#prompt sixteen: struggling

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Headlines

Day #16 - Struggling | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Substance Abuse, Addiction, Minor Mention of Pregnancy | POV: Gareth | Pairing: Gareth/Di (OC, Off-Screen), Minor Steddie | Tags: Clawing Your Way Out Of Rock Bottom, Tough Love, But Love

The headlines never stop coming, never relent, and if he dares to step foot out of his house there's a camera shoved in his face. Struggling, apparently, isn't allowed. The fall from grace must always be captured for the masses to gossip about.

His phone rings again, and again, and he lets it. He's not about to answer the phone and listen to anyone that's on the other end. He's heard it all before, and he doesn't have the energy for more of it. Not for Eddie's nagging or Steve's next plan of action. 

He's tried. They've all tried. It's useless.

He's useless.

Now, there's annoying banging on the door. He ignores that, too. 

"Hey, asshole, I know you're in there!" Goodie hollers through the door, and he's sure the next headline will read:

Former Drummer Evicted, Noise Complaints

Goodie can't actually get into the shitty apartment Gareth's been renting, so Gareth just props his feet up on the couch and ignores him. If he wants to yell through the door like an asshole, Gareth will let him. Gareth puts his headphones on, and blocks out the world. 

He's been good at that recently. Has had to be, if he hopes to survive this.

He closes his eyes and leans back.

Goodie lost the right to talk to him when he voted him out. All three of them, turning on him. Steve too, and Di. His own fucking wife. Giving him ultimatums that they all damn well knew he'd never be able to make good on.

Interventions that would never work, that he never wanted to work. He was fine. He was still showing up, drumming, and they thought they deserved more from him than his work. 

He can drum.

He can't stay sober. 

He jumps when the earphones are being plucked off of his head. 

"Jesus Christ, Goodie," Gareth snaps, but it isn't Goodie. At least, not just Goodie. 

It's Eddie, of course it is, who else could have picked the fucking locks? And of course, that means Steve, too, who is already gathering up the mess, shoving it into a trash bag by the handful.

Jeff standing there, holding it open for him.

They all wrote him off, months ago, and now here they are, harassing him further. It's bullshit. They wanted him gone? Great. Then they need to leave him alone, now. 

"Enough," Eddie says, "bender's over."

"Fuck you," Gareth snaps. He'll be done when he's good and ready, and he doesn't see that day coming anytime soon.

"Get up, let's go," Eddie says, and he pulls on Gareth's arms until he's standing, and then he's dragging him to the bathroom, Goodie kicking him on the ass the whole way, shoving him along.

"Stop it!" Gareth snaps, wheeling around on Goodie, only stopping because Eddie's restraining him.

"Goodie," Eddie warns, shutting the bathroom door, locking Goodie out, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Kid," Eddie says, meeting Gareth's eyes in the mirror. 

Gareth hasn't looked in a mirror in, well, a while. It isn't good. His eyes are dark, and purple underneath. This isn't what he should look like, and he knows it.

He's fucked it all up. His job, his band, his friendships, his goddamn marriage. 

His chance to be a dad in anything other than name.

"She had that baby?" Gareth asks, looking down at the floor.

"Not yet," Eddie answers, opening the shower door, "Here, get in."

And Gareth doesn't want to fight with him, so he does. Undresses and showers, and he feels a little better. Still awful. But a degree less, maybe.

"You can still turn this around," Eddie says from outside the shower door, "it's not too late. I'll help you."

It is too late. Di won't take him back. The band won't take him back. It is too late. Has been for a while.

"I can't fix this, I'm too far gone," Gareth mutters back.

"You're fucking not, shut up," Eddie snaps.

His own band kicked him out, replaced him. His wife left him, is having a baby that's he's not sure he'll have any parental rights to, or ability to see, and for good reason. He's a fuck-up. Unreliable. 

"Let me help you. We have all summer off."

Gareth looks at him, "You took the summer off? Why?"

Corroded Coffin never takes the summer off. They go, go, go during the summer. Five shows a week, at a flat run. That's what they're good at. Covering ground, entertaining crowds. 

"Because you're more important. I'm so sorry that we haven't gone about this right."

It's not Eddie's fault. Gareth knows that. Knows he only has himself to blame, even if most of the time he likes to lash out, and pretend otherwise. 

Down deep, he knows.

Down deep, he'd like to crawl out of this hole, but he can't really see daylight.

He's been digging too long.

"I don't think I can," Gareth whispers.

Eddie pulls him to his chest, hugging him tight, and it's been too long, and Gareth hugs back, "That's okay. I know you can."

And Gareth wants that to be true. Wants the trajectory to change. Wants his life back. All of it. Di, Eddie, the band. 

If he's making wishes, he's gonna wish big. 

"What do I do?" Gareth asks, face pressed into Eddie's neck. 

"Want it back," Eddie says, rubbing his back, "Take it back. Work for it."

Gareth lets Eddie hold him, then finally asks, "Have you talked to Di?"

"All the time," Eddie whispers, "she's wants it, too."

And that's when Gareth breaks, "She'll take me back?"

"Yeah, kid, I think she will if you can show her you're serious about turning this shitshow around."

"She's having a baby," Gareth says.

"You both are," Eddie says, "and wouldn't it be nice to be involved in that?"

It would, it really would.

"And Corroded Coffin?"

"Waiting. Always," Eddie says, and Gareth squeezes him, tight. "What do you say, kid? You in?"

Yeah. Gareth's in.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[corrodedcoffinfest]

Prompt #16 - Struggling

They're working their asses off, grinding it out, but they haven't hit the big time yet. Or they're struggling in other ways...

Get those submissions in by 11:59 PM EDT tonight!

Be sure to tag @corrodedcoffinfest and feel free to use the hashtag #corrodedcoffinfest.

This will blog will comment with a 🦇 when your fic has been checked for word count and queued for reblogging.

[rogueddie]

Warmth and Safety T | 808 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

Steve knows he should be in his own hospital room. Not only so other people can visit too, but because of how his head spins as he struggles to walk down the corridor.

The white walls are too clinical, too metalic. They look nothing like the Russians underground lair, but mixed with the sharp stench of bleach and medicine? It's mixing into a cruel cocktail that has his instincts screaming for Robin.

He pushes forward, gritting his teeth and- trying- to ignore the memories trying to haunt him.

"Steve," Eddie greets, when he finally makes it through the door into his room, sounding exhausted. "What the hell, man?"

"I'm fine," Steve lies, hating how breathless he sounds. He sags into the chair next to Eddies bed, grimacing. "Just need a minute... catch my breath. There's, like, so many stairs."

Eddie is silent for a long moment, but Steve can feel his eyes boring into his head.

"What?"

"Wh- you shouldn't be here, man!" Eddie says. He sounds too exhausted for the stern tone to have any effect. "The nurses have told you already. You need to heal. You can't do that if you're dragging yourself around to... I don't know, check on us?"

"I need to make sure you're ok."

"We're in a hospital. We're as ok as we can get."

"I get that, but..."

The clock chimes, the earth rumbling as the town reads apart, Dustin's screams...

"Yeah, I know," Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I understand, alright? But you need to cut this shit out."

"I can't."

"Steve-"

"I need to know that you're alive. I need to know. It's not enough to hear that you're ok, I need to see it. I need to, Eds."

"Jesus Christ," he throws his head back, sighing heavy and dramatically.

But then he lifts his head, smirking a little as he opens an arm out towards him, beckoning him closer.

"Come here, big boy, let me give you a hug."

Steve rolls his eyes, but he does as he told, standing up so he was shuffle to the bed.

"You don't have to say it all creepy, man, you'll give me ideas."

"Promise?" Eddie wiggles his eyebrows. But his playfulness quickly morphs into exasperation again when he huffs out, "just sit down, Steve, come on, come here."

It takes a lot of gesturing and, eventually, slight man handling, but eventually Eddie gets Steve to lay down next to him. He tugs Steve's head down so his ear is resting on his chest and, with some hesitation, he curls an arm around Eddie's waist.

He can feel his heartbeat, thumping against his ear, matching the beeping of the monitor.

"There," Eddie mumbles, brushing his fingers down Steve's spine. "Better, right?"

"... yeah."

His heart is pounding, almost as much as Eddie's is. It's only a little reassuring that Eddie is just as nervous as him- he can only hope it's for the same reason.

"You need to take care of yourself too," Eddie continues. "Who's gonna run around after those brats of you don't heal right? Me? I'm a bad influence, Stevie, you know I'll make 'em worse."

"You'd do great, they love you."

"Noooo," he squeezes Steve a little tighter, whining as high as he can get his voice to go. "Please, I'm begging, I'll go insane if I have to deal with them alone!"

"Now you know how I feel."

"God, I wish I didn't," Eddie sighs, turning serious again so fast that Steve feels like he's getting whiplash. "This whole thing is fucked. Those kids are only, like, fifteen."

Steve hesitates for a moment, before whispering, "I was sixteen, when this all started. Back in 83.x

"Jesus."

"Yeah, it's... I don't know. Like, I know it's horrible, but I like it when it's like this. Everyone in one place, knowing that there's doctors and shit nearby."

"That's not horrible. You know they're being cared for."

"Yeah, but it's worse this time. Like... I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and we won't have made it. This will be some stupid dream and you and Max..."

"We're still here," Eddie brings a hand up to his head, brushing his hair back. "You can feel it, right? I'm right here. We're not going anywhere."

Steve nods, closing his eyes so he can focus on Eddie's heartbeat.

"You know I love seeing you, right? Just... at least get a wheelchair or something. Please?"

Something is his chest cracks at how Eddie's voice breaks, how pained and desperate he sounds.

"Ok. I can do a wheelchair."

"Good. You start taking care of yourself and we can do this everyday."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," Eddie whispers, hand finally coming to a stop, cupping his cheek. "Yeah, I promise. Whenever and for however long you need. I'll be right here."

