sexier when unmodulated. Raspy and rough. Each word going straight to your pussy. “Yes, sir,” you say as you feel around and finally get his cock in your hand. It’s thick, veiny and dripping in pre-cum, the room is dark enough and the blindfold is opaque enough that you can’t see it but it feels glorious in your hands. You give him a teasing lick, lapping up all the pre-cum before taking the tip of him in your mouth.

Din groans, his gloveless hands reaching for your hips and his entire body shudders when he realizes that it’s full skin to skin contact. Dragging you back and immediately plunging his tongue inside your quivering and leaking cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you choke out as you pull off his cock, loving the dexterous heat of his tongue. You take him back into your mouth and hollow your cheeks, your moans vibrating against his cock as he eats your pussy. For someone who said he’d never done this before he’s unbelievably skilled, eating you with such vigor that after a few minutes you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

There have been a lot of holo vids around oral sex in his past, learning and aching to try the things that he saw. Although he’s not got a forked tongue like some species, nor one as long, he still grunts in pleasure as you moan loudly around his cock. Rocking your hips back to taste you more, getting deeper into your cunt.

“Gonna cum,” you croak out around him, before swirling your tongue around the tip of him and pulling away before cumming with a loud whimper of the only name you know for him, “Fuck, Mando!’

Din nearly whimpers at the loss of your mouth but the sweetness of your cum makes up for it. Soaking his face like he’s never experienced before. His cock throbs and he pulls away. “Close.” He chokes out, knowing he’s going to cum from this alone.

You take him back into your mouth and double down on your efforts, sucking him harder and licking your tongue around him. You take him as deep as you can, working the bottom of his shaft with your hands, saliva dripping everywhere as you work him towards his high. Needing to feel his cock twitch and start to flood your mouth with his cum.

It doesn't take him but a few more seconds when your mouth wraps back around him for Din to start to cum. Groaning out your name harshly, it's the only warning you get when he shoots a hot rope of cum down your throat, immediately followed by another.

You swallow around him, humming at the rich yet salty taste of him. Not letting a single drop go to waste, eagerly awaiting each burst as your mouth milks him dry. He’s delicious, salty and musky and you want more. You keep sucking until he orders you to stop and you slowly pull off of him with a groan.

Even though he's cum, his body still aches, his cock is still hard and he knows you aren't satisfied either. "My tongue or my cock in your cunt this time?" He pants out, needing to know where to bury his cock again.

“Your cock, please,” you beg as you lift off of him, “Do you want me to ride you, Sir?”

"For now." He knows you might need him desperately and he wants to see how much you are willing to grind on him for his cock.

His harsh tone makes your chest clench, but you push away that feeling and position yourself over him, slowly sinking down on this thick cock and moaning loudly as he stretches you open. His cock fills you entirely, your walls flutter and hug his cock as you get used to the delicious stinging from how stretched out you are from him. You start rocking your hips slowly, before increasing your pace, grinding down on him over and over. Desperate moans slipping through your plush lips as a wave of euphoria floods through you.

The darkness is just enough that he can see you move. A shadow and he wishes that he could turn the lights back on but he can't risk your blindfold coming loose. It's barely a loophole and technicality of the creed, but you can't see him. Not unless you were going to bind yourself to him.

“You feel so good,” you choke out, as you rock your hips a little faster. “So big. So thick.” You murmur again and again as your pace quickens, chasing a high and feeling a desperate need to have him cum hard and paint your walls with his delicious cum.

"Fuck." Din chokes out, puffing up at the praise. It's better than the moans with his cock in your mouth and he palms your tits, plucking at them and pinching your nipples while you bounce on his length.

“Tell me what you need,” you moan, “Fast or slow? Need you to feel good, baby, want to feel this cock fill me up.”

Din curses again. "Fuck, fast." He hisses, squeezing your tits harshly. "Fucking ride me hard."

You do as he commands, increasing your pace and bouncing up and down on him as fast as you can, moaning in pleasure as he hits that spot inside of you. Your hands cover his as he squeezes your tits, holding on tightly as he starts to fuck up into you, matching your pace with his own.

The loud sounds of sex fill his room. His hips snapping up as you bounce down on his cock. Both of you moaning and cursing greedily as the fire of the pollen rages in your systems. He knows you’re craven for his cum, the only thing that can soothe the effects of the flower.

You reach down and start to circle your clit, as you keep the same pace, wanting to clamp down around him and hear those delicious groans from him. “You’re incredible,” you pant as you near your high, circling your clit with perfect precision as he fucks up against nirvana inside of you. “Gonna cum,” you warn, before pleasure washes over you and squeeze his cock like a vice. Yelling his name as you cum, hard.

Letting go of your tits, he grabs your hips again and starts the hammer up into you. His hold on your body is the only thing keeping you from being thrown up into the air. Harsh punches of his cock that hit deep and wrench a cry out of you every time he hits your cervix, he can’t even care if it hurts you because you gush another wave of heat around him.

“Fuck,” you choke out, as he pushes the air from your lungs with every thrust. You’ve never been fucked like this before, but it’s addicting, you crave more and more from him with each harsh thrust of his hips. “Fill me up,” you beg, each word more strained as his pace quickly overwhelms you.

His arms wrap around you and he’s thrusting up into you like you are his personal fuck toy. “Fuck, fuck, gonna, fuck- fill you up.” He promises, grunting out a word every time he buries his cock into your spasming cunt. One harsh thrust later and a harsh bark of your name, he delivers on that promise. Cumming just as hard and as much as when he came down your throat only minutes before.

Falling forward onto him your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck, he’s still hard and twitching inside of you but a wave of exhaustion starts to make an appearance. You pant into his warm skin, arms tightly wrapped around him and you can’t ignore how tense he is. You’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line, but you need to catch your breath again before you’re able to move off of him and ask how he wants you next.

Din is tense from how close you are to his face. It’s been so long but you don’t reach up to touch it. Your arms around his shoulders and your face tucked into his neck. He rolls you onto your back and starts to rock into you again. Knowing that the night isn’t over by a long shot.

You moan as he rocks into you, his stamina clearly better than your own as you attempt to gather up some strength. But he seems content to pick up the slack as your pussy flutters around him and your walls hug him tight. “Are you allowed to kiss me?” You ask, barely above a whisper as his hips snap forward.

Din groans and he nods even though you can’t see him. “Can I?” He breathes above your lips. He’s never kissed before and right now as he fucking you both through a dangerous exposure to sex pollen seem to be a good time to experience it.

“Yes, please.” You plead softly, wanting to taste his lips despite not knowing what they look like. Not caring at all that you have no idea what he looks like.

Permission granted, he crushes his lips to your in a messy kiss. Much less coordinated than when he licked into you, he had avoided kissing holo vids because he had felt jealous.

You giggle a little at the way he smashes his lips against yours, before lightly touching his chin and taking the lead. Licking his bottom lip gently until he parts his lips enough for you to slip your tongue inside and press it against his own. It doesn’t take long until he’s mastering the art and taking control, his lips now refusing to part from yours as he rocks his hips into you. Kissing you just as hard as he fucks you, changing up the pace every now and then and swallowing your moans of delight.

Groaning into your mouth is like ambrosia. You are the best thing he’s ever tasted and he can’t get enough. His cock steadily fills you with strokes and his tongue mimics the motion into your mouth as he pants his pleasure loudly.

With a few more strokes of his cock, he has you clamping down around him and crying out the name you know him by in pleasure. The stuttering of his hips as your pussy acts like a vice around him makes him grunt your name before pulling you in for another breathtaking kiss. The effects of the pollen start to lessen but the effects of him growing stronger. Everything about him is consuming, his scent, the power he commands and with every snap of his hips and grunt of your name; you want more and more.

Din can barely rock his hips but the clenching and squeezing of your cunt pushes him over the edge. This time he is moaning your name into your mouth while pushing more cum into your pussy. Sliding down your cheeks and soaking his bed underneath you in growing puddle.

“Fuck, Mando,” you say against his lips, with a bright smile. “Picking that flower was the best decision I've made in months.” You love the way he twitches inside of you, your walls still hugging him tightly as he groans against your mouth. You gently run your hand up and down his back as he works on catching his breath.

“Din.” There are plenty of people who know his name now and he doesn’t see why you shouldn’t. Given that he had just fucked the life out of you and still had a few more rounds in him before the pollen is completely gone. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Din,” you repeat softly, “I like that. Din.” You press a light kiss to his lips before repeating his name a few more times. “Do you think I can jerk you off next? My pussy isn’t used to being fucked this good. Give her a little break before you fill her up again?”

“Do you want my mouth again?” He asks, knowing you might still need something. “I can just suck on your clit.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, “I know you said that was the first time you did it, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it again if you don’t want.”

“I liked it.” Din twitches inside you as he admits that and kisses you again. “Unless you didn’t like it?”

“I loved it,” you giggle, “Can’t believe that was the first time you’ve done it. Best oral I’ve ever had.”

“Good.” He grunts happily. “Then I’ll do it again.” He pulls out of you and rolls onto his back.

“You want me to sit on your face and I can jerk you off as you eat my pussy, baby?”

“Fuck yes.” Din groans. “Want to taste your cunt filled with my cum.”

“Fuck,” you moan at his filth, “Yes, sir.” He helps you position over his face, and you hover a few inches above his mouth before reaching down and gripping his cock. Giving it a few languid strokes before finding a pace that has him groaning. “I bet you’ve got a gorgeous cock, Din, I can feel how good it is. But fuck. It’s so thick and long and those veins… I.. fuck. It’s so perfect.” You tell him before he pulls you down and starts to eat your pussy like a man starved. You work his cock like it’s the most important job in the work, each flick of your wrist designed to make him groan and grunt with pure pleasure. “Do you like that? Do you like me stroking your cock while it’s still dripping with my cum, Din?”

He huffs, nodding his head as he continues to lick and taste both of you combined. He’d love it if you sucked his cock again but your hand is good too. Tilting your hips up, he finds your clit and sucks it into his mouth.

“Fuck, Din,” you yell out as he sucks on your clit, “Maker- I could get used to this.” You squeeze his cock a little harder, changing the pace from fast to slow. Wiping your thumb across the tip and gathering up the pre-cum to taste on your fingers. He groans as you let him, bringing your fingers up to mouth and licking them clean before gripping his cock again. “Going to suck your cock again after this, you taste so good, baby.”

Din groans and sucks on your clit harder, pushing his tongue against it and releasing it to lick it and suck it back into his mouth to start the entire process over again. He could get used to this too. Eating your pussy every night and having you on his cock.

“Diiiiiiinnnnnn,” you moan, over and over as he works magic on your clit. You stroke his cock over and over as his hips stutter, “Gonna c-cum.”

He pulls away just to gasp out, “me too.” Before he’s reattaching his lips to your clit like a hungry sucker fish.

“Din, Din, Din,” you chant his name over and over like a sacred prayer, pumping his cock until he’s spurting out thick ropes of cum, cum that you’ve desperate to scoop up and lick from your fingers. You feel your pussy clench down around nothing as your orgasm pulses through you, soaking his face with your arousal as he continues his delicious assault on your bundle of nerves.

You stopped stroking his cock, too focused on your own pleasure but you squeeze him. Making him pulse as his balls draw up against his body again.

“Din,” you pant one last time, as he grunts beneath you. You feel his cock twitching in your hands, clearly desperate for more release, and you resume your strokes. Milking him free of his pleasure and loving the way it pants your skin. Your fingers, wrists and arms are covered in his cum. All of it begging to be licked clean.

Letting go of your clit, Din groans your name as you stroke his cock and milk it of every drop of his release.

The second he stops cumming, you gently let it go and start cleaning it from your skin. Moaning at the taste and humming in content as you swallow it all down. “You taste delicious, Din.”

His cock is still hard but he’s not desperate to be inside you. The fire in his veins nearly burned away and it will only take once more before it’s all done. “You taste good, Mesh’la.” He praises roughly. “Could taste you everyday and be a happy man.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say with a giggle. “It’s wearing off, I think, it doesn’t burn as badly but I think I can go again. You wanna fuck my mouth or my pussy this time, baby?”

“Is your pussy too sore?” He asks, knowing he’s been rough with it.

“I can take you again, I’m definitely going to be feeling you for a while, but I'm not complaining.”

“Why don’t you ride me then?” He asks, stroking your hip. “You can kiss me this time.”

“Perfect,” you say, wasting no time and getting into position and sinking down on him again. You press your lips against his and start to rock your hips, the ache between your legs getting drowned out with pleasure as he matches your pace.

"Shit, shit, fuck, you are so tight?" Din groans in surprise. "How are you still so tight? We've been fucking for hours." He doesn't stop touching you, anywhere and everywhere he can while you ride him, stroking your back, your hips, sweeping his hands up to your breasts. Greedy for that skin to skin contact now that he's not quite as focused on cumming. "Kiss me, mesh'la." He begs.

You immediately press your lips to his, and moan into his mouth. His hands feel perfect on you, they explore your body with ease as you rock up and down, chasing relief once more around his cock.

This time is less frantic. It’s slower and almost more intimate. It’s almost like you are making love.