[jasmines-library]

Necrosis

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WHUMPTOBER DAY SIXTEEN :Prompt: necrosis/wound cleaning.

Summary: Tim helps you with your wounds.

Warnings: mentions of injury. Necrosis.

Word count: 666

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

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Tim frowned as he watched you hobble across the room with a noticeable limp. You had been injured a few weeks ago; a nasty hit to the thigh with a knife. The would had been deep and painful and would more than likely leave a scar. You were supposed to be on crutches, but you had abandoned those after the first week and a half and were now resorting to limping through the manor now you weren’t on bed rest. 

“You shouldn’t be walking on that.” Tim chided as he glanced up at you from his computer screen. He had been staring at it for the last three hours, only leaving to go to the bathroom or to refill his coffee. 

“Yeah but I’m sick of staying in bed.” You said, continuing to limp towards the kitchen.  It was strange. After two or so weeks the wound should have healed up somewhat, but it seemed you were still struggling with it. And normally it wouldn’t have been a problem, but Tim often overthought and wanted to be safer than sorry. With a huff, Tim stood, walking over to you. He placed a gentle hand on your back and guided you to sit down. 

“Sit.” He said. It was practically an order as he gave you no choice but to. 

You let out a hiss as you sat, the pain in your leg twinging. Tim gave you a look. 

“How many times have you been told to stay off this leg.” He tutted. “If you want to get better you need to rest.” 

“I was just going to the kitchen.” You argued back. 

“You could have asked one of us” 

“There’s no point in asking one of you when it’s just easier to get there myself.” 

“Clearly you can’t. You’re still limping…..is it still bothering you that much?” 

“A little…” 

“That means yes then.” Tim rephrased. He knew you had a habit of downplaying your pain. He helps you straighten out your leg gently, taking a look at the bandages. “How long ago did you change these?” 

“Uh….two I think. Alfred did them for me.” He had been doing a good job of making sure your wound was clean and free from infection. 

Tim pursed his lips. “You mind if I take a look? They probably need changing anyway” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Alright.” Tim stood before going to get the medical kit. “Don’t move.” He pointed at you. “I mean it.” 

“Yes, Sir.” You mock saluted. 

Tim returned a minute later, and as much as you would have liked to have left you did stay in your place for him. Gingerly he took your leg between his hands and began to unwrap the bandages. There was no sign of blood, which was a good sign. However when he revealed the wound, he let out a hiss though his teeth.

Some of the skin around the wound had began to turn a nasty grey-ish colour. Necrosis. Likely a sign of infection or lack of blood to the cells which has caused them to die. 

“Well shit….. no wonder it’s been bothering you so much, sweetheart.”

“Necrosis?” You swallowed thickly. 

“Looks like it. It’s infected, kid.” 

“Shit.” 

“Hey. Don’t think like that. We’ll get you on some antibiotics and see how that helps and go from there, yeah? I’ll let B know. You’ll be fine, we’ll sort it, kid.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Now let’s get this bandaged for you, hm?” He said, reaching into the medical kit and pulling out a fresh bandage and some sterile wipes. Gently he cleaned the area, his touch gentle so as to not cause you any more harm, before he tossed the wipe away and began to re-wrap the wound. The bandage sat snug but not suffocating around your thigh. “There you go kid. 

 “Thank you.”

“Now get some rest while I go and talk to B.”

“Alright.”

“No walking on that leg.” Tim warned. “I mean it. No wandering off.”

“No promises.”

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<- DAY FIFTEEN ⛧ DAY SEVENTEEN->

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TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[666anxiety666]

May I ask for a Pressure tickle fic? Where the player / y/n is a 16 year old (In my country if your 15 ur legally go to jail, and the 16 yr old committed a crime in self defence) and Sebastian noticing the anxiety, pressure (pun inteended) and paranoia he decides to cheer the kiddo up to make em feel like a child again and just melt away their worries? So basically Lee 16 yr old Y/n and a Big Ler snake that gives off HUGE older brother vibes

That's such a cute prompt, omg 😭

Tickle monster

Sebastian and TEEN reader

LEE: Y/N LER: Sebastian

Warnings: none :)

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Ever since you had been sent down here, Sebastian hasn't let you leave his shop without him. You don't blame him. You wouldn't go out on your own anyway. A sixteen year old should never have been in a place like this to begin with.

Sure, it got boring, and yeah, maybe at first Sebastian claimed he was only protecting you cause, "he had to." But over time, you and him have become quite close, like a sibling kind of way...

However, as of recently, your anxiety and paranoia has gotten worse. Ever small nosie made you jump. You always hid behind Sebastian when a new expendable came down. You were never away from Sebastian, always clinging to him.

Currently, you and Sebastian were getting ready for bed. You always slept with Sebastians tail curled around you. But on this "night," you couldn't sleep.

Your eyes darted all over the place, your heart rate picking up as you head what must have been one of the anglers, banging on a wall in the distance. Sebastian opened one of his three eyes and glanced at you.

"Don't worry, kid. They do that all the time... just try to drown it out, yeah?"

But you couldn't. every noise made you jump. You were scared. You shouldn't even be here to begin with. You wanted to go home... Sebastian noticed your fear and worry.

"Come on, kid. You've got nothing to worry about..."

But Sebastian's words did little to ease your fear. Sebastian sighed. He turned around to face you fully. His tail is still wrapped around you.

"What can I do to help you calm down?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. You shrugged shyly. Sebastian sighed again. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand as he thought of what to do.

"Come on, kid. There's gotta be something..."

Sebastian poked your side as he said this. You jumped at the poke. Letting out a small squeak. Sebastian paused, raising an eyebrow. Then, it hit him. A massive grin spreading on his face

Yours blood ran cold, and you instantly tried to get up to run. But Sebastian's tail kept you down. You struggled. But it was too late.

"Oh no, kid. You ain't escaping... the tickle monster!"

Sebastian cackled. Latching onto your sides, raking his claws up and down. You squealed, kicking your legs desperately.

You grabbed at his wrists and tried to shove him off. But it was no use. Sebastian moved his third hand to your tummy. You squealed louder.

"Look at you, squealing like a little school girl~"

Sebastian teased. You tried to pull your way out of Sebastian's grasp, but it was useless.

"Aw, how cute! You think you can stop me? You think the tickle monster shows mercy to kids like you?"

Sebastian exaggerated. Moving his hands up to your ribs. Your laughter got louder. kicking your legs harder against the floor.

"Say... im quite hungry... how many ribs do kids like you have, hm?"

Your heart dropped. You tried to push him away, but it was no use. You begged, but your pleas fell of deaf ears.

"One..~ two..~ three..~"

Sebastian started to "count." Wiggling his fingers at each rib as he did. It tickled so badly. You kicked and squirmed harder.

"Come on, kid! You made me lose count! Now I have to start all over!"

Sebastian exclamied before starting his "counting" from the beginning. This went on for what felt like forever. Your squeals and belly laughter filling the shop as Sebastian would restart at every struggle you made.

"Ugh, you know.. if I can't have get at your tasty ribs... maybe I'll have to try something else...!"

Sebastian then pretended to start "eating" your stomach. Blowing raspberries and making munching sounds.

Your face flushed. This was so childish. But you couldn't escape. You were stuck. You kicked and squealed. Shoving at Sebastian's head.

Soon, after what felt like an eternity. Sebastian backed off.

"Man... I think I've had my fill..."

Sebastian grinned as he backed off. Leaving you panting and giggling. You hugged your stomach slightly. You're face bright red for laughing. Sebastian chuckled, ruffling your hair gently.

"You good kid?"

Sebastian asked. You nodded. Pushing your hair out of your face. Sebastian chuckled once more.

"See? Told you everything was fine. You just need a good tickle every now and then."

Sebastian joked as he poked your side one last time. You yelped and giggled. Sebastian smirked and lay back down.

"Okay, okay, I'm done.."

Sebastian mumbled. You also lay back down. Resting against Sebastians tail. Sebastian pulled a blanket over you before wrapping his third arm over your shoulder.

You felt your eyes droop. You were tired. Not only from today's work, but all that tickling you went through. Sebastian smiled slightly.

"I've got you, kid..."

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Thank yall for the requests‼️ I have two more fics coming🙌

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 15

Day Fourteen | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Sixteen

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Free use; semi-public sex; oral sex; fingering; unsafe sex; creampie

GIF by chelseasdagger

"I need you to keep quiet for me.” 

The insistence was chased by the press of his gloved fingers between your slack lips. You bit down, savoring the slip of the leather between your teeth as Leto thrust deeper into you. He pressed his face into your neck, struggling to quiet his hypocritical grunts. 

You could hear the clicking of heels echoing further down the hall, and you fought the urge to turn and see if anyone was nearing. You knew that the Duke’s trusted warmaster was nearby, shooting imposing looks at anyone who dared inch just a little too close to your clandestine meeting place. 

Leto had made the request earlier in the week, and while it had initially struck you as odd, he had explained:

"With preparations for the emperor's official order, I'll have several meetings, and little time." He had eyed you sincerely from beneath his heavy brow. "I'll need you at a moment's notice, if you consent."

You hadn't had to think twice.

In the past week, Leto had taken you in so many ways, in so many unexpected and, frankly, often inappropriate places. His office, the barracks, the orchards, in the tall grass by the beach. If he had a single moment, he sent for you.

You'd been given just as little lead time that afternoon. Gurney had handed you a slip of paper, and you'd recognized Leto's handwriting immediately. There hadn’t been any instructions, simply a place to meet. The alcove was familiar to you—one of the few places in Caladan Castle that had relatively low foot traffic. Leto often found you there, reading or gathering your thoughts. It had become a frequent haunt of his as he sought your council, or simply sought a quiet moment with you. You’d shared your first kiss there, and several other confidences and intimacies had followed. 

This was, however, a relatively new intimacy for so calm a meeting place.

Now, Leto pushed your thigh up, pressing your back more harshly against the cool wall as you slotted your foot up against the bench beside you. You slipped your tongue along the worn leather of his gloves, whining softly as Leto’s pace became more frantic. You tipped your head back against the wall, letting his fingers slip from your lips. 

“Quickly,” You whispered, “You’ve a meeting with Hawat soon.” 

Leto grasped your jaw, using his grip to force you to meet his gaze.

“Thufir serves at my pleasure,” Leto gritted out, “I serve at yours.” 

You choked back a whimper as he suddenly drew away. He pressed his hand to your thigh, keeping your legs spread wide as he lowered himself to his knees. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking over the tender nub with almost punishing strokes. You sucked in stunned breath as you fisted your hand in his curls, hips rolling down against the stroke of his tongue and the brush of his beard. He slid his hand up, fingers brushing across your slick opening. The added bulk of the gloves pressing into you nearly made your knees buckle. As good as it felt, it wasn't enough. You reached down, pushing Leto's hand away before lowering yourself to the floor with him.

You straddled his lap, sinking onto his cock again, watching the flutter of his lashes as his eyes slid closed. You let him grip your hips, guiding your movements as he drove up into you. You grasped his hair, tugging it and nodding hurriedly as your orgasm swelled. Leto growled as you tightened up around him, his hips snapping against yours with such force that your breath caught in your throat. It was only a few moments before his hips pulsed, then slowed as he spilled into you.

You opened your eyes as Leto rested his forehead against yours. You raised your hands to gently cup his face, thumbs brushing the flushed apples of his cheeks. He tipped his head from one side to the other, and you smiled as the tip of his nose brushed yours. 

“May I see you tonight?” He murmured. You couldn’t help the bashful smile that grew on your lips. The man had a planet to govern, an army to command, an emperor to appease—but he still requested your time where he would be within every right to demand it. 

“Of course,” You nodded. You gently smoothed Leto’s hair back and pressed a tender kiss to his lips before you stood on shaky legs, holding a hand out to him. He grasped it gratefully, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. You straightened your dress, stalwartly ignoring the throbbing between your thighs as you watched Leto put himself back together, pulling up his pants and fixing the fastenings.

You watched him draw his shoulders tight and tip his chin up, as if slipping on some mask to play a part. You reached out, gently swiping away a bit of dust from the sleeve of his jacket. He caught hold of your hand before you could draw away entirely, raising it and pressing a courteous kiss to your wrist. Then he left without another word. You sighed softly, lowering yourself onto the bench as you listened to the retreating thud of his boots.

--

"Should I ask how your day was?"

Leto chuckled softly at your careful hedging. Neither of you had spoken since he'd arrived at your bedroom and settled down with you. You'd simply sat there and waited, watching the day's tensions slowly drain from his body.

He shook his head slowly, tipping it from side to side where it rested atop your outstretched thighs.

"I'd rather you didn't," He admitted.

"Alright."

You reached down, smoothing your hand over his hair before gently tracing the line of his forehead, and over his nose. As you reached his lips, Leto puckered them, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertip. Your smile widened as he turned his head to look at you.

"And you?" He pressed softly. "How was your day?"

You feigned consideration, humming as you directed your eyes toward the ceiling.

"Nothing much to report."

"Nothing at all?"

"No, no. Very routine."

Lowering your gaze to Leto's, you found him smiling playfully, eyes sparkling with a light that you'd hardly seen in the past week.

"Routine," He repeated, pushing himself and sliding his hand up your leg, easing up the fabric of your nightdress as he did.

"Quite."

"I think we can do better than that."

You shrieked with delight as Leto pounced over you, pressing you back onto the bed. Leto caught your lips in a kiss, the brush of his beard making your skin tingle. His fingers slipped between your thighs, brushing across your cunt. You pressed into the touch as you'd wanted to hours ago, sighing softly as his tongue plied gently between your lips. He drew away as the kiss broke, his hand settling against your thigh again to focus you. You opened your eyes as confusion washed over you and found Leto watching you with a gentle reverence.

"I know that I can be...Demanding," He offered, "But I have greatly appreciated your attentions over these past few days."

Your smile softened as you reached up, sweeping your knuckles across his cheekbone.

"I'll always come when you call."

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ; @foxilayde

[kinardsevan]

Okay, prompt. Tommy and Buck are having slow shifts and one of them decides to call the other.

consider this as existing in the same timeline as to can’t outdrive pain (someday it’s gonna take the wheel)

we survive

Tommy sighs, pushing a piece of paper across the table.

“Riley, you have to at least try to make your art not be derogatory,” he states in a gentle but firm tone. “Miss Sidney isn’t going to let this fly.”

Riley rolls his eyes, tossing a conte crayon onto the table. Charcoal scatters as it cracks in half, and the teenager crosses his arms. Tommy frowns, reaching out for the crayon and setting it back inside the box he’d brought with him.

He’s no stranger to Riley’s moods six months into this endeavor. What had begun as a way to fill some time after breaking his elbow and having to miss weeks of work has become part of his weekly ritual now, occasionally twice a week when he can swing the extra time. Evan has joined him a number of times when the time off has lined up, but today he’s alone.

Riley Collins was almost sixteen and had a rough background, one Tommy could relate to only too well. His mom had died when he was three, and he was left with an alcoholic father who cared so little that at seven, he’d been found digging in a neighbors trash can for food. That had begun the teen’s childhood in foster care, but it hadn’t been the end of it. He’d cycled through multiple foster homes with while struggling with attachment issues. There was a year-long period when Riley was eleven where his father had gotten sober, regained custody, and things seemed like they might get better. Except, Riley had been the ringer by that point. He’d lived in homes with emotional and verbal abuse. He’d seen parents hit each other, and occasionally hit the children. He’d seen sexual abuse through the tiny window of where his blankets didn’t completely cover his eyes when cries of his foster siblings woke him in the middle of the night. He’d faced some of those situations himself, and by the time he cycled back into his fathers home, he wasn’t the same little kid who had learned to become self-sufficient when his father was lost to the bottle.

Either way, Riley’s father made it six months before his sobriety with Riley back home went to hell. There was a DWI, and then an occurrence where Riley showed up to school with a black eye and bloodied nose. Then he was locked out of the house. CPS was still so involved at that point that he was quickly placed back in foster care, but the writing was on the wall at that point. Even though he’d been placed with a family with good values, he was a mess. There were stolen things, broken possessions, a flirtation with breaking the law. Ultimately though, it was a full-on brawl he got into with an uncle which led to his placement in the group home. And the thing was, he was a great student. He could stay invested in his school work and the routine it required without a problem. But when it came to people…he was a mess.

Tommy couldn’t help but reflect that back to his own childhood.

“This is so fucking lame anyway,” Riley bemoans.

Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? You seemed to think it was cool three days ago.”

“What the fuck do you know, old man,” Riley replies, scowling at him. He shoves away from the table, and Sidney is up out of her chair quickly, already calling after him, but Tommy raises a hand to her.

“Let me go,” he tells her softly. Their group is usually a bit bigger, but with school being back in session, half of them have signed up for extracurriculars, so there’s only three today, and Sidney has the other two pretty well covered with whatever they’re drawing.

She looks at him with a hint of apprehension, but then nods, settling back into her chair.

Tommy picks up his sketchbook and moves around the table, walks out the back door toward a picnic table where Riley is pushing a stick into the aged wood, trying to peel a piece of loose long grain with it. He dares a glance up at Tommy and then sighs, looking back down at the table.

“Hey kid. You wanna tell me what that was all about,” he asks, crossing the space between them but still staying a few feet away.

Riley huffs but doesn’t answer as he keeps pushing at the picnic table with the stick. Tommy frowns, taking a few more steps forward and sitting down on the opposite side of the table. He reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a tin of Altoid Sours. He pops one in his mouth and then offers one to Riley. When the kid doesn’t immediately take one, Tommy rests the tin on the table between them.

“You know, I used to make a lot of really violent art,” Tommy states. “Still have some of it. Drawings of people getting stabbed, gunshot wounds.”

“Bet Miss Sidney would love to hear that right now,” Riley states sarcastically.

Tommy shrugs. “Probably not. But it was how I dealt. Especially with the people who hurt me when I was your age.” He flips his sketchbook back to the front before setting in front of Riley on the table. The first few pages have older, yellowed paper taped in. It’s been crumpled and some of it is shredded, but Riley looks up at it, skims over the images. He sets the stick down and flips a page over as something that looks suspiciously like comic paneling tells the story of a child and his abusive father. He watches the way Riley runs his fingers over the paper, touches the images.

“What do you know about abuse anyway, old man,” Riley murmurs softly, anger still present in his voice.

“More than you’d think, kid,” Tommy replies. When the teen looks up at him, Tommy raises an eyebrow at him. “First of all, I wasn’t always this built or lean. And me at thirteen, on the huskier side and gay? That didn’t go over all that well in my home.”

Riley doesn’t let on his emotional response to Tommy’s explanation, but he keeps flipping through the pages in the sketchbook. A drawing of a war zone. Drawings of mass military graves. Dog tags. Bloodied fists with colored pastels.

“Least you got out,” Riley comments after a few minutes of silence. “Had someone to help.”

Tommy gives a haughty laugh. “I went to the military to get out. I didn’t have anyone waiting at home if I made it back from Iraq. Everything I’ve done, I’ve had to do on my own.”

There’s still a scowl on Riley’s face, but the ire seems to sink out of it as he listens to Tommy.

“I was not cool when I came back, either,” he adds. “I was really shitty to people I now consider friends. Spent a lot of years alone because I couldn’t figure out how to just connect with people.”

“Least you found people who wanted you around,” Riley grumbles, his voice still soft, like he doesn’t actually want Tommy to hear him. “I got two years.”