“Need you to cum,” you murmur against his lips, exhaustion taking its toll on your fucked out body, as you rock your hips slowly. His thumb pressed up against your clit as you chase some friction

“I will.” He promises. “After you, Mesh’la.”

You move your hips just a little faster, still keeping the pace slow and intimate. His thumb circles your clit perfectly as you grind down on him, cunning with a soft moan of his name, clamping down around him and relishing the groans of pleasure he fills your ear with. “Cum for me, Din,” you plead, as you can come back down.

Now that he feels your entire body melt, he knows the pollen has worked completely out of your system. “Good girl.” He grunts, rocking his hips as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m gonna fill you up again.”

“Please,” you beg, needing to feel his release. “Please, Din.”

He doesn't rush, knowing that you have to be exhausted at this point. Only his ability to go beyond his limits allows him to keep rocking his hips up. As soon as he cums, he knows he will pass out to sleep for a good while. You are almost asleep as he fucks you.

You sink your face into the crook of his neck, unsure how you’re going to find the strength to pull yourself out of bed and make your way home. Rocking your hips more and more, his release clearly moments away, you ride him harder, determined to give him every bit of his pleasure.

"Fuck." He groans and thrusts up one more time to bury himself deep. Throbbing again and feeling your walls grip him tight when he starts to spill inside of you again. Groaning your name quietly as he fills you. Feeling the heat and need of the pollen falling away with the last pulse of his orgasm.

“Din,” you murmured into his skin, “Tha-thank you.” Exhaustion rumbles in your joints, everything aches, but everything feels worth it when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

"Sleep, mesh'la." He hums, his hand sliding up and down your back gently. He's still inside you and doesn't want to pull out right now. He wants to sleep inside you. "I know you are exhausted."

You hum happily into the crook of his neck, letting him move you slightly and wrapping his arms around you. “Goodnight, Din.”

Sleep comes easier than it has in months, safely pulling you into slumber as he gently rubs your back and holds you tight to him.

Sometime during the night, Din wakes up. opening his eyes and letting his vision adapt to the darkness. He's softened and is barely inside you but it was probably the most relaxed and the best sleep that he's ever had. Possibly in his entire life. Reaching up, Din gently unties the blindfold that is still firmly over your eyes. He's decided that he wants you to see him. Or have the choice if you wanted him to turn on the lights. Now he just holds you, waiting for you to wake up.

Waking up, you hum contentedly in his arms, nuzzling your nose into his warm skin. The fact he’d removed your blindfold not fully registered yet as you wish him a ‘good morning.’ It’s only as you pull back and the light hits your eyelids that you realize the blindfold is off. “Din,” you say quietly, “Is it ok to open my eyes?”

"Opening your eyes comes with consequences, mesh'la." He admits quietly. "I am not allowed to let anyone see my face. Or I become darmanda." He explains. "I would no longer be Mandalorian."

“What do you want me to do?” You ask, before pressing your lips against his, “Tell me.”

"There is a way that you can see me and I am still Mandalorian." He tells you, slightly nervous about what you would think. It's crazy, but he couldn't stop thinking about it when he woke up.

“Tell me,” you repeat, “If you want to.”

"If you are my riduur....you can see my face without any consequences."

“Riduur?” You repeat slowly, “What is that?”

“Spouse.” He whispers the Basic word and waits for your reaction.

“Oh,” you say quietly, before bringing your hands up to his chin and gripping it gently. “Riduur,” you repeat, loving the way it sounds, “You could see me as yours one day?”

“You would be mine then.” He tells you. “If you want.”

“I want to be yours,” you say against his lips.

“Then open your eyes, Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly. “You can look at me before we say our vows.”

You kiss him first, pressing your lips firmly against his before pulling back and slowly opening your eyes. Staring deeply into his brown eyes and feeling a smile spread across your face as you take in his features. “Gorgeous,” you say quietly, before letting your fingertips gently run across his face.

His eyes softly and his lips part when your fingers drag across them. He’s been touched by Grogu but this is different. “Pleasant enough? Or should I put my helmet back on?” He jokes self-consciously.

“You’re perfect,” you say honestly, “I can’t believe you’d want me. You’re gorgeous.”

“You are mesh’la, it is Mando’a for beautiful.” He hums, smiling up at you.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat, “You are mesh’la, Din.”

Biting his lip, he says, “repeat after me. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” you say as clearly as you can, eyes still focused on his as you do so.

Din grins. “It is our vows.” He explains. “It means - We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors."

“We are one.” Taking his hand you bring it to your lips and place a small kiss on it. “Yesterday took an unexpected turn… But I’m so glad I picked that flower.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Good thing I wasn’t secretly a Gungan under my helmet.” He teases.

You giggle back at him before pulling him in for another kiss, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk normally for the next few days, you realize that right?”

“That’s to be expected.” Din flashes you a dirty grin. “Make sure you tell them that when we go to Mandalore.”

“So every time you fuck me, I’m going to be feeling it for days?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Not every time, but when you’re fucking to stay alive, I’ll make sure you feel it.” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you and grinning up at you. “You can pick those flowers anytime you want….riduur.”

“I might just have to do that,” you giggle, “Thank you for saving my life, Din.”

“I think I’ve gotten a pretty good reward.” Din hums. He had settled here for Grogu and it was a nice little place, maybe a little lonely since he’s not so busy, but now he has a feeling he will never be lonely again. Not with you by his side.

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demigodsanswer · 17 days ago

Note

just wanted to say I’m OBSESSED with the newest twice upon a pointe prompt you wrote and it was so fun to go back to that universe!!!! No specific requests but would love to see more TUAP if you feel inspired in that universe and hope you are still planning the TUAP sequel at some point in the future 🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻🤞🏻

Thank you so much! It was really nice to get back to that universe!

I don't have a specific sequel planned, but I do have more fics in my brain, including more of Variation, and a fic I'm calling "Four Little Swans" which is Annabeth connecting with younger company girls for the first time post-breakup. Here's a little of that!

Annabeth didn’t usually get nervous before ballets. She certainly hadn’t been nervous to perform Sugar Plum in at least the last six years. But there she was, in her pink romantic tutu, leg warmers still on under it, nervous.

“What if I don’t remember how to do this?” She asked Beck in the hallway.

“That won’t happen,” he promised her. Oh, what did he know anyway?

Annabeth walked to the rosin box, offering tepid “hello”s to anyone who welcomed her back. Selfishly, she’d wished more people had seemed happy to see her.

She slipped on her shoes. She’d cut holes in her tights, so that her toes stuck out, only a thin strip of the tights left hanging between her big toe and second, like a flip flop. Usually she’d cut out the heel as well and sew the tights to the shoes, but she preferred to use two pairs of shoes for Sugar -- a softer pair for the variation, and then a harder pair when she came back on later. So, no sewing things to tights today, Instead, she settled for rubbing her heel and tights in the rosin before slipping the back of her shoe over her heel, and praying to the pointe shoe gods the elastics held it on.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?” A voice asked her.

Annabeth looked up. Meg and Kayla, two young corps members, were sitting around the rosin box with her. Meg was in old lady make-up for the party scene, and Kayla was the Harlequin, white face paint and red cheeks and all. Annabeth guessed they’d both have quick changes to become snow flakes during the battle.

Annabeth hoped her surprise at being spoken to didn’t come off as egotistical. She offered a soft smile in case it had.

“Bothering Beck and his wife, mostly,” Annabeth said, “waiting to come back here, and do all of this again.” Oh Christ, she was pathetic. “What about you two?”

“My dads are coming to visit,” Kayla said with a giddy excitement. “I have off Boxing Day, so we’re going to see the Rockettes!”

“That’s so exciting,” Annabeth said. “Where are they coming in from?”

“Canada. Toronto, or close enough. You know my dad has never been to the states before?” Kayla said, more to Meg than to Annabeth.

“He’s never come to see you dance?” Annabeth asked, a familiar ache in her chest forming out of sympathy.

Kayla shook her head. “I mean, I’ve done a few gigs in Canada since getting into the corps here, but no. They’re coming to the show tomorrow night, though!”

“That’s exciting,” Annabeth said.

“I still haven’t managed to convince Chiron to give me ten comped tickets for my family,” Meg said with a laugh.

“How many siblings do you have?” Annabeth asked, trying not to look too shocked.

Meg made a vague gesture with her hands. “Hard to say. I was adopted out of foster care, so I’ve had lots of foster siblings come and go. But right now there’s two parents and eight kids, not counting me. Big house down in New Jersey, full of tacky Italian American decor. My mom grows her own peppers and tomatoes,” she said, a clear fondness in her voice for it all. “But! This year, I’ve got off Christmas through the 28th! I’m going home to Joisey!” She said Jersey in an exaggerated accent that made Annabeth smile.

Annabeth didn’t ask her how she’d managed to pull off three consecutive off-days during Nutcracker; she just offered a smile and her mutual excitement.

The girls scooted off to finish getting ready as Annabeth kept warming up at the barre backstage. She had a vest on over her costume for the upper body too, but with so long to go before her entrance, she could never be too warm. Now was not the night for mistakes.

“-- I don’t want to talk about this any more,” she heard another girl whisper in a harsh, halting tone.

“I’m just trying to help.” Annabeth looked over. Lacy, a girl maybe eighteen years old and fresh into her corps contract and glaring at Julie, another young corps girl, taken into the company at the same time. If her relationship with Beck was any proof, that cohort bond ran deep.

Lacy was dressed as the doll, red dots on her cheeks, yellow pom poms on her skirt. It was a good solo role for an early dancer, one that Annabeth did for her first three years in the company. Julie seemed spared from the party scene tonight and was already in the white snow dress.

“Well, stop helping, okay. There’s nothing I can do about it right now,” Lacy said.

“You can’t wait until after Nutcracker,” Julie protested, “this is time sensitive.”

“I don’t want to be dealing with a minute longer than I have to, but what else am I supposed to do?” Lacy told her. “It’s a big deal. What if something goes wrong? I can’t deal with this, okay? Not now.”

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked finally, turning towards them.

Annabeth guessed Lacy was blushing under the stage makeup. She shook her head “no.”.

“I’ve had every single ballet breakdown and problem you can imagine,” Annabeth offered, a balance of light-heartedness and sympathy in her voice as she crouched next to the girls. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s not a ballet thing, exactly,” Lacy said. She glanced around to see if anyone else was listening to her. “I ... I'm having an abortion. I just don't know when. If you know anyone in the company who's gone through that ...” She trailed off with a sad smile that surprised Annabeth. Lacy certainly wasn't the first company woman to go through that.

Annabeth offered an empathetic smile. “Sure. I’ve had one.”

Lacy relaxed. “Oh, did it hurt? How did you feel after --?”

Annabeth had never really talked openly about it before. It has been a sore point in her relationship with Luke. But once she started preparing Lacy for the experience, she found it felt almost nice to share the experience.

“The cramps weren’t great, and the bleeding lasted a little while, but it was over pretty fast. I was relieved, immediately relieved. Although, your hormones can go a little crazy afterwards, so it’s not uncommon to feel some varied emotions, or emotions that don’t really line up with what you know you wanted.” Annabeth left out the unfortunate details of her own relationship for Lacy’s sake. The poor girl didn’t need that too. “My doctor prescribed some pills. I took care it at home. It was nothing,” Annabeth promised.

“My doctor gave me the same ones. They’re in my bathroom, I just haven’t …” Lacy’s eyes were watery.

“Don’t cry, girlie. You’ve a show to do,” Annabeth told her. She was pretty sure someone had said that to her at some point. Maybe it was Lee? Or Helen? Maybe several people had said that to her? She was, after all, a not-so-secret cry baby.

“Okay,” Lacy said, taking a deep breath.

“Everything is going to be okay,” Annabeth promised her, gently touching her shoulder. You will need to take a week or so off. Chiron will understand. Actually, he’ll probably make you take the time off. I … well, I came back too fast after mine. I tried to dance Swan Lake. Ended up throwing up in the wings after the Black Swan coda. Chiron threatened to cut my ribbons and send me home.”

Lacy and Julie’s eyes were wide.

“But you’re his favorite,” Julie said.

Annabeth laughed. “Not sure if I agree with that,” (she did). “And I did something that could have permanently hurt my body,” she said with a shrug. “He wasn’t happy with me.” Annabeth turned back to Lacy. “But Chiron will understand if you tell him.”

“But the shows --”

“The ballet will be here when you get back,” Annabeth said. She looked down at her pink tutu and smiled. “Trust me.”

Lacy ended up giving Annabeth a big hug when they stood up again. “Thank you, thank you!” Lacy said.

“Do you want my phone number, in case you need anything or have questions?” Annabeth offered.

Lacy accepted the offer with a big smile. “Wow, I can text Annabeth Chase whenever I want! Thirteen year old me is freaking out right now. Sorry, is that weird?”

Annabeth shook her head with a smile. “Merde,” she said to both of them, “go stay warm, don’t miss your entrance, and don’t forget your pom poms.”