Tommy sighs. He’s not sure whether saying something is a good idea. There are still too many what ifs and probabilities for him to be sure.

“You know, Evan and I have been talking to Miss Sidney,” he states in a quiet tone. Riley finally reaches out and takes one of the altoids, pops it into his mouth. His eyes slowly raise, though he doesn’t look directly at Tommy. “But we can’t do anything if you keep showing this kind of attitude in program. They won’t consider it a good placement.”

Riley’s brown eyes meet his then, his sandy blonde hair half hanging in them. He stares at Tommy with a bewildered expression.

“Hailey is-..”

Tommy shakes his head, cutting Riley off. Of course the kid would think they’d want a young child. “Hailey doesn’t fit in our home. She’s six. She needs a mom.”

“Dakota-“

“Doesn’t like fire trucks,” Tommy comments, in reference to another one of the younger kids.

Riley looks up at him, brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you two want a baby?”

Tommy lets out a small laugh. “Do you know how long the adoption process is for an infant? Never mind surrogacy.” He can’t help the warmth in his chest at the fact that for all of Riley’s questions, the idea of living in a house with two men in a committed (carnal) relationship isn’t one of them.

Riley is quiet again for a few moments as he closes Tommy’s sketchbook and places it back on the table.

“I age out in 798 days,” he mutters.

Tommy takes a breath and shrugs again. “Well. I guess that leaves us roughly twenty-two thousand more to have you around with us, five of take a few thousand,” he states. “You know, if you want to.”

Riley looks up at him through his eyelashes with an expression that’s trying suspiciously not to reflect any kind of hope. Tommy recognizes it from the one he had when he’d been told he was going back to live with his father at thirteen. He narrows his gaze slightly as he reaches out for his sketchbook.

“You know, Evan makes a mean shepherd’s pie,” he comments, sliding the book back over. “I could probably get him to whip one up tonight. He’s supposed to be off shift soon.”

“T-tonight,” Riley stammers.

“Only if you want to,” Tommy replies. “And if you apologize in front of Miss Sidney. I kinda promised her you’d be a good fit and you’re making me look bad right now.”

The slightest bit of an upturn happens at the corners of Riley’s mouth. Tommy nods, reaching out for the altoids tin. He closes it and pops it back in his pocket.

. . .

Hours later, in the silence of their home, Evan rests his chin on Tommy’s shoulder as they stand in the doorway of what they expect to become Riley’s bedroom. The teen is sprawled across the Queen-sized bed and a pillow that Tommy finds to be suspiciously similar to one from his and Evan’s bed is wrapped tightly in the teen’s arms.

“Dare I say, he’s a little attached to us,” Evan whispers to Tommy.

Tommy chuckles, pointing up to the T-shirts tacked up to a cork board on the wall. “That was his idea.”

Both shirts are worn and faded, one from the 118 and the other from Harbor. The vinyl is half-peeled from the shirts, and only the outline of Tommy’s last name remains on the shirt that belonged to him from how much use it’s seen.

“Who would’ve thought he’d like us that much,” Evan jokes. He tilts his head, resting his cheek on Tommy’s shoulder.

“I think he feels seen. Understood,” Tommy murmurs back. He takes a breath, looking down at Evan. “He asked if he could take both last names.”

Evan smiles wearily at Tommy. “He can have whatever he wants.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, although he stiffens when Riley moves on the bed, only to settle a few seconds later with a contented sigh.

“And this is why you’re not in charge of the budget right now,” he comments. “He’ll have you talked into a car and three gaming systems in under twenty-four hours.”

Evan scowls at Tommy, turns his head and bites his shoulder. Tommy grunts softly, turning toward him. He pushes Evan gently out of the room, across the hall into their bedroom, easing the door shut quietly.

“Let’s not traumatize the kid on his first night home,” he states, framing Evan’s face with his hands before he dives in for a heated kiss. Evan moans softly into his mouth, fisting Tommy’s shirt.

“Well then, I guess you’re just gonna have to drown me out with the shower,” Evan replies, tugging Tommy back towards the en-suite.

And he does.

[honeybeebytheseaa]

Cheese

A fun short story and piece for @encantober-official . I have two more prompts I plan to do, but due to my busy schedule I’m not sure if I’ll get them out on time. For now, enjoy these small pieces!

——

Bruno knew he’d get in trouble for having the rats inside of Casita. Technically, he was an adult now and could make his own decisions. But even at twenty, Bruno struggled to openly speak out against his mother.

Upon noticing their furry bodies along the windows, Bruno’s mama swooped in with her broom and demanded they leave her home. Which was frustrating, because if she didn’t want them inside Casita, mama could just ask them to leave. They are very intelligent creatures, despite what most of his family thinks.

Eventually, try as his mama might: they’d find a way inside Casita. Which was certainly the fault of Bruno. He may have scaled a few walls in the middle of the night (with Casita’s aid, of course) to shift the gutters in just the right direction so the rats could sneak into his room.

Although it might sound odd, Bruno was quite flattered that a few select rats often sought out his comfort. Granted, it was likely because he was the only person in the encanto who welcomed them inside his home with open arms, but it was nice to have some company during his particularly bad nights.

Bruno first met the rats when he was around sixteen. It was three or four in the morning. He was in the kitchen, shuffling through that night's leftovers. He reached out for a thinly sliced piece of mozzarella when he noticed a little ball of gray fur had already taken it.

Bruno wouldn’t lie: he screamed.

He then proceeded to fling the rat across the room. Which he did not mean to do! He meant to fling the cheese and the rat happened to latch onto it.

His reaction was somewhat justified. To his knowledge, they carried rabies and other fun diseases.

But when he realized the creature looked more frightened of him than he did… he felt really bad.

So, he did something that would quickly devolve into a bad habit.

He gently picked it up, set it by the window, and tried to usher it outside. It didn’t leave right away, so Bruno offered it the piece of mozzarella it had been chewing.

He took it from his fingers and quickly scurried into the night. It had worked.

Oh, he means for that one night. For that one night, it had worked. The rat brought back friends the next day.

And of course he fed them, he didn’t want to be a bad host.

Over time, the visits became more frequent. Sometimes they were subtle about it, only coming at night or into Bruno’s room specifically. Sometimes, they didn’t think it through and would visit in broad daylight where Pepa would let out a loud, shrill scream and their mama would come barreling through with her broom.

But as time went on, they’d often visit him during the colder months, seeking shelter from pelting rain storms or the extremely short-lived snowstorms always caused by Pepa. A few of them would show up randomly. As if they just wanted to say hello. Due to these frequent visits, Bruno found himself keeping a lot of cheese in his room. The rats loved cheese. Especially the cheese Julieta would make.

Bruno wished he could invite them into the kitchen for a more diverse palette of snacks, though Julieta would certainly lose her mind. So for now, they had to settle for the selection in Bruno’s room.

Bruno had to be careful about how much he brought inside, as Julieta kept track of her ingredients like a hawk. If she ever noticed something missing, she almost always tracked it back to him. Somehow. With her scary sibling powers or whatever.

Occasionally, Bruno convinces her to slip him a few treats under the excuse of being a ‘growing boy.’ Every time he nearly gets called out on his bluff. Julieta knows he eats like a bird.

Though she won’t turn her little brother down. Bruno knows that.

It all works out. He can bring something nice for his furry friends, and Julieta doesn’t have to waste as much food.

And to be fair, it wasn’t Julieta he had to worry about.

Finding them around Casita was bad enough, but if his mama found he had them in his room of all places she’d likely ground him til’ he was thirty.

And she’d also be able to track the rat infestation back to him. Which would then further his grounding til he is forty.

So for now, they’d stay in his room and only his room. With all the cheese they could ask for.

———

[edosianorchids901]

Reciprocity

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "cold"

“Really, old man, I’ll be all right.” Watson sneezed again, which didn’t help the look of near-panic on Holmes’ face. “It’s nothing, just a cold.”

“You have sneezed sixteen times in the last five minutes, and with considerable force,” Holmes said, hovering by the bedside and rubbing his hands together compulsively. “I hardly call that nothing. Shall I fetch a doctor?”

“I am a doctor.”

“A very sick doctor.”

“I am certainly not very sick, only a little sick.” Sick enough that he did not have the energy to get out of bed at the moment, but even so. “I do not need another doctor to attend to me.”

“Very well. Then I see I shall have to take matters into my own hands.” Holmes twisted around and swept out of the room. “Mrs. Hudson!”

Watson winced at the volume of the yell, which made his head ache. Of course, his head already ached, congested as it was. He’d felt a bit run down before bed, but had hoped it was just his ordinary fatigue after a long stretch of being particularly busy.

It seemed that wasn’t the case, however. He’d awakened today feeling even worse, his head stuffed up, his throat aching, and a deep exhaustion blanketing him. He might be running a slightly fever, too.

All in all, he felt terrible. He had little desire to do anything other than sleep, but the sneezing was making that difficult. It was the sneezing that had alerted and alarmed Holmes, too, and which meant that Mrs. Hudson was likely being jostled out of bed at a far too early hour in order to care for him.

When Holmes flung back into the room, Watson tried to give him a stern look. “You should not ask Mrs. Hudson to care for me. I am perfectly capable of—”

“My dear Watson, you wound me!” Holmes set down a basin of water and a towel. “I have merely roused her to start a pot of soup, warm some broth, and make tea. I intend to care for you myself.”

Watson stared at him. “But what about your murder case, Holmes? Surely you should be attending to that.”

“It is a commonplace murder. And besides, what does such a thing matter when my Watson needs care?”

“Murder always matters to the one who has been murdered.”

“Well, yes.” Holmes pursed his lips, looking irritated at the fact, and then dampened the cloth. He sponged Watson’s face gently, wiping away the sweat. “But it is the sort of case that can be solved without much difficulty. I dispatched a telegram last night and am merely awaiting the reply. Once it is received, I shall pass along the information to Lestrade.”

“All right, but what about your health?” Turning away, Watson coughed. This did not help his throbbing head at all.

“What of my health?”

“It is terrible, Holmes.” Woozy, Watson laid back and gave him a bleary look. “I am not prone to falling ill. You fall ill at the drop of a hat. You should not be near me when I am sick.”

“Well, well.” Holmes waved a dismissive hand, then smoothed back Watson’s hair. “If I fall ill, then you shall tend to me. But for the moment, it is I who must tend to you.”

“It really isn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense. You are always most attentive and caring when I am in poor health, whether of mind or body.” Holmes briefly rested his hand on Watson’s shoulder and gave his usual flash of a smile. “Please permit me the privilege of doing the same for you.”

That wasn’t fair at all, but Watson softened anyway. “Well, of course. If you’re sure.”

“Entirely certain.” Holmes shot an impatient glance at the door, then twisted around and hurtled off again. “Mrs. Hudson! Where is that tea?”

Watson chuckled, then succumbed to coughing again. His head spun, and he struggled to catch his breath.

The coughing had was not helpful for his aches, either. He found himself sore everywhere, and the restless night had worsened his usual pain in his shoulder and leg. That, in turn, had worsened his sleep.

Holmes charged back in with a teapot and flicked an apologetic smile in Watson’s direction. “There was a slight delay in preparation, as Mrs. Hudson is not at her most sprightly this early in the day. Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please. And proper ventilation in a sickroom is important.” It was strange not to be able to attend to all this on his own, but Watson did not feel much like getting up right now. “If you could crack the window.”

Holmes did so at once, then carefully helped him drink the tea. He set the cup aside once Watson had finished and sat, taking his hand. “My dear Watson. Mrs. Hudson is preparing broth for you, and will of course make any other food you require. Is there any other way I might be of assistance?”

There was such anxiety on his face that Watson’s stomach twisted. He patted Holmes’ hand and managed a hopefully reassuring smile. “Not for now. And don’t worry, old man. I really will be all right.”

“I hope you shall. I admit it is a little disconcerting to see you ill, Watson.” A few tears glistened in Holmes’ eyes, and he ground his teeth. “You will let me know if I may help in any way?”

“Yes, I will. I just need to get some rest for now.”

“Ah.” Holmes sat there awkwardly for a moment. “Would you prefer that I left you in peace? I can return later with your broth.”

Watson very much suspected that if he said yes, Holmes would simply go sit on the stairs outside the bedroom. “There’s no need for that. Why don’t you stay, and then if I need you…”

He started to cough, and Holmes nodded vigorously. “Of course, my dear fellow. Now, you ought to cease conversation and sleep. I shall be right by your side.”

Watson smiled at him, then closed his eyes and relaxed. He suspected that Holmes would have to be ordered to leave eventually, or else he would not sleep at all. For the moment, though, Watson was glad to have someone so attentive watching over him.

[skibasyndrome]

💜 wilmon;

"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something."

CW: underage drinking (depending on how you define that I guesss... they're sixteen and drinking wine)

"I mean.. you make me feel like I'm worth something," Wille says, almost just a sigh in the silence of the night.

Simon isn't quite sure how that would be physically possible, but he feels something inside of his chest shatter at the confession. Who the fuck hurt this sweet, sweet teenage boy enough to make him say something like that, he thinks, then, kicking his slowed down brain into gear, goes, right, because. Right. Something about him never quite being good enough. Which is ridiculous. Absolutely fucking ridiculous to think about, because in all his sixteen years on this earth Simon's never met anyone who's quite as good as his best friend.

"Fuck...," Wille sighs next to him, then huffs a laugh, using his legs to, a little clumsily, put his swing back into motion. "Too much, wasn't it?" he asks, then lets out a giggle that's more bitter than amused.

It sends another pang through Simon and he feels the urge to take another sip out of their by now almost empty wine bottle. Maybe he needs to reach Wille's level of tipsy to have this kind of an uncomfortable conversation.

"It's okay," Simon says, and, instead of taking a swig, lowers the bottle to the ground, moving to set his own swing into motion. Which is maybe the second best thing to show Wille... what, exactly? Solidarity? To tell him, hey, I'm here, you're fine, I'm not leaving, you're so good that I can't believe anyone let you think otherwise?

When Simon kicks his feet harder to gain momentum he hears Wille let out a more genuine laugh from the swing next to him, a sound so soothing and bubbly and warm that Simon has to join in.

After a few moments of struggling Wille manages to also pick up speed and synchronize his motions with those of Simon and fuck, that victorious laugh of his feels like it could cure all the needle-pricks of pain and anger Simon feels about his Wille not being treated the way he deserves to be treated. Maybe they'll be okay, maybe Wille will be okay. Maybe Simon can help him after all.

When they swing forward, slowing at the highest point, Wille reaches out, an uncoordinated arm shooting into the space between their swings, and without having to think about it, Simon grabs it, squeezing Wille's warm palm as hard as he can. The seat of his swing sways dangerously, but he grabs onto the chain harder and doesn't let go of Wille either, because Wille is giggling again and Simon needs to keep him giggling, because otherwise he himself might cry, and also because there's a very egotistical thought in his mind that tells him if he lets go now, Wille might not allow this again. And Simon can't let that happen.

sjjsnsnsksmsksosmndndjd we gave up on the 5 sentence-ness of it all a long time ago....... but hey, have some... kinda sad-but-hopeful-ish wilmon childhood best friends to lovers!! Thank you so so so much for the prompt, dearesr anon!!! 💜💜💜

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you the next 5 (or more, lmao)

[scarisd3ad]

Scarisd3ad’s Halloween writing challenge | day sixteen

Prompt - serial killer training

Pairing - Stu macher x fem!reader Billy loomis x fem!reader

Masterlist

[warnings] - mentions of murder, use of weapons, mentions of blood, Stu and billy

[A/N] - apart of my ‘trouble’ series

"c'mon, you can do it!" Billy shouted; we were out in the woods behind my house. A dead pig sat in front of me. I gripped the knife tightly in my hands as I held it over my head. I couldn't do it, even though it was already dead. "I can't," I said, shaking my head as I lowered the knife. "I just can't, Billy." A single tear fell down my cheek. I was having second thoughts; maybe I just wasn't the type of person to kill someone.

He cups my face in his hands. "Just pretend it's Sid or Tatum. Whoever the hell you can't wait to kill, just pretend it's them." I nod as I pick up the knife once again. As I hold it over my head, I squeeze my eyes shut, letting myself imagine myself straddling Tatum with the knife pulled over my head. She'd beg, maybe struggle a bit before I actually killed her. Then I'd plunge the knife into her body over and over again until her skin was pulverized. Until her heart stopped beating and her eyes became empty. I'd stab at her until Billy or Stu pulled me off of her.

"Good job!" I'm finally brought back into reality to stare down at my work. The pig was pulverized, and I could barely recognize that it was even a pig in the first place. "I told you! You're a natural!"

trouble taglist

@pookie-snookie @heyspl4zi @drilethetoppat @ciuguapa @heraliveken @naito55 @katie-tibo @eve-rockin-blog @bitchybasmentcats @1ts-jeany @kitkatdreamsmpmcyt @slowly-becoming-like-draculaura @niteskysx @weaponxgames @vrsin @cupid3clipse @st-rgirl-forlife @confusedriftin @catastrophic-panda @carnagetrickster21 @kaiparkerwife @d0llykill @daddy-celine @yaoi1206 @hellraser1999 9 @altair10 @loveheart-123 @pearledreader @multifandom0-0 @a-bunny13 @kafkaesque-b1tch3s @lo1velyx @sweet-texas-girl l @thatbabydeer @y-nk-live @eliveonsunshine @lyrablack71 @a-bbles @i-like-to-read08

[marvelmusing]

Keep Your Judgement

Masterlist

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the Darkling and the Sun Summoner are supposed dead in the Fold, Ravka turns on Grisha, and you find yourself imprisoned by First Army soldiers. It’s then that you realise your power as a durast has been severely underutilised and perhaps you are meant for more.

My Masterlist • Series Playlist

[masterlist will be updated as chapters are completed]

Chapter One

After being held captive by First Army soldiers, you use your power to escape and free your fellow Grisha, only to be interrupted by someone unexpected.

Chapter Two

Settling into the Sanctuary, an old house fashioned into a safe place by the General, you find yourself recruited by the man himself to free some of your fellow Grisha.

Chapter Three

Journeying to the Little Palace, you manage to evade the patrolling soldiers and find some books that might help you understand the General’s condition.

Chapter Four

During a walk around the Sanctuary, you share some theories with the General, and a familiar face makes an appearance.

Chapter Five

Progress is made with your work regarding the amplifier, and you grow closer to the General.

Chapter Six

Claiming the fox as your amplifier has an unexpected side effect, but you soon gain the confidence to attempt the merge of your forms.

Chapter Seven

After putting your theory into practice, you find yourself stumbling back to the Sanctuary. Even as you struggle to feel human again, your instincts guide you to seek out the General.

Chapter Eight

As the days go by, you and Aleksander grow closer, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by your fellow Grisha.

Chapter Nine

A betrayal is brought to light, prompting you into action to save Aleksander’s life.

Chapter Ten

In the aftermath of the poisoning incident, you and Aleksander become closer than you ever expected.

Chapter Eleven [18+]

It’s the night before the engagement party at the Spinning Wheel, before the plan you and Aleksander have orchestrated comes into fruition. Sleep eludes you, but Aleksander is able to offer a solution for your nerves.

Chapter Twelve

The day of the attack has arrived and you stand by Aleksander’s side as you bring about the end of the Lantsov dynasty.