At intermission, she and Beck ran the final pull across the stage in their pas de deux. His foot found the wire, her foot found the disk and slowly, slowly he pulled her across the stage as she balanced in arabesque. Annabeth always loved her arabesque lines. It was one of the positions she thought she looked nicest in, with her long, long legs. It made for great photos too, especially during the swans. Looked good here, too.

Their tech run was a success, and with that, and one more big hug from Beck, Annabeth got ready to welcome Marie to the land of sweets.

“It’s your solo,” a familiar voice said to her in the wings.

Annabeth turned to find Lee Fletcher, Droslemyer eye patch flipped up to show off both blue eyes. She smiled wide.

“Hi!” She said, before he pulled her into a tight hug.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said to her, still holding onto her. “It’s your solo, you know what that means? If you forget the steps, make them up.” Annabeth’s eyes welled with tears as she broke the hug. “Don’t cry, girlie, you’ve got a show to do. We’re all so happy to see you back.”

With a final merde, Lee disappeared back into the wings as the little angels got into formation on stage.

When the night ended, Annabeth was gifted a bouquet of flowers from Chiron, who rolled out onto stage to congratulate Annabeth and Beckendorf on their ten years in the company. There was no mention of her leave of absence. No, as the audience rose to their feet, it was as if no time had passed. She didn’t have any more shows to do tonight, so this time, she let herself cry.

Annabeth didn’t actually get to keep the flowers.They went back into a big bucket backstage. She dropped them off, and then was swarmed with kids. Someone handed her a marker, and she started signing slippers and pointe shoes faster than she could learn names. Then there were selfies. Lots and lots of selfies. She was happy to do it.

Still smiling, Annabeth looked around and spotted Percy Jackson, decked out in Candy Cane jingle bells. She started towards him, hoping to … apologize maybe? For getting hurt? Thank him for his kindness? She’d figure out when he got there. But the twelve and thirteen year olds who danced with him were surrounding him, far more interested in him and whatever bit he was doing than in her. Annabeth left them to it, sure she’d catch up with him soon.

Chiron caught her eye. He was deep in conversation with Mr. D, but he smiled at her anyway. Annabeth guessed that was an invitation to come over.

“-- I want Lacy to take care of this as soon as she can. Meg will just have to go on,” Chiron said to Mr. D as the conversation ended.

Annabeth looked at Mr. D, then back to Chiron. “Wait, Meg is Lacy’s alternate?” She asked.

“Yes,” Chiron said.

“But they were both on tonight?” Annabeth said.

“We needed an extra grandma and a Spanish corps fill in, but they do the same Snow and Flowers spot,” Chiron said.

“No, no, you can’t make Meg go on, she’s going to see her family --” Annabeth said. Stupid, she chastised herself. Had to get involved.

Chiron shrugged. “You know how things go.”

“What spot do they do?” She asked.

“Third short snowflake out,” Chiron said, “and second flower front, left side.”

“Those were my spots,” Annabeth said quickly. She’d done those spots twenty-six times. Eight years ago. When she was eighteen. But still, she’d done them. “I’ll do it. I’ve got nothing better going on anyway,” Annabeth said, forcing a smile.

“Those are corps spots. You couldn’t go on as Plum or Dew Drop,” Chiron said.

“I know that. I miss the corps,” that wasn’t a total lie. She did really love those dances.

“When was the last time you were a snowflake?” Mr. D asked her. Flowers was one thing. She always did a healthy number of Dew Drop performances every year, so she was still familiar with that waltz. Snow though …

“When I was twenty,” Annabeth said. “Not that long ago!”

Chiron sighed, and recognized a losing battle. “You’ll get one rehearsal tomorrow. If I don’t like it, Meg is on.”

“Deal,” Annabeth said.

Her dresser helped her out of the green powder puff tutu in her dressing room. Alone then, she examined herself in the mirror and tried to think over her performance.

Of course she could do a few shows of Snow and Flowers, she thought as she tossed her sweater on over her bare chest. She’d learned Russian Girl in Serenade in two hours when she was nineteen. She’s been thrown on for her first Sugar Plum when she was seventeen. She could do anything.

Maybe she had lost it all in those few months.

She slumped down in her dressing room chair, no pants on except her pink tights, pointe shoes still there too. Annabeth looked back at her costumes hanging there, each one on a hanger with a little green paper tag Chase. They’d been waiting for her.

And Chiron hadn’t even offered her a celebratory congratulations.

Maybe it had all been a disaster.

Overwhelmed and not sure what else to do, Annabeth leaned forward and sobbed, her arms resting on her vanity, her face resting on them. It felt good. She hadn’t had a Nutcracker breakdown yet. It felt overdue.

It was too much. Being back. Being Sugar Plum. Being in New York. Being in that apartment. She was an embarrassment to all of them. She’d never dance Aurora now.

She was vaguely aware of the door opening. Finding Annabeth crying somewhere wasn’t really a surprise to anyone so much as it had become a game of “Where’s Waldo” for the company. Or at least for the company members she used to hang out with. It felt incredibly cruel to her now that none of them ever really asked if she was okay. She expected whenever opened her door to leave her to it.

Piper didn’t.

“Hey, are you okay?” Her dressing roommate asked.

Annabeth just sobbed again as an answer.

“Want me to sit with you for a while?” She offered. Annabeth just kept crying. “Sob once for yes, twice for no.”

Annabeth sobbed once then started laughing a little. She lifted her face from her arms to actually look at Piper, who seemed a bit concerned but in a caring way. Piper plucked a tissue from the box and handed it to her, before pulling a chair next to Annabeth, and resting a hand on her back.

“Long night?” Piper asked.

Annabeth shrugged. “Chiron wasn’t happy.”

Piper looked confused. “With what?”

“My dancing,” Annabeth said, as if that was obvious.

“That can’t be true,” Piper said. “Sorry, but … look I’ve seen you dance like a thousand Plums. It’s your role, no doubt about that. But tonight you were so …” there was a look of genuine awe on Piper’s face for a moment, “... lifted, so on your leg. You had so much control, so much jump control. Perfect fucking turns.” She felt Piper’s arm move from her back to her arm. “You were so beautiful. And you looked so happy. Like really, really glowing, radiantly happy. The way Olivia looked at you,” that was the name of the little girl who’d played Marie tonight, “it was like a dream come true for her.”

There was a pause where Annabeth thought Piper might kiss her of all things. Annabeth leaned back, closing herself off a little more as she thought about what to say, trying to shake the idea of kissing Piper from her mind.

“Thanks,” Annabeth managed finally. “But Chiron doesn’t seem to think I’m even fit for the corps de ballet.”

“Huh?” Piper asked.

Annabeth recounted the story, leaving out the girls’ more personal details.

At the end Piper just looked at her like what Chiron had said was no big deal.

“Do you think he maybe said that because you are a bit tall for that spot?” Piper suggested.

Her first two years, she’d been a short snowflake. She was only five-five when she wasn’t on her toes. But on pointe she was nearly six feet, with long legs. And five-five was already on the taller side. Once some shorter girls like Drew joined, Annabeth had become a “tall” girl. Not tall enough for Arabian, but tall enough to put her in a new corps spot.

She didn’t know how tall Lacy was exactly, but she was shorter than Annabeth.

“Oh,” Annabeth said. “Maybe. I don’t know, he still didn’t seem enthusiastic about it.”

Piper grabbed a makeup wipe and started to wipe away Annabeth’s tear-streaked makeup. “Maybe he doesn’t want you risking your ankles on all that snow,” she suggested. “You’re our Aurora after all.”

Her makeup was gone, but Piper was still stroking her cheek gently. They were nearly forehead to forehead. Annabeth’s heart beat a little faster. Piper was very pretty. Annabeth had always known that. Maybe kissing her would be fun. She’d never kissed anyone besides Luke. Maybe she’d like kissing a girl. She’d had dreams of kissing Silena a few times. It might --

Annabeth stood up fast before she could do something stupid.

“I should go,” she said, grabbing her bag and her mother’s pin cushion and headed for the door.

“Annabeth,” Piper said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not wearing pants,” she told her.

“Oh!” Annabeth said with a laugh. She sat back down and untied her pointe shoes, slipped on her sweats, and actually got ready to go as Piper gathered whatever she’d come back for.

“See you tomorrow?” Annabeth asked her.

Piper nodded. “I’m on for Marzi. When do you re-debut Snow?”

“The twenty-sixth,” Annabeth said. “Another Plum for me tomorrow.”

“Merde,” Piper said.

Annabeth made her way out of her dressing room, somehow feeling even more flustered than when she went in.

“There you are,” Beck said, tossing an arm over her shoulder. “Silena is waiting. You alright?”

Annabeth wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Just got overwhelmed, I’ll be okay,” she promised. “Are you sure it’s okay I crash with you both?”

“Of course,” Beck said with a smile. “First performance! You deserve a celebration.”

“I should actually spend the night studying snow and flowers,” she confessed. Beck looked at her confused. “I maybe agreed to take on a few corps roles.”

Beckendorf smiled at her. “Of course you did. How’d that happen?”

“Tell you later,” Annabeth promised.

#twice upon a pointe #annabeth chase #piper mclean #kayla knowles #lacy percy jackson #meg mccaffrey #charles beckendorf

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manicpixiefelix · 2 years ago

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 8.

Summary: The fallout of arguing with Oliver, not fighting with Farleigh, Felix hooks up with your not-girlfriend, and so you provide comfort to his sort-of-ex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: someone makes a move on the reader while they're very very drunk and the reader is far more sober, but it doesn't go past kissing, if that's something you're possibly concerned about.

A/N: 5424 words. welcome back. this one goes many different places in the span of one night. the farleigh of it all. the annabel of it all. im worried this one might feel OOC so id really like to hear if there's anywhere i could improve on my characterisation, what worked, what didn't?? as always unedited, and as we're nearing the end of the term (in the fic) we only have a few chapters left at oxford before we get to go to saltburn!! LOVE YOU ENJOY!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Didn't have to do that," Felix sighed from his desk, head bent low over his textbook. It's the first thing he'd said since Oliver left. You, still on his bed, picking through a textbook for a class you both share, found half-shoved under his bed, look up.

"Do what?"

"That thing with Michael What's-His-Name's file," it almost sounds like guilt in his voice, but he still isn't listening to you, "you could get in real trouble for having that."

In swift movements he stands, and you catch the sight of his scowl despite how he doesn't turn it upon you. Once again he's sitting on the floor, back to the foot of the bed, lighting up another cigarette, legs crossed in front of him.

"I'll put it back tomorrow." You're not used to Felix disapproving of you, it's a kind of discomfort you want to shake as quickly as you're able to. After a moment you add, "I know it's not really Ollie's fault, I shouldn't have -"

"I don't want to talk about Ollie right now." He's focused on balancing his ash tray on his knee, watching it with such intensity it's as if he's trying to define life's secrets from it.

"Should I go?" Murmured, almost like you're afraid of anyone hearing it, even Felix. It hangs, golden in the hazy heat of the afternoon.

"'m not the boss of you," Felix mumbles softly, head low, again his words coloured almost with guilt. You know he will never shake the quiet shame he sometimes is hit with when he remembers the way people often perceive the relationship you two share; too close, too loyal, too imbalanced.

But you've never cared; you will never treat him differently, never want for anything but his happiness, never beat the canine allegations. One day you hope you'll convince him that's okay.

So instead of leaving, you close the textbook and stretch yourself out across his bed, laying the on your belly with your head resting at the foot, by his. Your hand rests on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

Felix breathes out a lung full of smoke. He doesn't look at you. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. The moment is a quiet one, tension thick and choking and full of things neither of you can talk about.

It's the strangest afternoon you share in a long while, one full of silence and the slow, mind numbing sound of pages being turned and the scratch of pen against paper.

"I'm gonna get ready to go out tonight," you say softly, finally breaking the silence when the courtyard outside is every shade of gold and orange in the sunset. Felix just hums in acknowledgement from his desk, "Fi?"

"Yeah," he huffs, dismissively, still looking at his notes. You've got the file in one hand, doing up the buttons of the shirt you'd forgone in the afternoon heat of his dorm room, but had to wear back to your own.

"You want me to text Oli?" You watch him grow tense at the name alone.

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know," he mumbles, almost forcibly nonchalant, despite the hard line of his shoulders that hadn't been there moments ago. Then, as if to clear the moment, he sits up straighter, turning to you in his desk chair with a look of determination in his eyes, "India still into me do you think?"

"I know India's still into you," you can't help but snort, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Would you be totally cut up if I -" he doesn't even need to finish before you're rolling your eyes.

"She'd be thrilled," but your smile softens a little, even as you shake your head with exasperation, "she's all yours, Fi."

Perhaps it's the fondness with which you acquiesces to his arguably selfish request that makes him take in the full exchange that had just passed. Felix takes a moment, tension and expression dropping as he turns pensive for a moment, unable to look you in the eyes. After a beat, you turn to the door, fully intending on letting the moment pass, but you hear Felix stand.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches you, still wearing that rather grim, thoughtful expression, but he wraps you up in a hug. He holds you as close as he's able, and after a beat of surprise, you gently drop the file to wrap your arms around him in return.

I love you. I'm sorry. All the tension from the afternoon drains away in this hug, in him pressed against you, leaning into you, breathing deep and even and steady. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you give him a brief kiss against his warm, golden skin, and hope he can feel your smile too.