Chapter Thirteen

As the attack on the Spinning Wheel continues, you do your best to return to Aleksander’s side, though you soon find it more difficult than you anticipated.

Chapter Fourteen

After your return to the Sanctuary, you and Aleksander do your best to recover and make plans for your next move.

Chapter Fifteen [18+]

After taking the capital, you and Aleksander move onto the next stage of your plan - locating Morozova’s workshop to find a cure as Aleksander’s condition worsens.

Chapter Sixteen

Theories about merzost, the very boundary of your powers, and your relationship with Aleksander are all put to the test as everything comes to a head.

Chapter Seventeen

As Aleksander recovers from the impact of merzost on his body, you search for a way to fix the unexpected side effects and together you make plans for your lives going forward.

[12romy]

1644 lewis mpreg pls 🙂‍↕️ or even just a kid blurb

Okayyy, here we go, it took a bit long cause it got out of hand lmao, so here's 2k of pregnant Lewis... You're even getting smut. As a little treat ^^

Hope you enjoy~

Lewis is a little shocked as he gets out of the doctor’s office, blood work in his hand and all sorts of pamphlets he’d never think he’d ever get for himself.

Pregnant, the doctor said. He came here because he had been feeling under the weather for a few weeks and the team doctor suggested it.

He didn’t even know- he’s forty-two, for fuck’s sake. Male carriers usually stop being fertile around thirty-five, so he stopped taking the pill five years ago. It should’ve been safe.

That’s why he and Charles don’t use any kind of protection.

But it turns out he’s sixteen weeks pregnant and hasn’t even noticed. He’s not showing at all, although the doctor says it tends to happen when the parent is unaware they’re pregnant. Now that he knows, it should start showing soon.

Amongst the pamphlets, he’s also got a picture of the echography. Apparently, they’re healthy, and well developed – although a little small.

He’s got exactly one week to decide if he wants to get an abortion – and he’d only be allowed to do it because even if it’s supposed to be too late, it is a risky pregnancy. The life-threatening type at worst, but “on bed rest as soon as he hits the third-semester” type at best. He’s way past the average age of male pregnancy, although it’s not completely unheard of.

He walks back home. He needs to clear his head, and he’s struggling to understand exactly what is going on.

God, what is he even going to tell Charles? Their apartment in Monaco, like every place in Monaco, is only big enough for the two of them – between their offices, music rooms, and race sims. They’ll need to move if they decide to go through with this... Wow.

This is too much.

He can hear Charles rummaging in the kitchen as he enters, and the smell of food hits him, making him realise he’s famished.

“Welcome back, mon amour,” Charles smiles, and wraps his arms around Lewis before kissing him on the cheek. “Are you okay, you seem off… Is it bad? Did the doctor find something wrong? Lewis, is it curable, are you okay?”

Lewis forces a smile on his lips. “I’m okay,” he croaks out. “Nothing bad, just uh… Can we sit?”

Charles nods and kills the fire under the food before sitting at the table. Lewis wordlessly fishes the pamphlets and pictures out of his backpack and dumps everything on the table.

Charles frowns, looks at it, and then in the middle of it, finds the echography. He holds the picture with trembling hands.

“Is this- Lewis,” he stutters. “Are you pregnant?”

Lewis nods wordlessly, fearing Charles’ reaction. They’ve been together for years, but haven’t talked that much about having kids, other than in a theoretical, distant future thing.

Lewis is clearly worried for nothing because Charles melts into tears.

“I- You’re pregnant,” he repeats, sobbing, and it finally gets to Lewis who starts crying as well. He couldn’t cry in the doctor’s office, even when he saw the echography in front of him, on the screen. He’s crying now. Charles is holding his hand, and they’re both letting tears run down their cheeks freely.

“I’m pregnant, yeah,” he breathes out, and suddenly it becomes real. They’re gonna be dads.

“I- what do you want to do?” Charles asks once his sobs quieted down. “It’s your choice.”

“I- don’t know,” Lewis shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do, Charles… I’ve got a week to decide, the doctor said it’s gonna be risky. But I never thought I could- I want this so bad.”

“You have to think about yourself first, okay? You’re an athlete, I know how much our bodies matter in our line of work. You’re the priority. It’s up to you, alright?”

“It’s not just up to me!” he protests. “It’s gonna be your kids, too! We haven’t even talked about wanting children, and maybe it’s too soon for you…”

“Kids?” Charles frowns. “What do you mean, kids?”

“Well, yeah. That’s why it’s risky, having twins at my age is not the safest, and…”

“Twins?” Charles gasps. “But- there are two of them? I only saw one picture!”

“Yeah… It’s two girls.”

Charles goes through all the pictures again, including the ones where you can see both babies together, and starts crying again.

“I- okay, let’s talk about what you want,” Charles says once he gets a hold of himself.

“I- I’ve always wanted to be a dad,” Lewis confesses. “Never thought I’d be the one pregnant, of course… I mean, I wasn’t supposed to be fertile anymore by the time we got together. I had made my peace with that.”

“Does being pregnant scare you? Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s… I feel so lucky.” They stay silent for a moment before Lewis speaks again. “What about you? Would you… feel ready to have kids?”

“I do, yeah,” Charles nods. “I know we haven’t talked much about it, but I really want to have kids. But we can also have them later, through other means, if this is too much for you.”

“It’s not- I- I’m still processing everything,” Lewis says. “But I think I want to keep them.”

“That’s… that’s amazing,” Charles smiles. “Incredible. You’re incredible. Let’s take the week, okay? You said you had a week. Wait, how far along are you? We didn’t see anything!”

“Apparently, the babies are hiding, that’s why we didn’t notice… That’s also probably why I had more back pain recently.”

“It’s a good thing this is the summer break, we can take our time to figure it out.”

*************************

As the doctor said, Lewis' stomach starts showing in the next few days. It’s freaky, how he goes from a flat belly to a little bump, then a more obvious one. Charles is all over him – hesitant, at first, but when Lewis tells him three days after finding out that he’s sure he wants to keep them… Well, Charles’ hands are on his belly whenever he can. It’s very sweet and very cute. Charles even starts talking to their babies, murmuring sweet words against his stomach.

Lewis can tell the sight also turns Charles on. It’s a bit difficult to miss, the way he’s staring at the bump, and at Lewis in general. Not that he doesn’t do it usually, but this is – more intense.

At the same time, he can also tell Charles is extremely careful with him, which is probably why they didn’t have sex once since they found out about his pregnancy.

And Lewis is tired of it. He’s horny, alright.

He gets tired of it after a week and ends up simply cornering Charles. To make it even less unsubtle, he waits for the right moment, which is right as he exits the bathroom, only wearing a towel around his waist, showing off the bump that keeps being more and more obvious.

Charles panics, blushes, and tries to look away, which is very cute, and very endearing. Lewis presses up a leg between Charles’ legs, smiling to himself as he feels his erection. It must be painful, really. He’s pretty sure Charles took more showers these days only to jerk off.

“I’m kind of tired, of you avoiding me,” he whispers sweetly in Charles’ ear. “If you want something, you really should just ask.”

“I- don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charles mumbles. Lewis chuckles.

“You do know that pregnant people still have sexual life, right? In fact, with the hormones, I think I’m even hornier than usual. Just thought you should know.”

Charles makes a little strangled noise and squirms a little against Lewis.

“I- didn’t know,” he hesitates. “But… this is a risky pregnancy, the doctor said you needed to take it easy and all.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to take me right now on the ground for two hours straight,” Lewis teases. “We can get in a comfy bed, make it real good for you and for me… I do feel like getting fucked hard, but I’m sure we can find a way to make it happen.”

It seems like Charles’ brain has left by this point because he can’t seem to form any words. He does pull Lewis toward the bedroom, struggling to hide his excitement.

Lewis follows happily and lets the towel slip on the ground on the way. When Charles turns again, he yelps and stops to stare a bit more, before finally kissing Lewis with passion.

“I’m wearing way too many clothes for this,” he complains and proceeds to strip. Lewis sits on the bed to enjoy the show – although it’s not much of a show with how hurried Charles is. He still enjoys the view, and shamelessly jerks off to it.

The second Charles is out of his pants, Lewis pulls him toward the bed and enjoys the feeling of skin-on-skin contact as Charles straddles him. God, he has missed this. He kisses him hungrily, the two of them rubbing against each other in an almost desperate way.

“Okay, how are we doing this? Maybe you’ll be better on your back?” Charles asks. “Or on the side, maybe?”

“Depends on you, but you’ll get a better view if I’m on my back.”

That seems to convince him, because the next thing he knows, Charles has gently pushed him further on the bed and is peppering kisses all over his chest and belly. Lewis will never get tired of the way Charles is looking at him right now. He’s never looked more in love, which is saying a lot because he never thought it was possible.

Charles is softer than ever when it comes to prepping him and keeps asking if Lewis is comfortable or needs anything. While this is very cute of him, it also gets old a bit quickly. Lewis is reaching the end of his patience.

“I swear to god, Charles, if you don’t fuck me soon, I will do it myself and you’ll have to watch,” he threatens.

“I just want to make it comfortable for you,” Charles pouts, an adorable expression on his face. Lewis is positively melting – but, he is also done with waiting. Charles has spent a long time stretching him, driving him insane, on edge, and more than ready.

When Charles doesn't get on the move, Lewis grabs him by the wrists, grins, and flips their positions.

“Alright, babe, you had your chance, I’m taking control now,” he purrs. He can feel Charles shiver under him, and he moans loudly when Lewis sits on his cock with one smooth movement.

“Fuck, Lewis!” he gasps, hips bucking up unwillingly and driving his cock further into him. Lewis whines, the movement nailing his prostate, and slowly starts to move up and down Charles’ cock.

“That’s the idea,” he grunts, and Charles finally gets the message. He starts to push back against Lewis, burying himself into him and sparking pleasure with each motion.

Lewis is more sensitive than usual, he finds out, and he already feels close after a few thrusts. He is a goner the moment Charles wraps a hand around his cock, his other hand resting over his belly.

He lets out a cry of pleasure and comes hard all over Charles’ head. Charles follows right after, probably from the way Lewis’ muscles spasm around him.

“I can’t believe it,” Charles sighs with please, breath ragged. “You’re so beautiful… So beautiful, mon amour.”

Lewis chuckles and slowly eases off Charles with a wince.

“Fuck, are you okay? You should’ve taken it easy!” Charles freaks out, immediately, and Lewis smiles.

“I am perfectly fine. I wanted a good fuck, and I got it. I do expect you to do more work next time, sweetheart. And once again, I am not made of glass.”

“Well, yeah, but you’re carrying our babies… Sue me for wanting to take care of you,” Charles pouts again.

“You’re perfect,” Lewis sighs, overwhelmed with affection. “I love you.”

“I love you too. All three of you.”

They cuddle. Charles is the big spoon, a protective hand over Lewis’ stomach. Lewis doesn't sleep but dozes off a little. He is woken up by the strange sensation of something moving in his belly. He's taken aback, at first, scared and worried about the foreign feeling.

“Did I actually feel that?” Charles exclaims, and Lewis frowns.

“The… thing, right now? You also felt it?”

“I think one of the babies kicked! Holy shit!”

Lewis can't believe it. So that’s what it was! A kick! The realisation brings tears to his eyes, this time.

“It’s a bit early for kicks, isn’t it?” Lewis hums, not knowing if he should be happy or concerned about it.

“I mean, it’s our daughters we’re talking about. It’s not that surprising. Maybe they’re just in a hurry to get into a kart,” Charles jokes.

“They are not getting into a kart before they’re like, twenty,” Lewis declares, and Charles snorts.

“They’re our kids. Trust me, if they want to be in a kart, they will be.”

“I guess you have a point,” Lewis beams. He feels two more kicks, and it almost feels like it’s an answer.

God saves the paddock from their little Hamilton-Leclerc menace - he's pretty sure Charles with fight him for the order of their last names, but he's not gonna lose so easily.

That's a problem for later, however. For now, Lewis simply lets Charles hold him close and decides to doze off a bit more.

Don't hesitate to send more chewis prompts!

[resident-gay-bitch]

Sirius Black has been in a whopping total of one relationship. In fourth year, he had a very lovely girlfriend by the name of Mary McDonald. He and Mary are still good friends and he adores her wholeheartedly, and their relationship was really just a bit of good fun.

Sirius Black has kissed a whopping total of sixteen people. All, except Mary, have meant nothing more than a fleeting kiss and a bit of fun. Fourteen of them have been girls, and two very secret ones have been blokes.

Usually, when Sirius gets kissed by whatever fling he’s having at that time, it’s because they want him to shut up. Sirius has a tendency to ramble. He goes on these long, extravagant rants about things that excite him or boil his blood. He gossips and rambles and chatters until his mouth is dry and his jaw hurts too much to say anything else.

He annoys people. He knows that. He’s working on it, slowly. He’s not getting very far, in all these years of trying. He knows this because when he talks for more than three minuets straight, his current make out buddy will just pull him into a kiss and shut him up for a while. And then, if he starts talking again afterwards, they’ll huff and roll their eyes and that’s when Sirius finally stops. He sinks in on himself and hides away and won’t say much about anything for hours.

Sirius only really gets spontaneously kissed when he’s being annoying. He knows this now. And he hates it.

He’s really trying, but he struggles. He struggles so much, it’s just so hard to shut up sometimes when you have such strong emotions like he does.

But he never expected to be too much for James.

He’s rambling, he knows he is. But James never seems to huff or roll his eyes. Sometimes it seems like he zones out and doesn’t listen, but Sirius honestly doesn’t even mind, because James is still there. He might be in his own head, but he’s always still there, and eventually he’ll tune back in and nod along and even ask questions which prompts Sirius to talk even more.

So when Sirius has been rambling for the better part of ten minuets, and James suddenly grabs him and drags him into a quick kiss, Sirius shuts down.

His best friend in the whole world just made him shut up. He’s even gotten insufferable to James. And he knows he’s going on and gossiping about things James doesn’t care about, but if he really doesn’t want to listen he could have just asked.

He didn’t need to make Sirius feel like shit about it.

And it doesn’t help that Sirius has been dreaming about kissing James for years now.

He shuts off, stops talking, and brings his knees up to his chest, “Sorry.” Sirius mutters, and closes his eyes for a moment.

He wants to cry, but he refuses to be so annoying in front of James.

“Sorry?” James asked, sounding confused and kind of offended, “Sorry.” James repeated, and he sounded kind of gutted.

He knows. The worst part is that he knows. He figured it out. He must have. He knows, just from one simple kiss that Sirius is madly in love with him, and that he too hates himself for talking too much. He’s just ruined everything with his inability to shut his fucking mouth.

James has probably been waiting for Sirius to shut up since he got into the dorm, and the only way he could figure out to do it was to kiss his mouth shut.

Sirius is going to cry. He can’t bring himself to say anything before he crawls out of James’ bed curtains and climbs into his own. He draws them shut and curls up under the covers, casting a silencing charm around him before crying himself a headache.

James pokes his head into the curtain after a while. And Sirius really tries his best to not cry more but he can’t help it, he’s so annoying that his cries outweigh the fucking charm.

Just like his mother said. Insufferable chatterbox. He should have let her sew his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry.” James said, sitting at the very end of Sirius’ bed, knees curled to his chest and cheeks stained with sticky tears.

Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say anything, too afraid it would annoy James more. He hates annoying his friends, especially James. Oh, James.

“I shouldn’t have-“ James cleared his throat, “I know we’re best friends, but… well, I suppose we’re not now. But you’re- you’re the one person I’ve always trusted, and you already know, so I’m just gonna say it, okay? I’m… I’m queer.”

Sirius tensed and looked at James, “What?”

“I’m queer.” James confirmed, “And I- I’m sorry I just… I thought maybe you- maybe you felt the same. Sometimes I wonder… when you… you look at me like- like I’m… I don’t know. It’s stupid. It’s all so- I’m so fucking stupid.” James sniffled, rubbing the back of his palm on his nose, “I don’t want to lose you over some stupid feelings, and I know you hate me. I’m sorry your stupid best friend is a queer, I know it’s- I’m… I’m sorry, okay. But I need you to know- I’ve always wanted you to know.”

“You’re…” Sirius sat up, pulling the blankets to his chest, “You’re queer?”

James nodded, “Please don’t tell anyone.” He looked at Sirius through glassy eyes, “Please don’t hate me.”

“James I-“ Sirius launched himself forward, placing his hand over James’ and squeezing it tight, “I’d never hate you. Never. Why would you- Jamie… I’m… me too, okay. I’m… I’m queer too.”

“What?” James sniffled, “You are?”

Sirius nodded, “But I don’t understand what this has to do with me… with me needing to shut up.”

“It has nothing to do with- Sirius…” James pleaded, dipping his head to search Sirius’ eyes, “Where did you get the impression I wanted you to shut up.”

“You kissed me, James!” Sirius defended, “People only ever kiss me like that when I’m being annoying- need to shut up. I… you found my stupid rambling so annoying that you needed to shut me-“

“I don’t find your rambling annoying or stupid, Pads- I’m… don’t you… wait- people do that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m ashamed, obviously, James.” Sirius sobbed, bringing his hands to his eyes, “You’re stuck with a best friend who can’t shut his mouth. Why would I annoy you more by rambling about my petty problems that are entirely my own fault.”

“Because you’re my best friend.” James muttered, pulling Sirius’ hands away from his face, “And you’re meant to tell me these things so I can protect you from them… oh, Sirius, love, I’m so sorry.” James frowned and wiped some of Sirius’ tears away with the calloused pads of his thumbs, “I’m so sorry people treat you that way. I don’t feel like that, love. You know I enjoy your rambling, I love the sound of your voice. It brings me so much comfort.”

Sirius sniffled, “So why would you shut me up like that?”

“Sirius…” James tipped his head with coy smile, “I didn’t shut you up, love. I kissed you.”

“I don’t understand.” Sirius whispered.

“Sirius…” James pressed, “I kissed you.”

Sirius could only blink at him, the dots unable to connect themselves in his head.

James smiled, huffed a soft breath through his nose that Sirius took as an amused sort of laugh. They looked at eachother for a moment, and only a short moment before James was cupping Sirius’ cheeks and pulling him in close to kiss.

This time when James kissed him, it wasn’t to quiet Sirius. It was simply to kiss him. And James kissed him deeply, breathing a heavy sigh through his nose at first contact. His fingers dug deeper into the plush of Sirius’ cheeks and he opened his mouth, slipped in his tongue, and moaned a contented sigh. James kissed Sirius because he wants to kiss Sirius.

Because James seems to feel the same way.

“Oh.” Sirius muttered when the kiss broke, both desperate for air, “You fancy me.”

“Bingo, love.” James murmured, smiling dreamily up at him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips all wet and swollen, his eyes all glassy and soft. He looked positively chaffed to have just done that, and Sirius found his heart leaping out of his chest at the sight.

“You weren’t kissing me to shut me up?”

James shook his head, “I kissed you because every time you go one one of those rants I fight the urge to kiss you all over. Sometimes I even zone out completely and come up with a whole scenario in my head where I kiss you, and you kiss me back, and sometimes we shag and sometimes we don’t, and we lay in bed together, and I get to lay on your chest and listen to it vibrate as you ramble some more. Sometimes I imagine falling asleep to it, to you, because I love you, you make me feel safe. The sound of your voice makes me feel safe, Sirius.”