The hug breaks, but still he holds your face for a long moment. He's smiling again. I love you. Thank you. He kisses your cheek quickly.

"I'll catch you at the King's Arms, yeah?"

"'course, Fi," you assure him with a warm smile of your own.

Back in your own dorm, that single moment of warmth unfortunately can't overwrite the entire afternoon of sickly tension. Looking at Oliver's name in your contacts, you frown. You should text him, invite him, Felix told him he would -

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know."

You don't text Oliver.

Annabel also isn't at the King's Arms that night. Of course you know why, the answer sits across from you with his arm around your not-girlfriend, but part of you still kind of feels bad for if the sweet redhead ever finds out.

"What are you sulking about?" Farleigh's smug voice in your ear, Farleigh's arm around your shoulder, Farleigh's cigarettes you keep stealing, Farleigh who you've tucked yourself up against for the night.

"'m not," you try insisting, frowning at the lighter that's clearly out of fluid and refusing to relight your cigarette. He gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"You sure, Peter Pan? Where's your shadow?"

"You don't give a shit about Oliver," you snap a little too quickly, both frustrated by the situation you're trying to ignore, and the useless lighter, but Farleigh reads right through it and practically cackles. Still, he wraps his other arm around you and squeezes you against his side with glee, even as you try to protest.

"Ooh~" Farleigh teases, poking your side with a wide, fond smile, "trouble in pauper's paradise?"

"That's fucking mean," you rib him none too gently, but he actually snorts with laughter. The lighter still won't bloody well start.

"I feel like you're fucking edging me with that lighter, fuck," Benji, from Farleigh's other side, smacks your lighter out of your hands and holds out his perfectly working one.

"Thank you, Benny, that was pissing me off," Farleigh says with a satisfied smile, his laughter having died down. You, finally take a draught on your cigarette, grateful for the warmth, and the nicotine as it hits.

"Could kiss you, Benj," you finally let yourself smile, "someone remind me to get a new lighter," you add, leaning across Farleigh without hesitation to plant a kiss squarely on Benji's lips after he'd wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, teasingly at you at your comment.

"We'd fascinate psychologists," Farleigh chuckled, but his voice is warm and fond, and Benji turns back to his conversation with Alicia and Jake on his other side once the moment had passed.

"Probably," comes out distracted, however as your teasing mood drops and you look to your phone. Should I have called Oliver? But when you look up, across the table, you see warmth and fondness in the way Felix looks at India, enraptured by whatever story she's telling. With one arm around her shoulders, he lets her distractedly play with his other hand, leaning into her, all attention on her. Making her feel like the centre of the universe, the way only Felix knows how to do. India glows in a way you've never seen before, lighting up under his direct affection, beautiful and elated, maybe even a little bit flustered.

There's not even a hint of jealousy at the sight of them. All you know is how much you love your friends, and how happy and beautiful they look together in this moment. There is contentment, satisfaction, like a job well done... Farleigh might have a point about the psychologists.

Speaking of - Farleigh grabs your chin and tilts your face to look at him. Immediately you smack his hand away.

"Stop that! What is that? What are you doing?" You squawk at him immediately. Again, he grabs your chin, frowning, intent upon gazing intensely into your eyes. This time you let him.

"I'm figuring out what this is," he mutters like he's deep in thought. You let your gaze roam for a moment, hoping he gets whatever this is out of his system. You wiggle your chin in his grip, and it's enough to prompt more of an explanation, "if you're not sulking, then I don't know this -" rolling your eyes, you smack his hand away.

"Fuck man, I'm not sulking," you insist, remembering your cigarette and taking another puff, glad it hadn't gone out.

"You've been weird lately; angry - ranting," Farleigh made sure to stick to your cover story despite having seen through it the minute you'd tried out the other week, "you and Felix have had some weird vibes," he takes the cigarette from you, and you settle yourself against him further.

"Fi and I always have weird vibes," you pointed out with a little smirk, keeping your voice as low as he was, glad he didn't feel the need to publicise this discussion too broadly. Farleigh snorted, but shook his head.

"You, sure," Farleigh conceded, handing back the cigarette, "but," he leans in, leans into your with a knowing, dangerously sharp smile, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, "Felix has been weird about you," his voice slides along the word weird as his hand slides up your thigh, as if to prove a point, before sitting back. Giving you a moment to recover, Farleigh sits back up like nothing happened, letting go of your thigh and taking a drink. He gives you a squeeze, arm still around your shoulders, "or hadn't you noticed?" Back at regular conversation levels like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Across the circle of your friend group, Felix's gaze momentarily flicks to you as India's in the middle of some kind of enthusiastically rambling. Gaze briefly passing to Farleigh, he then looks back and raises an amused eyebrow in silent question. The smile you give him is instinctive and warm, a silent answer. He mirrors the smile for the briefest moment before his attention returns to India.

Of course you'd noticed the change.

"Of course I've noticed." Your gaze dips; you become fascinated with your drink for the moment, trying to brace yourself for whatever comment you knew Farleigh had coming.

"Surprised he hadn't put you on a leash."

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He retaliates by flicking you repeatedly in the forehead. Its a blurry mess of frustration and elbows after that, pulling hair and wet fingers in ears and trying to sink nails into each other's soft sides, all squabbling and cursing and insults not made for polite society.

"- you put your fingers near my mouth I'll bite them off!" You holler even when he's got his arm around your neck in a kind of choke hold, which is around the time the two of you are pulled away from each other.

The rest of the table is staring at you both, while you and Farleigh straighten yourselves up, a little flustered at the many incredulous stares you were getting.

"The fuck was that about?" Felix, of course, is the one to voice the question the others all had. You look to Farleigh, his expression mirroring yours; no malice, no frustration, like nothing had happened.

"Bit of horseplay," you shrugged easily, meeting Felix's eyes, tone bright and chipper. He looked unconvinced.

"Just two dudes being guys," Farleigh's tone was light and breezy as he settled back into the booth, and you alongside him, letting him once more sling an arm around your shoulders.

"Guys bein' pals," you agreed with a nod. Farleigh pats your head for emphasis. The group thankfully decides that they've had enough of the weird moment to go back to their own conversations. Felix was the last to focus back on the conversation he'd been having with India and Alicia, narrowing his eyes as he looked between you and Farleigh.

Before turning his attention entirely away, his gaze fixes on you. There, in the very slight tilt of his head, the look in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens, you see his concern for you. You lean your head back on Farleigh's shoulder and let yourself relax, let yourself give him a genuine, reassuring smile. It's enough.

Farleigh clears his throat.

"It was either that or tell him you said that," you explained under your breath, to which Farleigh nodded in understanding, hand running up and down your shoulder idly as he reached across the table for the communal fries, bringing the basket closer to you both.

"And you don't want to tell him because you know I'm right," Farleigh is back to smug, but at least this time you can join him in his amusement.

"No, but I'm humouring you because I'd like to talk about how good I'd look in a collar," picking up a chip, you eat it with a grin as Farleigh rolls his eyes. After a moment, however, he comes back with this contemplative look, still amused, but eyes narrowed and searching like they had been earlier. You eat another chip and tell him to put his eyeballs back in his head, "seriously, quit looking at me like that, Farleigh -"

"He has been weird-weird," Farleigh says like he's agreeing, though you tell him you have no idea what the fuck he means. Taking a deep breath like he was ramping up to something, Farleigh looks across the group to Felix, before looking back at you with a kind of put-upon smile, "I say this only as someone who's know you for like, more of my life than I'd like to admit -"

"I love you too, go on."

"- so I kind of think that it might not look that different to anyone else, like they don't know it's not your usual brand of weirdness," he wets his lips, giving you a look like he's not even sure if he's meant to be saying this, like he might be letting you in on a secret you're not supposed to know, "he's been really hot and cold with you."

Of course you'd noticed.

"I slept with Oliver."

Beside you, Farleigh appears to go through all five stages of grief at once.

"You make it very hard to be friends with you sometimes," he says, shaking his head. You, however, are focusing on how many chips you can eat in a rush rather than think too much about the topic at hand.

"That mean," you tell him flatly, mouth full of potatoes, "you're being mean again."

"You chose to sleep with Oliver, that is a choice you made; I'm gonna be mean about it, you've earned it, you know you have -"

"Remember," you gave him a shit-eating grin, "how the next time we went drinking after that costume party, you spent a full half hour in the beer garden ranting about how stupid you thought Ollie's costume was," you ate another chip while Farleigh narrowed his eyes at you with barely concealed contempt, but you powered on, "and it turned out that you thought the costume didn't do him justice, which then -" your grin grew wider, "became you ranting about how his eyes are too blue, and why does he dress like that when we can all see his arms, imagine if he wore a shirt that fit!" You gleefully recounted, even as Farleigh's mouth flattened into a thin line, like he's bitten on a lemon, but he couldn't look you in the eyes.

"Hey, that's not what I -"

"And then -!" You spoke over him, "you forgot where you were and tried to take an angry nap in the bushes."

"I don't -" a flustered Farleigh squirms for a moment in his seat, unable to look at you, "remember that, and," he turned a faux serious look upon you, "if you tell anyone I said that, I'll tell them you're lying."

"I'm just saying," you shrugged, "don't act like you don't know part of the reason why I slept with him."

"Fine," Farleigh rolled his eyes, allowing his flustered frustration to ease. After a moment of contemplation, of watching Felix, he hums quietly, thoughtfully, "that can't be it, right?"

"What can't be it?"

"If Felix was going to start being jealous it wouldn't be over Oliver."

"See, that's what I thought."

"So he is jealous?"

"I don't know," you say quietly, still not quite sure how to feel about it; Felix had taken the news fine when you'd told him, he hadn't seemed any different, but of course there'd been a change. Why now?

"That's really stupid of him," Farleigh finally says, dismissively.

"It is, isn't it?" As you try and laugh, your heart's not in it. You look at your phone again, another wave of that strange discomfort that you'd been feeling lately washing over you again. You can't stay.

Everyone's surprised by your early departure as you say your goodbyes. You cite the need to study hard tomorrow, giving hugs and kisses as you start the short journey back to your dorm. Felix murmurs that he loves you and a cheeky thanks in your ear and you know he's talking about India. You kiss his cheek, and then you head off.

Nothing had seemed off when you'd told Felix.

"You look like you're about to burst into song; what happened to you?"

"Something happened!"

"Am I meant to guess?"

"No, no- I mean, like how nothing happened between me and Ollie a few months ago; something happened!"

"Something happened between you and Ollie?"

"The something that didn't happen last time -"

"I don't remember last time, Y/N, you're being so cryptic, I love that you're excited but -"

"Yes, Ollie and I slept together. Finally!"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"No, good 'oh', promise!"

"Didn't sound like a good 'oh', Fi; is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course, sorry Y/N, I promise, I'm just... I don't remember you being this excited about a hook up... and I don't think I was excepting it to be Ollie, you know? Was he really that good?"

"Let me put it this way, it was the kind of good that none of our other friends would believe if I told them."

"Fancy that, Ollie knows what he's doing; good for you."

"Great for me."

It wasn't particularly vulgar or explicit, you'd had far more in depth conversations about your various hook ups, Felix had seemed as happy for you as he always did with these kinds of stories. But he'd started looking at Oliver different, you'd noticed it. That too is when he became the clingiest. Farleigh was right; on nights out with Oliver around, Felix threw out any pretence of subtlety or person space. Felix acted like your boyfriend.

But then, any other night, any other group situation, it was like any other day. Sometimes he'd barely even glance at you. Hot and cold.

You're so in your head on the walk home that you barely register someone sitting at your door until you all but trip over them.

Annabel.

She'd been crying.

"Fuck you." Is how she greets you.

"What are you doing here?" A twinge of pity, a twinge of guilt, to see her obviously distraught at your doorstep. She gets unsteadily to her feet, swearing at you again. Reaching out to steady her, she surprises you by lunging at you, grabbing you.

"You were there, weren't you? With the rest of them," Annabel's gripping your collar, makeup smeared with tears and eyes red-rimmed, "with him," lips still inches from yours, her gaze unfocused but searching, "I can fucking smell it on you- you- you and rich boy-" but she stops for a moment, expression falling to confusion, "Farleigh?"

"Annabel -" you ease her hands off of your collar, partly confused, but mostly pitying.

"Why do you smell like Farleigh?" She sounds almost like a lost child, refusing to let go of your hand as you pulled out your keys. God she looks so helpless, tears still welling in her eyes, vodka bottle mostly empty by her feet.

"Why are you so good at telling what Farleigh smells like?" You countered with, swinging the door open. At this, some of the righteous indignation fires up in her again, flouncing into your room.

"You all went to the same boarding school, you've all got these same habits, and same but different scents you cling to," she's scowling at your dresser as you picked up the vodka bottle and brought it into your room, shutting your door. You watch her for a long moment, see how she analyses everything you have there, perfumes, colognes, makeup, skin care, little bits of paper rubbish - she picks up a bottle and flicks off the lid, not caring where it landed amongst the rest of the things there. When she sprays it, she seems to almost relax amongst it's mist. Of course. It's Felix's favourite, Felix's scent as she'd so aptly described it, for when he'd spend the night.

"Of course you have his too," she says faintly, almost derisively.

Allowing your attention to finally drift from her, you start getting ready for bed, heading to your closet to hang up your jacket.

"You all need to mark your territory," she spits, out of your peripheries, you see her move away from your dresser and pick up her vodka again, "need everyone to know who you own, who we all belong to -"

"Anna, that's not -" you sighed, unsure of where any of this was going, but not liking it either way. As you search your drawers for pyjamas, you felt her gentle hands on your hips. Jumping at the sudden touch, when you spin she braces herself against the drawers with hands either side of you, while your hands become trapped, the last bit of resistance between her chest and yours.

"I smelled like you both for weeks," she murmurs, gaze roaming your body, almost hungry, landing back on your lips, "you remember that? I should- I should- should have been fucking sickened," she admits, voice a low whisper, the hunger turning needy, turning into almost a whimper, "the things I want you both to do to me make me sick to my stomach," her lips inch closer to yours, shared breath, heat in the air, "of course I know what the fuck you all choose to smell like, I can't get it out of my fucking head," you should lean away but there's something intoxicating about her rage, her desperation, her desire, "Our Annabel, that's what he'd called me, what you'd -" and she kisses you, vodka still wicked and bitter on her tongue, all but panting into your mouth as her hands find your hips again.

But it can't continue, you can't let this go on. As you lean back to free your arms, to hold her back, she takes advantage of the opportunity to slide her hands beneath your shirt, cold and nimble against your belly -

"Could've been my Felix -" she mumbles, as if in a trance, eyes hazy and full of both tears, like she was looking into a memory. The minute her fingers find your fly you grab her hands firmly. It takes you a moment to regain your composure, to remind yourself that she wasn't in her right state of mind, that she probably didn't even know what she was doing or saying -

My Felix flares bright and hot and possessive in your mind. My Felix.

"Ow," Annabel's noise of pain brings you back to reality, but thankfully it seems the shock to her system brought her back too. Looking down at your vice-like grip on her wrists, she looks back at you as you let her go, embarrassment in her eyes as she perhaps realises some of what she'd been doing.

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight, Anna," still, your voice is gentle. She huffs an embarrassed little laugh, starting to sniffle again. Again, you remind yourself that this poor girl just got her heart broken by your best friend, and decided to deal with that by drinking an entire bottle of vodka. You'd committed to showing her some compassion tonight.

"I know." The tension drops, and she just leans her head forward to rest her forehead on your shoulder. You can't help but hug her, feeling the heavy way she sighs as you're giving her a reassuring pat on the back. The two of you stay like that for a very long few minutes until you hear her start crying again.

"Do you wanna borrow some pyjamas?" You ask softly, and feel her nod.

The rest of the night is quiet after that, taking care of this distraught young woman who got her heart broken by your best friend. It reminds you of nights you'd spend with Venetia back at Saltburn.

Annabel sits on your bathroom counter patiently, ankles crossed, watching the way you focus as you wipe off her makeup with meticulous care. When you take off her necklace, you coil it delicately on top of the nice clothes she'd been wearing, now sitting on top of her shoes by your door. At first she tries to wave you off when you offer to brush out her hair -

"There's -" she hiccups; the full bottle of vodka has finally hit her, but still she tries to shake her head, "too much hairspray, it'll be a hassle -"

"I'll be gentle," you told her softly, assurance in your eyes and a warm smile on your lips, "if you'll let me." Annabel melts under that gaze, sitting in borrowed pyjamas, face clean, cross-legged on your bed in the lamp light. You treat her with the gentlest care, brushing out her hair while you can still hear her occasional sniffles; she sits as primly as she's able, only apologising once at the start for it's length. You assured her it's fine.

"You scare me sometimes," Annabel mutters into the quiet, voice watery. For a moment, you pause.

"Me?"

"Both- both of you. You and Felix," she sniffles again, "and Farleigh too now, I guess," you can tell she swallows thickly, voice catching in her throat. When she tries to dip her head, she can feel the way you're still holding gently, still working, and she apologises faintly. Carefully, quietly, giving her space to organise her tipsy, upset thoughts, you continue to brush out her hair.

"Never met anyone like you, you know? Didn't think people like you guys existed. You're always everything; the most without even trying," she takes a deep breath, but it's undercut by a faint sob that's almost a chuckle, "I kind of think you don't even know what I mean- you especially, you know?" You... don't.

You brush, only giving a faint apology, but all she does is fidget, the words spilling unrehearsed from her, things she's clearly been bottling for far too long -

"Felix is everything everyone wants, and you're everything everyone wants him to be," she says it so forlornly, "the sun and it's fucking warmth," then, almost disgusted as she spits it under her breath, "I think about how he's never going to fuck me the way he looks at you while he's shitfaced, how sick is that?"

With a few more strokes her hair is brushed out, and without even thinking you start to braid it. Annabel's dissolved into tears again, her face in her hands, but you're just careful not to tug on her hair too hard as her whole body shakes with them.

"He never gave a proper shit about me, did he?" Annabel sobs as you're tying off the braid. The minute it's done, she turns and throws herself into your arms, sobbing against your chest, "I'm just another fucking girl to him!"

"He still loves you as a friend, I'm sure; you know how Fi is-" you pet her shoulder carefully as she clutches your shirt for dear life.

"I don't wanna be his fucking friend! I gave him my fucking heart and now he's probably got his dick in that slag India, who said she was my friend!" Spitting her words with fury, with venom, she looks up, but only sees a look of pitying apology in your eyes; she's probably right. Lip curling, she throws herself back on your bed, hands covering her face once more, "he doesn't fucking care," she groaned, fury turning poisonous with resignation, "I know he doesn't care; if I thought he truly cared I would have fucked Oliver -"

"What?"

"- Felix is so fucking fickle, god, seems like he doesn't even care about Oliver anymore, I should have- should have -" she continues on, but breaks down crying again. Getting off the bed, you leave for the common room for half a moment, filling it with water.

"Drink this," you instruct, sitting next to Annabel on the edge of the bed. She scowls, but follows your orders easily, even if she can't properly look you in the eye. The water seemed to have at least helped, as her crying quiets down as you refill the glass in your bathroom sink.

"I feel like shit," she mumbles, watching you come back into the room and place the cup on her bedside.

"Well you look pretty," you tell her teasingly, trying to lighten the mood even a little as you gently pinched her cheek. She does not appear to find the humour in the moment. Still, you turn off your lamp and climb over her into the bed, "please don't throw up in my bed or on my floor."

"I know where your bathroom is."

The two of you kick off the neat duvet but pull the thin, luxurious sheet over you both.

"Thank you..." it sounds begrudging as she says it. You tell her it's no stress, sitting up for a moment in order to open your window a crack, let a breeze in overnight, but still hear her when she says, "you're a bad friend."

Still sitting, you take a deep breath, sighing as a silhouette in the moonlight.

Annabel is more astute than you possibly gave her credit for in this state; amongst all her felt injustices, she'd never once asked about how you felt about Felix fucking India, your well established not-girlfriend. Because somehow she knew, perhaps even that you gave your blessing. You'd never been a cruel person as long as you could help it, but you'd made peace with your priorities too long ago to start apologising for them now. So yes, you'd taken Annabel in for the night, but she knew in her heart that you were partially at fault for her despair in the first place. You both knew.

Enabling Felix was never really about making anyone else happy.

"I know."

Something about your admission seems to be enough for Annabel, however. When you lay back down beside her, she curls up against you, tucks herself all along your side, arm around you, head on your chest.

The next morning, Annabel moves silently around your dorm. When you wake up, all that's even left of her presence is the empty cup of water on your bedside. No kind of note, no text, she'd made sure she didn't even wake you before leaving.

Fucking Christ, what a bloody week did yesterday feel like, is all you can think as the mid-morning sun slashes through your barely parted curtains and paints your chest with light.

You consider sleeping in, consider that you'd definitely earned it after yesterday, but then your phone starts ringing. It's Felix. He sounds grim.

"Hey, can you get over here? We need you."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #felix catton x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #felix catton x you #felix catton x you x oliver quick #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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bloodyjohan · 1 month ago

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Welcome to Johan Week 2025!

August 17th to August 23rd, 2025

You might be wondering 'what is Johan Week'? It's a week celebrating my original character not only in his ACOTAR iteration, but in so many other universes that I have plugged him in. There is only one moderator for this week, and one expected participant �� both of them are me, @highlordofkrypton!

Anyone is welcome to participate. There are prompts below, just make sure to tag @bloodyjohan so I can reblog it here and use the tag #johan week 2025 and #nyx johannes archeron (even though he isn't always Nyx, that's just where all his content is now!). It's meant to be silly, self-indulgent and all around fun.

You can also submit to my AO3 Collection!

You'll find more information below!

ART CREDITS

Icon — @kererek

Header — @copypastus @geniemillies @kererek @lucychanart @darero-art @kivizzaofficial @highlordofkrypton

Before being introduced as Nyx in cosmogeny, Johan has existed for decades both in my mind and in different AUs either in WIPs or RPs. This event will cover the multiverse of Johan, and different iterations which is why the prompts are so large!

DAY 1: JOHAN'S YOUTH

Johan's childhood is more or less the same in all universes with slight differences that make his life better or worse. In the ACOTAR universe, he was raised by absent parents. In the PACRIM universe, he was adopted by two loving fathers. In the WITCHER universe, he was taken and remade by the Viper School. Despite these differences, Johan's demons and afflictions follow him everywhere.

DAY 2: JOHAN AUs & HEADCANONS

Let's put this guy in situations. You know those moments where you have scenarios, or universes that you haven't quite fleshed out yet? (Hello, Teacher!Johan x Student!Tamlin AU~) What about the headcanons that are weaved into the story, but you just wanna put it in black and white on the page? I've got a ton of those!

I'm also inviting anyone who wants to participate in the week to send me an assumption about Johan and I will confirm/deny it!

DAY 3: JOHAN ART, MEMES & CHARACTER SHEETS

The tricky thing about OCs is that you need to make or commission the art you want to see of your character! I've got a bunch of work done for him, and I want to keep them all in the same place: this blog! (I'm might even try to have more done as a treat for me to me.) The same goes for silly character sheets I've filled out... and I'm might drop some new ones of my own making for you guys to fill out. Don't even get me started on memes...

DAY 4: JOHAN X READER

This is a gift from me to everyone who enjoys Johan! It will probably take me months to write the one Johan x Reader, and will be the treat of the day for you all. A little palate cleanser and break between all the content.

DAY 5: YOU OR YOUR CHARACTERS MEET JOHAN

ORIGINAL CHARACTER HAVERS, RISE UP! There's quite a few people who have OCs who know Johan, so I think it would be fun to have a day to focus on those interactions. They can be headcanons, discussions, or even building up situations with him. Please remember, Johan is a grumpy and extremely jealous guy. He will bite and take a chunk off...

DAY 6: JOHAN REQUESTS

A few months before the event, I will make a post encouraging everyone to send requests of what they would like to see in terms of Johan content. You can send asks at any time, but I'll do my best to keep full-length writing (or my really ugly doodles) for this day! Maybe I'll respond sooner as teasers for the week, hihi 🤭

DAY 7: FREE DAY

I don't know what happens here. Tears of joy? Gratitude for anyone who participates or hangs around for this nonsense? Finishing up fics that I wasn't able to? It'll be a surprise to me and you!

Don't see the answer to your question? Send me an ask!

CAN ANYONE PARTICIPATE IN JOHAN WEEK?

Yes! I primarily made Johan Week to be self-indulgent and give myself an excuse to share all the content I have about my blorbo. There are a lot of people who love him, so anyone is welcome to participate as long as the content is made with love and in good faith. It's a daunting feeling to let people play with your OC!

WHAT ARE THE RULES FOR JOHAN WEEK?

The same rules apply as any other appreciation week: respect others, no hate, "don't like, don't read", tag your content appropriately, etc. I will also add: I'd prefer it if (romantic/sexual) shipping was centered around Johan's existing ships (i.e. Tamlin, Eskel, OCs I've already discussed with, etc.) unless otherwise specified.

HOW DO I SUBMIT SOMETHING TO JOHAN WEEK?

Just tag this account @bloodyjohan and use #johan week 2025 and #nyx johannes archeron. You can also submit fanfiction to my AO3 Collection.

WHAT KIND OF CONTENT CAN I SUBMIT TO JOHAN WEEK?

Anything! I will probably be posting written content with some very ugly doodles, but anything is welcome. I'm just happy people are interested in playing with Johan! I will say: I don't want anyone spending money on Johan and commissions will be frowned upon 🫵 Only I should spend on my blorbo!! GIVE ME THINGS MADE WITH YOUR OWN TWO HANDS!!!

For any other questions, feel free to send me an ask!

#johan week 2025 #nyx johannes archeron #prompts #guidelines #faq #announcements

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tswaney17 · 2 years ago

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Shadow Puppets

For the amazing @leiaamidala!! I'm your Secret Santa this year, and I hope you love cheesy, Elriel fluff! Thank you for being such an amazing person and a wonderful friend. I wish you a year full of happiness and cheer (and confirmation 😘)!! ❄🎄

This fic is based on the artwork linked here.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: minor language. Mostly tooth-rotting fluff

Word Count: 1,136

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read here.

Azriel shadow-walked them to the front door of their home from the River Manor. Typically, he preferred to fly. But with Elain two months from giving birth to the twins, and their adopted Illyrian son, flying became too much of a challenge to do so safely. Especially since Kaden was still learning how to properly fly, having not been taught before he was left at the orphanage, nor during his time spent there.

It was something Azriel could relate to more so than anyone else. That fear of flying becomes ingrained into your mind without realizing it until you’re standing on the edge of a cliff with a looming drop before you.

Kaden had tremendously improved since they began their flying lessons, but he still struggled to maintain himself if caught in a wind draft and Azriel preferred not to have his pregnant wife in his arms should he need to save his son.

So, when it was the three of them—soon to be five, gods spare him—he preferred the easier method of transportation. He still couldn’t believe they were going to be a family of five soon. He didn’t know what he did to be blessed with such a beautiful wife and the most perfect children. Lord knows he had done atrocities for the sake of his court. But somehow, through all the darkness surrounding him, Elain saw the light he never knew was shining inside of him.

A soul to match hers.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved these fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist:

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

@the-regal-warrior

@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

@eloeloeheheh

@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

@elainsweetcobalt

@emilyondemand

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

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choccy-zefirka · 6 months ago

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Fic Author Self-Rec!!

Thank you @volkoss for tagging me! :D

The rule was to hype up five of your fics, and I am happy to oblige! LOOK AT IT

Mister Monster — Skyrim, Gen, Rated Teen and Up (mostly for some self-destructive thoughts among minors brought about by child abuse and general shitty living conditions), 1500 words

An old-ish Skyrim fic that I polished and reuploaded, describing how my vampire character uses his powers to rescue kids and thus becomes an urban legend: a monster that you have to summon/invite in if you want help. Can be read if you have minimal knowledge of Skyrim, if you don't mind the occasional name drops for fantasy races. I really like its narration style, a sort of campfire story passed on by the older kids; and for a gen fic, it did pretty well too!

Doomscrolling — Mass Effect, Shakarian (pre-relationship), Rated Teen and Up, 3,380 words

Basically, Garrus is sitting around on Omega all sad because he thinks Shepard is dead, and thinks back to some bonding moments they had.

This was my first time trying to write something for the trilogy, let alone for such a popular character/ship: I'd previously written a couple of Andromeda drabbles, as I played that game before MELE, but did not even attempt to step into ME fandom spaces, because of the game's reception. Plus, I kept hearing from friends who were in the trilogy fandom that Garrus/Shakarian fans had a reputation for being obnoxious bullies, and when I took a shine to Garrus, I immediately felt a surge of immense guilt. Those were the feelings I had to battle through while writing this story; I did, however, persevere, and am proud of the result! It also helped me discover friendly, welcoming communities of Garrus fans, full of amazing people whom I'm proud to share a blorbo with! And lastly, I peppered in a bunch of pop culture references that may seem corny but made me smile.

Passing of the Years — Dragon Age: Inquisition, Inquisitor Lavellan/Gereon Alexius (not the main focus), Rated Teen and Up, 2,090 words

A character study of Elgara Lavellan, a city elf mage who was taken from her loving community to the Circle and, after growing up there, had to be made Tranquil because she freed the demon that had been trapped in the Fade to test apprentices at Harrowings. It explores her perception of the world as she lost her emotions and then regained them thanks to the Mark, and challenges her fear that she might be too old to explore her sexuality (she was a virgin at the time of her failed Harrowing, and still remained one 20 years later). I like the repeated motifs I use in narration: the colors of a sunset, the sight and sound of cute fat little birds on a branch, the taste of berry porridge. The simple everyday things that Elgara reacts to differently depending on where she is in life. My friends, who read the fic out loud as it had been chosen for our Discord server's fic reading calls, were also deeply moved by my writing, which means a lot to me.

Hjördis Laidir's Guide to Being Fearless — Dragon Age: the Veilguard, Emmrook (at the very end if you squint), Rated Teen and Up, 925 words

Another character study, describing the thought process of Hjördis, a young Lord of Fortune who projects a daring pirate persona in order to mask the fact that she's terrified of a lot of things. She tries to act impulsive before her anxious brain catches up to her, which eventually leads to her flirting with Emmrich in order to silence her fear of necromancy (given that she was a street urchin adopted in Kirkwall by Hawkemeribela, and her only other point of reference for necromancers is Quentin). This one is maybe not of a particular interest to my fellow fans, as with both BG3 and Veilguard, I have noticed a shift to blank-slate protagonists or reader inserts (which are very tricky to write for me, and I applaud anyone who does!). But I personally like being in Hjördis' head, she's such a mess masquerading as a storybook adventurer. The Flynn Ryder to Emmrich's Rapunzel, if you will.

A Trifle — Dragon Age: Inquisition, Gen, Rated General Audiences, 1,376 words

A little scene where Alexius, now assigned by the Inquisitor to work for Fiona, befriends a bunch of mage kids and begrudgingly slips back into his half-forgotten teacher persona. Also there's a cute cat.

I usually write about Alexius' redemption arc in the context of his Enemies to Lovers romance with the a specific Inquisitor, so it was fun to create a general hc/scenario that might fit anywhere, including in my friends' worldstates (should they share my Alexius woobification vision). It's a bit adjacent to blank slate protagonist fics, so a fun challenge for my OC-pilled brain :D

Thanks to everyone who reads this post (and gentle forehead kissies if you decide to follow the links).

I tag @druckkugelschreiber , @whiskynorocks , @bearlytolerant , @sky-scribbles and @lazyadmiral

#dragon age #mass effect #skyrim #fanfiction #fic self-rec #tag meme

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firebug-mother-nicknamed-me-this · 1 year ago

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✨️Welcome to my Grian HeadCannon rant✨️

Hi, so I'm writing this on my phone while watching Hermitcraft. Lol. These are thoughts that have been bouncing around my head for a while.

-Grian's wings-

I think they shapshift. Think about it. We, the audience and the artists, are constantly making different variations of Grian. Either through the art itself or through headcannons. "Cannon" wise, we are the Watchers, and We gave Grian his wings.

There's Parrot Grian, which is pretty much default Grian at this point. Then there's white winged Grian, which could either be a dove or a chicken. Theres the desert birb Grian because of Life series Desert-Duo. There's the recent King Fisher Grian because of his fishing addiction this season. Then there's his Watcher form, which usually ends up being biblical accurate angel. Which I think the multiple wings are the different kinds of bird avian hybrid We make Grian into. (This will probably be the only "original" thought that's been going through my head. The rest of this is me compiling HCs I've heard/seen/watched and have been brimming full to talk and analyze, tho the analyzing will probably be a different post lol)

-Grian's Family-

There's a lot of HCs when it comes to family connects to Grian. There's YHS background that left him as an abandoned kid in Japan. Nadia225 gave Grian adopted Mafia parents, which is really cool, and you should watch their videos because they're really talented. And they gave Grian Bio-parents where one is a Water and the other is a Listener. And they're royalty. There's HCs of him being adopted by Philza (which honestly makes no sense to me because I think Grian is older than Philza. Character wise too.) And then He gets adopted by Xisuma. So parental figure-wise, there are a few to choose from.

Sibling wise... that's even bigger. There's the classic Jimmy and Pearl. There was one of Scar and Pearl being sibs to Grian. (The sibling dance animation that I can't remember the youtubers name to credit) There's Etho, through choice, with Nadia225 (or that's how I've interpreted their interactions lol). And then there's Martyn who gets thrown in, too. (But this just might be me.) Back to parent Philza, Grian gains Wilbur, Techno, Tommy, and occasionally Tubbo as younger brothers. I guess We see Grian as a big Family dude. (^○^)

Extended family tho... I have yet to see anything about aunts and uncles, not even grandparents, and my brain isn't coming up with anything.

Parent Grian always ends up adopting Tommy, but I think I've seen at least 2 fanfics where it was Tubbo instead.

-Watcher Relationships-

It's so weird. Like. Do We have a Feral Sibling relationship with Grian. Or are We mortal enemies. Is he traumatized by Us, or has he fully accepted being a Watcher. Like, I love the angst fics as much as the next Watcher, BUT PLEASE, I NEED MORE POSITIVE INTERACTIONS BETWEEN US, would love any fic recs anyone has, lol.

-Martyns cannon-

I still need to actually research this one, but at the end of Evo (Grian pov) it is /heavily/ implied that Grian joins the Watchers, seemingly by choice. Then I moved on to hermitcraft 6-9 and binge watched that. So if there's any Martyn Cannon that can be added on plus his "headcannons" feel free to do so!

Other Hermit HCs on the way. :]

#grian #Hermitcraft #hermitcraft headcanons #my 2 cents

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elvisabutler · 2 years ago

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we'll kiss just as before

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 1839 warnings: rutting against beds. dry humping so to speak. coming on thighs. breastfeeding kink. light sub elvis. light mommy kink. light dom reader. elvis is a selkie. bit of fingering kind of. use of the words mama. tiny bit of aftercare. brief mention of a rough pregnancy. author’s note: welcome to day 13 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, breastfeeding kink with selkie elvis presley x reader. fun time for context author's note. this takes place in an alternate 1978 where elvis is living his life with his wife, lisa and his now two sons. truth be told anything i write for this series of fics probably will always live in this au ending to elvis's life. probably dying maybe in the 90s/00s. in case anyone ever wants to request more from them even if it's fluff. i was supposed to write a piece before this that explains jesse's origins but time's gotten away from me lately so consider this me doing my normal shenanigan of writing out of order. also if you have no idea what this series/verse is, the masterlist is right here. beyond that long winded author’s note, special thanks to @stylespresleyhearted, @ab4eva and @prompted-wordsmith for being seal!!! at me always. also once again, i really do love how y'all liked this and received it and live to see your thoughts on my writing. and yes i did post these within an hour-ish of each other. because this has been finished for a while. also. divider by @/cafekitsune over here on tumblr.

In the time you've known Elvis— in that small window of his life— you've known him to be an insatiable sort of man. Not gluttonous, though he can err that way, but a man who allows himself to live life with an intensity that makes you proud to call him your husband. On bad nights you wonder what would have happened if your paths had never crossed again because of his skin or if they had never crossed when Anita had broken up with him. Those nights are few and far between though, soothed away with a stepdaughter who you adore, a son you carried in your belly for nine excruciatingly long months and a little baby boy adopted by a selkie who took one look at a little baby seal and told you that he was your son— told you it was God's way of providing the two of you with another child without the risk of your health. It's a blessing John was still young enough to be suckling at your breasts when you adopted Jesse. It's a blessing that at the young baby's cries your breasts rose to the occasion, swelling up like they did when John was a newborn, leaking at inopportune times and causing Elvis to laugh in sheer delight that his wife— his perfect seal wife— had so much milk within her breasts that it came out even when no one was there to catch it but him.

No, you've always known that Elvis is an insatiable sort of man, and nights like this remind you of it as you climb into bed, taking in the sight of him naked as the day he was born, glasses perched on his nose as he reads quietly. Your eyes roam over his body, watching his rounded stomach rise and fall, wetness from sweat or perhaps a shower causing the hair on it to stick to him reminding you that despite being a seal he's practically a bear when it comes to the hair on his chest and belly. You feel yourself clenching around nothing the longer you stare and yet you don't speak, don't put into words your thoughts even as Elvis starts to shut his book and glances over at you, eyes zeroing in on your breasts.

"They're still lookin' full," he murmurs, moving to set his book on the nightstand next to him. "He ain't eaten?"

Your hands move to take off his glasses as you shrug, hissing slightly as Elvis moves his hand against the fuller of your two breasts. "No, he's eating, but— not enough tonight. He's full, but so are they."

There's a question in the words you speak, a request for Elvis if he's willing to grant you it, but you hate the mere idea of asking for it. Sure, Elvis has done it for you before but— only when it's started to leak on his chest when you're pressed against him or when it's started to make a mess of the bed. Asking him outright tonight feels wrong and you feel a hint of embarrassment despite everything go through you. As if Elvis can sense it, his hand that isn't on your breast moves to cup your chin. "Darlin'. They ache, don't they?"

The answering nod you give him is slow and controlled before you exhale quietly. "They're gonna be hard as rocks before he wakes up again."

"You need more out of 'em, don't ya? Make it so it doesn't hurt so much in all that time." He says it as a question but you and him both know it's more of a statement than anything else. "I ain't gonna mind."

If you ask him to do it. You know that's what he's telling you and yet you can't help the way you bite at your lip and watch as his thumb brushes over your exposed nipple, a bit of milk dribbling out as he does. Without missing a beat he puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks it, his tongue swirling around the digit as he stares you down, blue eyes somehow containing every bit of the depths of the ocean in them. He's your husband, this is— this is what your insatiable husband is willing to do for you and you've been looking the gift horse in the mouth. After a moment, one of your hands moves to cup the underside of the breast his hand had been on as you speak.

"Can you please? Mama's— Mama's got all this milk and I can't— I can't sleep with them aching like this."

It's as if you've granted the man salvation when he looks at you through eyelashes that have charmed so many women. He hadn't planned sucking on your breasts tonight, truthfully but it was always a gift when he could. You've taken care of him since that fluke meeting when you didn't even know who he was. When you thought he was just a seal that gotten a handkerchief tied around him. With this act of allowing him to drink from your breasts he could take care of you and indulge in something that helped him sleep better than any pill ever had. You could take care of him just by letting him have the simple pleasure of sucking at your breasts. It's different than when he does it when you're not nursing, but even so there's an element that's the same. There's that element that has you squirming and clenching your thighs as he drinks milk that he shouldn't want.

He places his hand over yours, the warmth of it inadvertently making you shiver and causing your nipple to harden and you hear the shaky breath he takes as he just stares at it. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he shifts in the bed and places your nipple in his mouth.

"El— Elvis," you stammer out his name as his tongue runs across your nipple, teasing and only gathering the faintest of drops before he forms that little bit of suction with his lips. His suckling is gentle, knowing that he barely needs to pull for his little treat. Your relief is almost immediate though, your shoulders relaxing as you lean back against the pillows, hearing the soft sounds of his sucking and the sound of him swallowing every so often.

Sometimes you watch him when he sucks at you, cradling his head like a child. Those nights are the nights this action is purely for comfort and for the intimacy of being with one another without any of the children. Those nights are special and remind you that it's a bit of a fluke that you're a part of his life. They remind him how you're the perfect seal wife and how you came into his life at just the right time. The first time you met hadn't been perfect, hadn't been right, but the second time, this time was.

Nights like this though? Nights like this you find yourself with your head leaning back against the pillows, soft pants leaving your lips as your fingers thread through his hair and pull every so often. You've been aching in more than one way for Elvis and it shows in how after just a minute your thighs are clenched as you try and shift, only to be stopped by his chest and torso pinning you down with his bulk. You open your mouth to speak, to tell Elvis to pull away from the breast he's suckling on only to realize he's rutting against the bed. You hadn't known he needed this too. You hadn't known that you both had been craving this way of being together for what feels like forever even though it had only been a week.

A groan or a growl rumbles deep within Elvis's chest and you mirror it with a gasp as starts to suck harder, adding enough pressure that you can feel the throbbing in between your legs. Touching you would be ideal, feeling the calloused tips of his fingers against your clit would be ideal. Anything but a lack of touch would be ideal and yet you feel your arousal starting to ruin the panties you wear to bed. Words dance on your lips even as you tighten your grip on Elvis's hair, pulling him off your nipple with a small pop noise. Looking up at you with dilated pupils he uses his strength to pull his head back down to attack your other nipple. A whine leaves your lips unbidden as a fresh wave of desire courses through you and has you clenching around nothing and thrusting against his torso. Yet he doesn't stop, his lips still stay around your nipple, filling his mouth with your milk even as you look down and see some spilling from the sides of his mouth.

The look he wears is ravenous and you find yourself starting to thrust and move your hips to get any sort of friction. A whimper leaves your lips. "Please."

The sensation of Elvis's lips curling around your nipple into a smirk should have you pulling him off once again and yet you find that you just thrust once more. All that matters is chasing the high Elvis has started to bring you and somehow as your hand yanks at his hair again he finally takes pity on you. He doesn't bother to take off your panties, though, no, he merely takes one more final suck from your breast and shifts to allow himself to pin you down. The air feels as if it's been sucked out of your lungs when his lips meet yours, the sweetness of rogue breastmilk drops falling on your lips. Elvis is rutting against you, not bothering to enter you but the friction is enough, the feel of his bare cock brushing against your clothed vagina has your toes curling. One of your hands moves to his behind and as your release finally comes you grab his ass and squeeze, puling him in closer. His own release follows shortly after, painting your thighs with his cum. Flopping against you he takes deep breaths for a few minutes before finally speaking.

"Didn't— Didn't know ya needed me that bad," he jokes before nuzzling at you. "Didn't know ya needed that so bad."

Your words come out a little slurred as you feel your body starting to drift off to sleep. "Neither did I. Just— We needed that." Your tone, despite the slurred words leaves no room for argument. "Clean then sleep?"

Clean both of you off, then come to bed is what you mean but you know your little seal can translate from the way he moves to get off of you. He walks slowly to the bathroom and in the doorway of that room he looks back at you. You've already fallen asleep and it warms something inside of him to see you finally allowing yourself to relax.

"That's it, darlin', get you some rest."

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust, @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08. if you weren't tagged it's not a slight. it's literally me copy and pasting from old tag lists.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley smut #austin elvis x reader #austin elvis smut #austin elvis x you #ally's wet hot smut summer #ally writes #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #i'm missing tags and i know i am.#big daddy elvis #selkie!elvis

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cammithings1 · 2 months ago

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Teen wolf fan fic

CHAPTER 1

Y'all, this is the first time I've ever posted my writing, soooooo. Let me just tell you I SUCK at descriptions, but just to give you the jest of it. This is a Stiles x OC, and I'm not too sure how accurate it is to the show because I couldn’t find the original script. Anyway this is chapter 1, I hope you guys enjoy.

Everything started to change on my sixteenth birthday. It wasn’t anything big—just a small party with my family, friends and cake. At the time, I had no idea how much that day would mark the beginning of something different between us all.

I was adopted by the Mitchells—Dominic and Alice. To me, they’re simply Mom and Dad. My dad is a doctor, and my mom is a lawyer. But more than their jobs, they are the kindest people I know. From the moment they brought me into their lives, they made sure I knew I was loved. See, Alice couldn’t have children, and though I know that must have been hard for her, it never changed the love between her and Dominic. He always told her it didn’t matter, that she was enough, but still, they both wanted a child—a little soul to cherish and call their own.

I was five when they found me. I still remember the day I gathered enough courage to ask why they picked me. Even back then, I understood that most people came looking for babies or teenagers. It was rare for someone to want a kid my age—one who was full of questions and still cried sometimes. But when I asked, they just smiled and told me, It was your eyes.

“It was your eyes,” my mom said. “We’d never seen anything like them—so clear, so pure, so blue.”

She told me that the first time I looked up at them, they couldn’t understand how anyone could leave those eyes—my eyes—without a home or a family.

I love my parents for so many reasons, but most of all because they’ve always made me feel like I belonged. No matter what I wanted to do, big or small, they were always there, supporting me. And on my sixteenth birthday, surrounded by their love, I felt like the luckiest person in the world.

Then there’s Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski—well, my best friend Scott McCall and my impossible, hopeless crush, Stiles Stilinski.

I’ve known them since first grade, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. The three of us always seemed to get into trouble—usually because of one of Stiles’ ridiculous ideas. Sheriff Stilinski started calling us the “Three Showmen” after we got stuck in his patrol car trying to reenact a scene from a movie. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember what movie it was.

Looking back, I’m not sure why I went along with half the things we did. But with them, it never really mattered. They made everything feel like an adventure.

I still remember the day we all met. It feels like it was just yesterday.

"Everyone—quiet down now," the teacher said softly, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but my heart was still racing. "This is Magnara. Magnara Mitchell. She’s new, so I want all of you to be nice and make her feel welcome."

I swallowed hard and looked around the room, my cheeks burning. So many eyes were on me, curious and expectant. I wanted to shrink away, but then I noticed one boy in particular. He had messy brown hair, scabbed knees, and a wide, toothy grin. He was whispering to the boy next to him—Scott, though I didn’t know his name yet. They looked like they were planning something.

Before I could take another step, the boy shot his hand into the air.

"We’ll be her friends!" he announced, jumping up before the teacher even called on him. Without hesitation, he grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him over to me.

"I’m Stiles," he said, giving a dramatic bow like he was in some kind of royal court. "And this is Scott. We’re your new best friends now. You’re welcome."

I blinked in surprise, then, to my own shock, I laughed. No one had ever introduced themselves to me like that before—so bold and certain, as if we had already been friends forever.

From the moment I met Stiles, he became the most important person in my world. At first, it was just admiration—how he could brighten any room with his energy, how he always had the perfect joke to ease a tense moment, or how he could talk his way into—or out of—just about anything. But over time, I realized it was more than that.

It was the way he never let me sit alone at lunch, always making sure I felt included. The way he remembered little things about me—like how I hated tomatoes or how much I loved being outside.

And then there were the moments that were just ours. Like the time I ruined my science fair project, and he stayed up all night helping me fix it so I wouldn’t have to show up empty-handed. Or the time before finals when I had a panic attack, and he calmed me down, joking that he’d pass the test on charm alone while I was “too smart to fail.”

Somewhere along the way, that wild, impulsive boy with scraped-up knees and an endless supply of sarcasm became more than just my best friend. He became my crush—the one person I couldn’t stop thinking about, the one who could make my heart race with a single glance.

But having a crush on Stiles Stilinski? It’s not easy. He’s completely, hopelessly oblivious. And with his heart set on Lydia Martin, most of the time, it felt like I didn’t even exist.

I adore him—his kindness, his humor, the way he makes even the worst days feel a little lighter. But he never saw me the way I saw him. And somehow, I’ve had to learn to be okay with that.

I’ve thought about telling him—dropping hints, trying to see how he might react. But Stiles is… well, Stiles. The moment he realizes I have feelings for him, everything will change. Our inside jokes, our late-night talks, the way he always brings me curly fries because he knows they’re my favorite—it could all feel different. And I can’t risk that.

So, I keep it to myself. I laugh at his terrible jokes, help him come up with his latest overly complicated plan, and listen when he talks about Lydia, even when it makes my heart ache. It’s easier this way. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

But sometimes, when I’m lying in bed at night, I wonder—could there be more between us? If he saw me, really saw me, if he knew how I felt… would it even matter? Or would it only make things more complicated?

I don’t know the answer, but for now, I’m happy just being his friend. Even if it hurts a little, I’d rather have Stiles in my life as my goofy, oblivious best friend than risk losing him altogether.

Still, deep down, there’s a small part of me that holds onto hope. A tiny whisper that wonders… What if?

<-->

I guess I wasn’t being entirely honest. My birthday wasn’t when things started to change—but the day after? That was a different story.

This morning, I woke up like usual, stretched, and stayed on my bed with my phone for exactly 36 minutes before looking up to see what I thought would be a summer assignment I have yet to finish on my desk. I did see it, but over top the papers, was an old book.

Sitting there, right in the middle, was a thick, old black leather book. It had a worn cover glittered with purple crystals that looked like they were barely holding on, bent rusted metal corners, and metal latch keeping it shut. Pages that looked like they had been around for centuries—yellowed, dry, and crinkled at the edges.

This was definitely old. It didn’t belong to me.

Curious, I sat down on my chair and carefully undid the latch. The pages rustled as I flipped through them, revealing strange symbols and scribbles. My excitement quickly faded into confusion. I had no idea what I was looking at. The writing seemed like a mix of Greek and Latin, or something else entirely—something unfamiliar. What is this?

I turned the pages faster, hoping for something—anything—I could understand. But the more I looked, the stranger it all became.

Feeling unsettled, I decided to ask my mom about it.

“Hey, Mom?” I called out as I walked down stairs into the kitchen. I hesitated for a second before sitting down at the island, the book still in hand, I don't want to let it go. “Do you know what this is?”

She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows knitting together. Turning off the stove, she faced me fully.

“No…? Where did you even get that?”

Her confusion only made my stomach twist more. Because the truth was, I had no idea.

“I don’t know. It was just on my desk when I woke up. I thought maybe you or Dad put it in my room.”

She took the book from my hands, turning it over carefully. “We didn’t get you anything like this,” she said, flipping through the pages. Her eyes paused on a few strange symbols, and she frowned before shaking her head. “This doesn’t look like anything we’d buy. It’s... weird.”

She moved toward the trash can, and my heart jumped.

“Wait, don’t throw it away!” I blurted, stepping forward and grabbing the book from her hands. My fingers pressed against its rough, worn cover as I held it close. “I know it looks old and kinda... weird, but there’s something about it. I think it’s interesting.”

She sighed but didn’t argue. “Well, if you really want to keep it, fine. But you have school tomorrow, so make sure you’re ready.” She turned back to the stove, giving me a small smile.

“Okay!” I said quickly, hugging the book to my chest as I hurried upstairs. A strange excitement bubbled up inside me. Something about this book felt different. Special.

Tomorrow was the first day of sophomore year.

←→

Today has been quiet—almost too quiet. After making sure everything was set for tomorrow, I spent hours poring over that strange book, hoping to find something, anything. But in the end, I came up empty-handed.

I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised. A book that practically appeared out of nowhere isn't exactly going to have a Wikipedia page. Still, I can't help but feel a little disappointed.

Now, I’m curled up in bed, dressed in my softest pajamas—a light pink, flowy tank top with spaghetti straps and matching ruffled shorts. I have a different book in my hands, something familiar, something comforting. I needed the distraction. But just as my eyelids grow heavy, just as I start slipping into sleep—

Tap, tap, tap.

I freeze. My heart jumps. For a moment, every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashes through my mind. But then—

Tap, tap. Softer this time, almost hesitant.

Slowly, I slide off my bed, my socks barely making a sound against the floor. With a careful hand, I pull back the curtains—and there he is.

Stiles.

His buzz-cut hair is barely visible in the dim light, but his grin is unmistakable—wide, playful, and entirely too pleased with itself. His breath fogs up in the chilly night air, and for some reason, that small detail makes me smile, too.

I push open the window, the cold air brushing against my skin as I lean out slightly.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" I whisper, keeping my voice low. Then, glancing over my shoulder, I adjust my glasses and look at the glowing clock on my desk.

"It’s almost midnight!"

“Exactly why I’m here,” Stiles says, his voice light and teasing. “You’ve been hiding in that room for days. Thought I’d rescue you.”

I push my glasses up, raising an eyebrow. “From what? Sleep?” I pause, suddenly suspicious. “And what do you mean ‘days’? You were literally at my house yesterday.”

Stiles chuckles, shifting his weight with that familiar smirk—the one that always means trouble. He nods toward the street where his Jeep is parked, headlights barely glowing. Scott stands next to it, arms crossed, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks… not exactly mad, but definitely not thrilled to be here either.

“From boredom,” Stiles says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Grab a jacket and let’s go.”

I blink at him, unsure if he’s serious. “It’s freezing, I’m in my pajamas, and it’s a school night.” My voice is quiet—I don’t want to wake my parents. “Besides, if I go with you, what exactly are we doing?”

Stiles doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves fast, ducking under my window and pulling himself inside like he’s done it a hundred times before. Because he has. But we don’t need to talk about that.

I take a step back, my heart picking up speed as he crosses the room like he belongs here. Then, without a word, he grabs my sneakers from the corner and holds them out to me, like this is already decided.

“What are you—?”

“Sit,” he says, cutting me off. Gently, he nudges me to the edge of the bed and kneels in front of me, slipping my shoes on with quick, precise movements—like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind if he hesitates.

“Stiles, I didn’t say—”

“Shhh,” he interrupts, tying the last knot. Then, without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, pulling it snug around me. His hands rest there for a brief moment, warm and reassuring, before he takes my hand and tugs me toward the window.

“Stiles,” I whisper sharply, digging my heels into the floor. “Are you kidnapping me?”

“Would it really be kidnapping if you secretly wanted to go?” he teases, flashing that mischievous grin.

Before I can answer, he’s already climbing out the window, landing softly on the grass below. He turns back, arms outstretched, waiting for me.

“You want me to jump!?” I say, my voice rising slightly in alarm.

“Come on,” he urges, quieter this time but just as insistent. “Trust me, Mags.

I hesitate, glancing at my closed bedroom door, then at the soft glow of his Jeep’s headlights in the driveway. Scott is standing by the car, watching us like this is just another normal night with Stiles.

With a quiet sigh, I step onto the windowsill. “If I get grounded, this is your fault,” I mutter.

“Noted,” he says, grinning as he catches me effortlessly and steadies me on the ground.

“Now, let’s go have some fun.”

Stiles grabs my hand as we hurry toward the Jeep, his excitement pulling me along. I struggle to keep up, my heart pounding. “You didn’t answer my question,” I say, half-running beside him. “What are we doing?”

He swings open the passenger door and gently helps me in, his eyes shining with something that makes me nervous. “You’ll see,” he says as he jumps into the driver’s seat. “But I guarantee you, it’ll be worth it.”

Scott climbs into the back with a tired sigh. “We’re looking for half a dead body,” he says flatly.

I freeze. “WHAT?” I whip my head toward Stiles, my pulse spiking.

Stiles shoots Scott a sharp glare through the rearview mirror, muttering something under his breath before gripping the wheel a little tighter. "Thanks for that, Scott. Way to kill the suspense," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

I can’t wrap my head around what I just heard. “Did you say… half a dead body? Like, an actual dead person? Or is this one of your weird metaphors?”

“It’s literal,” Scott says, leaning forward between the seats. “I’m not thrilled about it either.”

“Then why are we doing this?!” I ask, looking back at Stiles. He’s still grinning, like this is some kind of grand adventure.

“It’s the last day of summer,” he says, eyes on the road. “Why not go out with a bang?”

I press myself against the seat, gripping the door handle. What have I just gotten myself into?

←→

Scott kept his eyes on the ground, careful not to trip. “Are we seriously doing this?” he asked.

Ahead of us, Stiles led the way with a flashlight. “You’re always bitchin’ that nothing ever happens in this town,” he reminded Scott.

I stayed close behind them, my arms wrapped around myself for warmth. “Well, looking for half a body isn’t exactly my idea of exciting,” I murmured, my voice quiet. I didn’t want to draw attention to us—or to whatever else might be out there.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at me with a smirk. “Mags, I knew that if I told you why we were coming out here, you wouldn’t want to come. You’d chicken out.”

I swallowed, shifting on my feet. “Well, can you blame me? It’s cold, it’s late, and it’s supposed to rain,” I said, my voice trembling just a little. Something about all of this felt… wrong. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it out loud, it’s like someone was looking at us.

Stiles barely seemed to notice my nerves. “I gave you my jacket so you can be warm,” he said, turning his gaze forward again.

I let out a small huff, tugging the oversized sleeves over my hands. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s working real wonders for a girl wearing short-shorts,” I said, my voice dry but soft.

Stiles chuckled, reaching out to help me over a rock. “Mags, you’re barely five feet. My jacket might as well be a dress on you.”

I took his hand, stepping carefully. “Still doesn’t help my legs,” I mumbled, but I didn’t complain further. Stiles was trying to look out for me in his own way, even if this whole situation made my stomach twist with unease.

I sighed softly as we walked, the silence stretching between us. The woods felt too still, too quiet, and that strange feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. I tried not to think about it, but before I could, Scott let out an annoyed sigh.

“I was trying to get a good night’s sleep for practice tomorrow,” he said.

Stiles scoffed. “Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “No, because I’m playing this year. In fact, I’m going to make first line.”

“That’s the spirit. Everyone should have a dream. Even a pathetically unrealistic one.” Stiles said, he kept walking, leading the way, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I glanced back at Scott, feeling bad for him. “Sti, be nice to Scotty,” I said gently. “It’s good for him to have ambition and drive.”

Stiles stopped and turned to me, a teasing grin on his face. “Why are you saying that like I don’t have ambition or drive?”

“I never said you didn’t.”

“That’s because I do,” he said, nodding as if he were proving a point. Then he turned back around. “I have ambition and drive, thank you very much.”

I held back a small frown. Lydia Martin isn’t an ambition or a drive, just a fantasy. No… that wasn’t fair. That was just… jealousy.

Scott glanced around. “Just out of curiosity,” he said, “which half of the body are we looking for?”

“I was wondering that too.” I hesitated, raising my hand slightly.

“Huh.” He kicked a small rock out of his way, not bothering to look at us. “I didn’t even think about that.”

As we walked deeper into the woods, the ground grew uneven, forcing us to step carefully. Twigs snapped beneath our feet, and the air felt heavier the farther we went. A nervous chill crept over me.

“What if whoever killed the girl is still out here?” Scott asked, his voice quieter now.

Stiles, walking ahead of us, responded without turning around. “Also something I didn’t think about.” His usual sarcastic tone was there, but I could hear a hint of unease beneath it.

Scott sighed. “Comforting to know you’ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail.”

I stopped mid-step and looked at them both. “So, we’re looking for half a body, and there’s a chance we might end up like it?” My voice wavered, and I hated that it did.

“Pretty much,” Stiles said, completely unfazed. He climbed up a small hill and then turned, reaching out his hand to help me up.

I took it, pulling his jacket tighter around me as a shiver ran through me. “This is officially the worst idea you’ve ever had,” I muttered.

Stiles just rolled his eyes, flashing me that familiar playful grin before jogging ahead with sudden determination. I hesitated before following, my stomach twisting with nerves.

“Stiles!” I called out, hurrying after him. The tall bushes scratched at my legs, and the dry leaves crunched loudly beneath my feet. I winced at the noise—I wasn’t exactly being quiet.

Behind me, Scott’s heavy breathing caught my attention. I turned just in time to see him slow down, fumbling for his inhaler.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight!” Scott shouted at Stiles, his voice breaking through the quiet night. He sounded frustrated, but Stiles hardly seemed to notice.

At the top of the hill, Stiles suddenly dropped flat onto the ground, waving frantically for us to do the same. “Down! Down!” he whispered.

I quickly obeyed, sinking into the dirt beside him. Scott crashed down next to me, still gasping for breath. We were looking at the police that were patrolling the area for the body.

Before I could say anything, Stiles grabbed my hand and yanked me up again. “Come on!” he urged, already running. His grip was tight, and I stumbled trying to keep up.

“Stiles, wait up!” Scott called from behind us.

I glanced back and saw him struggling to climb the hill, his inhaler clutched tightly in his hand.

“Stiles, wait for Scott—” I started, but before I could finish, bright beams of light flashed directly into our faces.

Then came the barking—loud and fierce, cutting through the night like a warning.

“Stay right there!” a man’s voice shouted, making me freeze on the spot.

Stiles grabbed my arm, trying to pull me back, but in his rush, he tripped. He went down hard, and before I could steady myself, I was falling with him. We hit the ground with a heavy thud, pain jolting through my behind as my tailbone was now effectively bruised.

Before I could fully process what just happened, another voice broke through the tension. This one was calm but firm. “Hold on, hold on. These little delinquents belong to me.”

Relief washed over me. Thank god. For a second, I thought we were actually about to get arrested.

Still sitting on the ground, I lifted a weak hand in a small wave. “Hi... Mr. Stilinski,” I said awkwardly.

Stiles scrambled to help me up, and I clumsily got to my feet, brushing myself off. But as soon as I looked up, I saw his dad’s flashlight shining right at him, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Do you listen in on all of my phone calls?” Mr. Stilinski asked. His voice was steady, but the crease in his forehead made me instinctively take a step back.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably, glancing around like he was searching for an escape—or at least something to distract his dad. “No,” he said quickly, a little breathless. Then, after a beat, he added, “Not the boring ones.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh, but Mr. Stilinski didn’t look amused at all. His brow furrowed as he asked, “Where’s the third little showman?” It was obvious he was already tired of dealing with us.

Stiles jumped in quickly. “Who? Scott? Scott’s at home. Said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for the first day back at school.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. “So… it’s just me and Mags.” He hesitated, then swallowed hard. “Just us… alone, in the woods.”

The words lingered awkwardly in the air. I blinked at him, confused, and Mr. Stilinski didn’t look any less baffled.

“Why are you making it sound like we were having sex?”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no—why did I say that?!

Stiles’ face turned bright red. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “What? No! I wasn’t—wait, I mean—” He turned desperately to his dad, but Mr. Stilinski just raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, that’s not what I meant!” Stiles groaned.

Completely ignoring us, Mr. Stilinski called out into the woods, “Scott? You out there?” His voice cut through the quiet night. When no answer came, he sighed and turned back to me.

“Alright, well, you, young lady,” he said, setting his flashlight down and pointing firmly at me, “are going to be escorted home by my son. And you, young man,” he continued, turning a sharp look on Stiles, “you’re coming with me. We’re going to have a little talk about something called Invasion of Privacy.”

Mr. Stilinski didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed Stiles by the ear and started dragging him away. I hurried after them, my shoes crunching against the frozen leaves.

“Come on, Dad,” Stiles complained, pulling himself free as we reached his Jeep. “We didn’t even find anything!” He sounded so disappointed.

“That doesn’t matter!” Mr. Stilinski snapped, pointing a stern finger at him. “You don’t know what’s out there. You both could’ve been hurt—or worse. Take Mags home,” he said, turning to me with a look that made me shrink into my coat. “And don’t think your parents won’t be hearing about this tomorrow.”

“Okay…” I mumbled, keeping my gaze down as I climbed into the passenger seat. The door groaned when I shut it, and a blast of cold air slipped inside.

Stiles slid behind the wheel, muttering to himself as he started the engine. The heater roared, but the cold inside the Jeep still clung to us as we waited for the windows to clear.

He glanced over, hands resting on the steering wheel. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, Sti,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “We just…left Scotty out there by himself. It’s freezing, it’s going to rain, and he doesn’t even have a ride home.” I hesitated, pushing my glasses up my nose as I stared at the dark woods. “And the whole time we were out there, I just… I don’t know. I felt like someone was watching us.”

Stiles went still for a moment, then gave me a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been watching way too many horror movies, Mags.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But as the Jeep rolled onto the empty road, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was still out there, watching from the shadows.

I HOPE YOU HOES ENJOYED ITS😻🤩

I wrote this earlier this year. Right now, I'm finishing up chapter 10, but for these past few months, this has just been a passion project 😭. If you guys want me to post chapter 2, just lemme know, girlie's.

And tell me about some theories if u have any😏

BYE Y'ALL

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #fanfic #scott mccall #lydia martin #ocs #story #writing

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