“Oh.” Came a shattered sob out of Sirius’ mouth, and he melted. James laughed at him softly, wiping the tears in Sirius’ eyes and pulling him in tight for a hug. He even went so far as to scatter kisses all over Sirius’ head.

“I promise I only interrupted you because I found you so unbelievably beautiful in every way that I simply couldn’t resist anymore. I’m so sick of holding back and waiting.” James leant down to kiss his brow, “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want you now.”

“I want you now, too.” Sirius muttered, curling into James, “You make me feel safe too, Jamie.”

“I know, love.” James chuckled, “You tell me all the time.”

Sirius blushed and wrapped himself tighter around James, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yeah.” James muttered, and couldn’t stop smiling about it.

“I love you.” Sirius whispered as his lips brushed against James’. He pressed a singular, soft little kiss there before whispering more, “I’m sorry if I annoy you with-“

“You don’t. You can’t.” James promised, kissing him again, “Sometimes I wish I was the only person you’d ramble to, so I might get to be special.”

“You are.” Sirius smiled, “You’re the only person who doesn’t find it insufferable.”

“You’re the only person I’d never find insufferable.” James grinned and kissed him hard and deep again. It lingered for a while, the kiss, until their lips were swollen and they were panting for air. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” Sirius promised, “The person I save my most special rambles for.”

James giggled, “And I’m yours. The person who could listen you nonstop talk for the rest of his life and never grow tired of you.”

“You’re mine.” Sirius agreed.

“Lay with me?” James asked, almost desperate sounding, “Let me lay on your chest whilst you finish telling me everything you wanted to say before?”

Sirius smiled and nodded his head, “And once I’ve finished that, I’ll ramble on about all the ways and reasons I love James Fleaumont Potter, because I’ve been dying to talk about that one for years.”

James kissed him through a smile, and they did exactly that.

★ ★ ★

OH MY GOD I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. SIRIUS DESERVES BETTER AND NOW JAMES IS GOING TO GIVE HIM EVERYTHING HE DESERVES AND MORE!!! THEYRE SO IN LOVE I CANT 😭😭😭

Someone find me a James to spontaneously be kissed by please and thank you

If you want to read more of my work you can find it all here :)))

Just tagging a few people who expressed interest in this little drabble, all my prongsfoot shippers have got to stick together in these sparse conditions I swear: @vintagetee13 @fiendishfyre @snarky-magpie @groundzero-v @lapassemirroir @siriuslycomplex

[loosingmoreletters]

For the ask game and because I’m soooo curious about what you’ll do with this: best friends sibling au for wangxian

The way I needed a second to parse this prompt. It’s best friend’s sibling, right?

Wei Wuxian is smart, the kind of smart that meant you either went down in the history books for revolutionizing cultivation or died trying. He knows that most people assume he’s going to die trying in the attempt. He’s fairly sure his mother has had his eulogy written since he was ten and his father started picking out coffins when he hit thirteen.

It’s whatever, Wei Wuxian’s got a goal in life, and he won’t stop accelerating until he reaches it.

Everyone knows it, and he supposes that’s the reason he got introduced to Lan Xichen at the itty-bitty age of five. Well, introduced, is a rather generous way to say his mom grabbed Lan Xichen and plopped him in front of Wei Wuxian in a sort of “behold, a fellow child” movement, mortifying everyone else in attendance, particularly Uncle Lan.

Wei Wuxian struggled to get along with his agemates, outpacing them easily, and Lan Xichen apparently needed someone to poke fun at him before he turned into a total rock. They had an odd give and take relationship, and not just because Wei Wuxian’s parents were independent cultivators and homeschooled him all over the world.

At sixteen, Wei Wuxian knew that Lan Xichen latched on to him because of the end result of a messy divorce. Sects, even in this day and age, didn’t particularly condone divorce. Separation tended to be the end all, which was the reason why they never got to see Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli on the weekends.

But Lan Xichen’s parents had gone through a divorce and Gusu Lan got to keep their sect heir and Lan Xichen’s mom her youngest. She’d wanted custody of both children, but the sects wouldn’t ever allow that.

And all of this culminated in Wei Wuxian accompanying Lan Xichen to the airport to pick said younger brother up. Well, that and the broken arm. Cultivation didn’t revolutionize itself and Wei Wuxian suspected that if he’d spent another hour in the library, Uncle Lan would’ve thrown him out himself.

Lan Wangji, the brother to be picked up and taken to Gusu for the first time in ten years, was sixteen, like Wei Wuxian himself, but that didn’t mean much given how much better Wei Wuxian did around older peers.

And apparently he looked a lot like Lan Xichen—

Oh.

“Well, that was a fucking lie,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Xichen the moment he spotted what could only be Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian supposed that at first glance, Lan Wangji looked a lot like Lan Xichen to someone who’d seen Lan Xichen out of sect robes, but a simple comparison didn’t measure up.

“You never told me your brother was hot,” Wei Wuxian hissed. “How have I known you for two thirds of my life and never known your brother was hot?”

“I’ve shown you photos,” Lan Xichen pointed out.

Well, yeah, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t wanted to see them because he’d been dragged to the Cloud Recesses by his mother only to be told that Lan Xichen would be gone for the summer, visiting his brother and mother. And the Lan Wangji in those pictures had been inherently ugly by virtue of stealing Wei Wuxian’s best friend.

This Lan Wangji was not.

“Does Uncle Lan know your brother has an undercut?”

Holy shit, Wei Wuxian needed to touch Lan Wangji’s head so badly. Squish his face between his hands and bite his lips.

“No,” Lan Xichen said and waved at the Hottest Man Alive, trademark pending. “Would you do me the favor and tell him?”

Wei Wuxian turned to his best friend and snorted. “I love you, but if I piss of Uncle Lan one more time, he’s banning me from the Cloud Reccesses too.”

“Thought so.”

[3-2-whump]

Mini-Comfortember Day 6

Prompt 6: Baby It’s Cold Outside

<prev

A continuation of yesterday's comfortember prompt. Told from the other side of the glass.

TW/CW: captivity whump, slave whump, minor whump (but only because Khaled is sixteen, nothing bad happens to him), carewhumper, conditioning (briefly mentioned)

There’s nothing quite like the quiet calm of the season’s first snowfall. The snowflakes drifting daintily to the frozen ground were accompanied by the roar of the penthouse’s furnace, the ambient music on Thomas’ Bluetooth speakers, and the incessant banging on the sliding door to the rooftop balcony.

Thomas tore his eyes away from the emails he was replying to on his tablet. He looked up at the teenager outside desperately begging to be let in. No less than half an hour ago, the sixteen-year-old stood enraptured by window, saying he’d only ever seen snow on TV before, and then wondering aloud if it felt as soft as it looked. And Thomas, like the gracious master he was, decided to unlock the boy’s ankle cuffs and let him out in his first snow for a bit. It seemed the ungrateful little bastard was already sick of it, as he banged on the door with his reddening hands and shivered in his hoodie and sweatpants.

“Master, please! Let me in, I’m cold!” Khaled’s voice was muffled by the thick glass, which was steadily fogging up with every word.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s what happens when you go out in only a hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers!” he yelled back. He conveniently ignored the fact that the hoodie and sweatpants were the warmest clothes the boy even had, and he didn’t buy him any boots. “Come on, just weather it out for ten more minutes?” he offered, already turning back to his emails.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago!” Khaled protested. He jammed a finger into the glass door. “I can see the clock on the stove from here!”

Damn, that kid has good eyesight! Thomas took one more look at his emails and groaned, switching off the tablet and rising reluctantly from the warm spot he made on the couch. “Alright, alright, alright already! I’m coming!” he called. He flicked the switch and slid the door open, letting in a frigid gust of air and the fastest teenager he’d ever seen, as Khaled ducked hastily into the warmth.

“F-f-f-f-fuck snow… ‘s too c-cold…” Khaled murmured as he struggled to take off his sodden shoes.

Thomas closed the door and knelt next to Khaled to help him take his shoes off. “You’re soaked through, boy, and freezing, too!” he commented. His warm, broad hands brushed against Khaled’s smaller, colder ones. As he straightened back up from where he knelt, Khaled’s wide brown eyes followed him, with melted snowflakes in his lashes glittering like gems in the living room lights. His face glowed red from the cold, and he clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering. Even if Thomas didn’t go out in the cold himself, looking at his pathetic boy was almost enough to make him shiver.

“Would you like something to warm you up?” he asked.

Khaled nodded immediately. Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him towards the couch. “Snuggle up with the electric blanket next to the couch –remember, next to the couch,” he emphasized. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He clapped the boy on the shoulder and made his way towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge, then the cupboards above and to the right of the stove, then the drawers below the island countertop, and before long, he was heating a saucepan of milk and decanting powdered hot chocolate mix into two mugs. Once the milk came to a simmer, the man took it off the heat, poured and mixed it carefully with the powder in the mugs, and topped each mug of dark, steamy liquid with mini-marshmallows.

Thomas came back to the living room, mugs of hot chocolate in each hand, and smiled affectionately at the pile of blankets curled at the foot of the couch. Next to the couch, just like he’d said. “Good boy,” he praised.

There was hardly anything of Khaled’s peeking out from underneath that blanket cocoon; the only way he knew the boy was under there, besides the vaguely human shape, were the pair of sock-clad feet poking out near the bottom. “I’m gonna pass you something hot, alright? Be careful.” He extended the mug towards the blanket nest, and a lighthearted feeling fluttered in his chest when a hand darted out to grab it and slowly absorb it back in. “I’m sitting back down.” He carefully treaded around Khaled until he could settle back into his previous spot on the couch. Outside, the snow still silently fell. Thomas took a sip out of his hot chocolate, then picked up his tablet again, balancing it on one knee as he opened the email app again.

A warm, fabric-swaddled weight pressed itself against his shins. “Thank you, Master,” Khaled said from beneath the blankets.

He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Khaled.”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling