#sorry to tag again i just wanted to do a proper “its out” post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pedrospatch · 2 years ago

Text

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess.

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise.

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite.

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside.

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look.

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime.

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude.

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you.

Could Frank actually be right?

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut.

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch smells heavenly—Frank knows it’s your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart.

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly.

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant.

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in.

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair.

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum.

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe.

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside.

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking long since anyone had ever touched him like that.

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that.

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…”

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain.

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage.

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face.

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness.

But he was yours too.

#joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

11K notes · View notes

athanza · 10 months ago

Text

Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

168 notes · View notes

zukkathirst · 4 months ago

Text

Hi everyone, thank you so much for taking part in the Zukka Thirst NSFW weekend! As promised, here is our masterlist of amazing fanworks created for the weekend, and we wanted to put them together here one easy post for clicking!

Before I begin we just want to thank the creators who took part - this was a fun weekend to run and we hope you had fun too, and that you enjoyed sprinkling a little bit of spice into our Zukka hotpot!

We've popped the list under a read-more to save dash space, but under the cut you'll find a compilation of all the great stuff that came (😏) out of the weekend. Each work comes with its own individual warnings and tags on it, so please read before scrolling down - or if in doubt, browse the AO3 collection instead! We've also included links to the promo post(s) for each piece on tumblr if you'd like to reblog directly from the author or artist. And obvious caveat - all these creations are not worksafe!!

And without further ado... the fanworks!

Title: Blowjob Creator: @umossu on tumblr | 1mossplease on AO3 Summary: They blow each other :-) Links: AO3 Preview:

Title: Just Get On Your Knees (Say Pretty Please) Creator: @erisenyo on tumblr | erisenyo on AO3 Summary: Zuko has a crush. Detective Wang Fire is on the case. And Sokka--Sokka might have a few questions, too, once he gets past how fun it is to see Zuko so flustered. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

“Don’t worry, love,” Sokka tosses over his shoulder, smirking as Zuko’s heat licks up his back. “Second place is still good enough to get your dick w—wait. Mine?” Zuko tumbles Sokka onto the bed. “Yours?” “You said mine doesn’t have posters.” Sokka shoves his loose hair out of his face, rolling onto his back just in time for Zuko to straddle him. “Meaning yours. Your—crush? You have a crush?”

Title: A Primer on How to Make Tax Codes, Trade Taffirs, and Asset Management Sexy Creator: Escyn on tumblr | Escyn on AO3 Summary: NSWF art inspired by Erisenyo’s Lessons in Proper Asset Management Links: AO3 Preview:

Title: high-strung Creator: @ranilla-bean on tumblr | ranilla-bean on AO3 Summary: Sokka gives Zuko a maths lesson. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Sokka’s eyebrow rose. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. What was he up to? Zuko’s breath hitched; his fingers dug into the lotus silk of his robe. He had never quite managed to become immune to Sokka’s charms. A playful brown hand reached into the bag and pulled out— Well, Zuko wasn’t sure what it was.

Title: Piercings Creator: @umossu on tumblr | 1mossplease on AO3 Summary: Zuko gets ALL the piercings. Sokka approves. Links: AO3 Preview:

Title: Enhanced Interrogation Creator: @watertribe-inventor-guy on tumblr | Fishstick_LBT on AO3 Summary: It's dick. The advanced interrogation method is Fire Lord dick. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: Nice Contrast Creator: @aimrwv on tumblr | AIMRWV on AO3 Summary: Suki mentions Sokka’s involvement in an underground movement for sexual liberation within the Fire Nation and Zuko wonders why his closest friend had never bothered telling him about it.

He finds out the "hard" way. Links: AO3 link Preview:

“Sorry that I wasn’t super excited to talk about my less conventional sex-life with a happily married straight man who also just happens to be the Fire Lord and – wait – my employer.” Sokka said, the bite behind his words was clearly for show but Zuko decided to play along. “Employer” He snorted. “Do you really think that I treat anyone else in this palace like I treat you? I can assure you you’re the only one of my employees who is allowed to sit on my private balcony and share carafe after carafe of this nation’s finest wine with me. That’s how I treat friends, Sokka. And also, I think, as the regent monarch, I should know about underground movements in my country.”

Title: Cooling down (and heating right back up again) Creator: Escyn on tumblr | Escyn on AO3 Summary: NSFW art inspired by SyciaraLynx's Married Zukka Banging it Out Series Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: Zukka Thirst Weekend Creator: @shesmykindofboi on tumblr | chibicthulhu on AO3 Summary: Drawing for zukka thirst prompt event on tumblr, literally the first nsfw art I’ve ever done. Fun! Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: up with the sun Creator: @dickpuncherdraws on tumblr | dickpuncher420 on ao3 Summary: Sokka wakes up feeling frisky. Links: AO3 link | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: Unfulfilled Needs Creator: @baileynono on tumblr | baileynono on AO3 Summary: Sokka and Zuko come to the realisation that they desperately need to fuck. However, there are only very few moments where the Fire Lord won't be interrupted. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

“So, mighty Fire Lord, how has this evening been treating you?” Zuko scrunches up his face. “I didn’t escape a bunch of nonsense to hear you spout some more.” “Oh, please. You love it even when I talk all fancy to you.” Sokka receives a glare and a squeeze on his shoulders as Zuko very pointedly avoids his face. “Come on, I asked you a question! How has this evening been?”

Title: Doodles that embarrass me Creator: blu3berrydraws on tumblr | Blu3berry on AO3 Summary: this is a dump for spicy sketches that ill never finish or refine all of them are NSFW ! They feature nudity and sexual acts ! Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: Jockey Creator: @umossu on tumblr | 1mossplease on AO3 Summary: Zuko gets pounded into the bed Links: AO3 Preview:

Title: Zukka Smut Compilation Creator: @ash-and-starlight on tumblr | Summary: A place where I can gather my nsfw zukka art, starting off with entries for the Zukka Thirst Weekend over on Tumblr

1) Frotting + fem!zukka 2) Hickeys + modern au 3) Spooning 4) Blowjob + t4t zukka 5) Rimming + a scene from ranilla_bean's "in flammam flammas" Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post 1 | tumblr promo post 2 | tumblr promo post 3 Preview:

Title: golden apple of my eye Creator: @glycopyrrolate on tumblr | aiyah on AO3 Summary: Sokka has a fantastic idea. Zuko obliges. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

But what if? Stupid ideas mean stupid decisions. Sokka’s the type of guy to think about stupid shit when he really shouldn’t. It usually comes back to bite him in the ass.

Title: hit the back Creator: @dickpuncherdraws on tumblr | dickpuncher420 on ao3 Summary: Zuko knows how to treat her girl right. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Title: helping hand Creator: @ranilla-bean on tumblr | ranilla-bean on AO3 Summary: Sokka wears Zuko like a glove puppet. 🤜 Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post Preview:

Back home, they had, well, objects for this. All sorts of lewd things not meant for polite eyes that they could cram out of sight into all sorts of holes. At Kuei’s palace, they did not. But Sokka was looking thoughtful. “Wait… We might not have our toys, but…” He held up a hand and waggled it. “We could improvise?”

Title: Zukka Thirst Event Creator: @arandin-art on tumblr | nekoppi on AO3 Summary: My art participation to the Zukka Thirst Weekend. Links: AO3 | tumblr post Preview:

Title: You are going to carry that weight Creator: Escyn on tumblr | Escyn on AO3 Summary: Smutty mostly art that took on a life of its own. Ft. Sokka as a cowboy, Zuko as a samurai, scruffy middle-aged men looking for a second chance, and a non-insurmountable language barrier. Links: AO3 | tumblr promo post | tumblr promo post 2 Preview:

"When my lover left me for another man, I, ah, killed both him and his new lover. I felt much, how do you say it, lighter? Yes, lighter." The stranger peers at Sokka though his lashes, golden gaze assessing what Sokka can only guess is a look of utter bewilderment on his face. Heartbreak had driven Sokka away from the only home he ever knew, to a foreign land with only his flask and a letter of introduction to a cattle rancher to his name. The letter had lead him here, on a train to the middle of nowhere, the Eurasian plain flying by. The flask had him spilling his guts to this unsuspecting stranger. A stranger who maybe just admitted to murder, whose pretty pink lips demand all of Sokka's attention, he wants them wrapped around his-- "Would doing that also help you?" Sokka sputters, moving the flask away from his lips. Coughing, he feels the low alcohol buzz in his stomach transform into something hot and churning. So many questions, but only one passes his lips. "Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Title: Zukka Thirsty Weekend Creator: @chiptrillino Summary: Collection of drawings for the characters sokka and zuko, based on the prompt bingo from the zukka thirst event on tumblr. Links: AO3 Preview:

Title: Fuck me Juliet Creator: @umossu on tumblr | 1mossplease on AO3 Summary: Zuko is horny and Sokka is saying something. Then Sokka is horny, and Zuko is saying something. Then they're both talking. Then they're fucking. Links: AO3 Preview:

The moonlight shines only on Sokka's right side: one eye, bluer than the ocean spirit, stares back at him. Zuko forgets to breathe for a moment. When Sokka's fingers slide down his neck, it brings him back to his senses, and Zuko asks, "Can I–" They're kissing.

#zukka thirst mod post #zukka thirst week #zukka #atla zuko #atla sokka #waaahhh it’s been such a fun ride!!#and so many amazing contributions #we rlly couldn’t have hoped for anything better

60 notes · View notes

biaonww · 1 year ago

Text

"something about you" rin itoshi based • angst based on not-so-bf trope <3

may contain errors, similar content is coincidental.

watching rin itoshi’s match is always mesmerizing. he shines in destroying things that are close to him.

it’s complete monstrosity when he plays, which is the complete opposite of his brother sae’s gameplay.

a completely calculated person, while rin is a monster.

but still—

why does rin still shine so much?

why does he stand out the most in your eyes, as if he was a twinkling star in the sky you would wish on?

why is he so captivating, yet always out of your hand?

bothered by your thoughts, rin wins his match. of course, another easy win for him.

… but its noisy. it hurts your ears.

announcers announcing his win.. interviewers excitingly waiting for him to get out of the stadium and start asking him questions… the horn sounds and people shrieking….

but everything goes quiet when he manages to find you straight away.

no matter how many people are in the stalls—

his eyes always seem to capture you.

those beautiful eyes that could even challenge a diamonds beauty.

but there he is again, confusing you.

he’s looking at you pleadingly, right after he scored the last shot.

shouldn’t he be focused on the crowd, and the way they scream his name in joy?

did he maybe finally realize that he left you mesmerized every single time?

did he maybe finally realize that you were always admiring him from afar?

or will he push you away again when he gives you mixed signals?

you sigh thinking of it, so you stand up, going to the exit of the stadium.

but once you finally reach the corridor, you see rin.

so you pause from walking, while he jogs towards you.

“you should celebrate your win, itoshi.” you remark.

“don’t call me itoshi.” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s still trying to catch his breath, while gripping your arm tightly.

(but of course, not in a way that would hurt you. he wouldn’t want that.).

“i think it is only proper of me to call you itoshi. considering you never let me see what’s under your disguise.”

“i said don’t call me itoshi.”

“fine then.”

“— you know what, rin? i actually think it’s better if you keep pushing me away.”

“i mean i don’t know if you’re just another unreachable dream, or a one-in-a-million person i can achieve.”

“but i also don’t know if you’ll destroy me. which i’m scared of.”

“after all, you said everything that grows close to you soon tears down.”

you look at the floor, eyes slowly but surely becoming watery.

rin stays quiet, his gaze softening when you immediately look down.

“… if you’re scared of me destroying you, then i’ll try and treat you like a delicate flower.”

“if you ever get scared, i’ll stay by your side to keep you safe.”

“if you hate the noise, then i’ll cover your ears for you.”

“if i don’t show my true self to you, then i’ll lower my guard for you.”

“just don’t leave like everyone does. not like nii-san.”

“but instead stay. i’m humbly asking you to stay right now.”

“i’m sorry that i give you mixed signals. but give me a chance to prove myself to you, please?”

“i’m not perfect. i’m not the best yet. love is foreign to me. we may have fights and disagreements when we’re together. but for you, i’ll try.”

you finally look up at him, the tears in your eyes spilling out already.

but he wipes them for you, and looks at you so fondly.

“then why couldn’t you do all this in the first place, you idiot?” you mumble.

“i’m sorry.”

“but what’s your answer? will you accept me, or not?”

he chuckles softly, slowly letting down his facade for you. and only you.

“… you know it’s a yes, rin.”

— fin.

now that im rereading this, it actually looks so SHITTY WTF... but i hope its good enough to be posted </3 reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated pls !! (btw, tags kinda foreshadow the fic so hehe)

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin imagines #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock angst #bllk angst #itoshi rin angst #bluelock #blue lock x you #rin itoshi fluff #rin itoshi angst

263 notes · View notes

wyvernquill · 1 year ago

Text

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks.

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #i hope i will put the next part up with less delay instead of just forgetting it in my drafts again...#my tumblring habits truly are atrocious sometimes #but i really like the next bit so i have some motivation to share it soon!#especially because there's been so much new interest in the past 24 hours or so #thank you everyone! it made me really happy!!!#the least i can do is provide some actual hob-murphy interactions in the next bit (plus some matthew because he's lovely)

83 notes · View notes

deadlysoupy · 1 month ago

Text

Can't Say I Didn't Try

Chapters: 1/? Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Isabela & Rook, Lucanis Dellamorte & Neve Gallus & Rook Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Confessions, Trust Issues, Slavery, Lord of Fortune Rook, Drabble Collection, Trans Male Character

The life of Urchin "Rook". Includes slavery, adoption, the Lords of Fortune shenanigans, opening up to people and finding a new family.

posted on AO3 (requires an account) or under Read More for easy access!

notes: i wanted a drabble collection at first but i think its too much to bother. its 2 am also im going to regret it in the morning for suuuure

feel free to ask questions or clarifications! this might not be in proper order so there's bound to be some confusion. also Urchin is trans, so. keep that in mind

warning: English is still not my first language, so please point out any mistakes, i'd really appreciate it. constructive criticism is welcome!

Her knife clatters onto the ground with a cling. Metal on stone, it bounces two times before landing on its side.

Urchin flinches. Her arms frozen in place, still gripping a shadow of a knife. She dares not move. Her body starts burning, the staring of a sparring dummy singing her skin. The dummy laughs at her poor technique. Isabela said that she had to defend herself, now that she’s a Lord of Fortune, to stop anyone from hurting her again.

And she wants to. Urchin’s hands tremble, tears gathering at the edges of her vision. The world becomes very blurry, bile rising to her throat. Isabela will kick her out into the street now. She’ll be forced to run her whole life, until eventually she’ll be back in that ship, working until her hands turn raw and bloody.

A flinch, a hand on her shoulder. It’s radiating warmth, but Urchin doesn’t believe it. “Oh, no, kitten, it’s okay. It’s your first day, love, I don’t expect you to do it right away.”

Urchin sniffles. Her knees threaten to buckle under her.

She’s going to get hurt again. Lightning will bounce around the room, a cackle of its source. “At least you’ll know what magic feels like,” the cackle said.

“Urchin, look at me, sweetheart,” Isabela’s voice rings louder than her jailer. She tries to feel her body again and look at Isabela. Through her stained eyes, Isabela’s unusual colour palette comes first, and she smells the sea. “Now, lift your pretty little eyes at me, will you? They’re beautiful — I just have to see them.” No one has ever said her eyes were pretty. No one said she was anything at all. Simply a tool to them. Easy to break, and to be replaced if useless.

But Isabela doesn’t see her like that.

Urchin blinks once, twice, letting her tears out of their cages, her nose running like a river. Isabela is smiling. Her smile so tender it makes the girl's tears heavier and uncontainable. Isabela’s eyes are full of care and affection Urchin doesn’t know what to do with. She doesn’t deserve them.

Isabela giggles. “There you are. Aren’t you just the prettiest pearl of the sea?” she gives compliments like it’s nothing to her, like it’s as easy as breathing. She’s lying, then. “Now, come on, baby, what’s wrong? Just because you dropped it now doesn’t mean you’ll drop it next time.”

Urchin hiccups through her answer. She knows she has to give one, even if it brings her pain, because disobedience is unforgivable. She doesn’t want to be in pain anymore, it’s why she picked up the knife in the first place. “B-because I messed up, and it was so-so loud, and I didn’t mean to drop it, I’m sorry mistress, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Urchin, you don’t have to apologize,” Isabela’s hand rises and Urchin prepares for a slap, but a palm cups her cheek, and Isabela’s gentle finger rubs tears off her face. “I’m sorry to put you through this so soon, I know it’s hard. But I know you can do this. We gotta make you stand up for yourself, and show those bastards how it’s done. You’re such a strong kid, you went through so much, and I can show you how to defend yourself against anyone who would want to do that to you again. You understand?”

She thinks she does. She doesn’t want to cower anymore. She needs to stop pain from happening. She doesn’t want to get punished again. Ever.

Urchin nods, and sniffs.

“Good,” Isabela smiles again, and takes her by the shoulders, almost in a hug. “I’ll get you a handkerchief, and we’ll try again. I’ll guide you the whole way. And then we’ll eat something nice. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Urchin nods again. Isabela rubs her shoulders before running into another room, and her body feels so cold without her touch. Urchin brings her arms around herself, like she would do when she went to sleep.

But it’s not as cold as she thought it would be, and the promise of food excites her. Maybe she won’t cry this time. She just has to try. For Isabela.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #datv #dragon age rook #rook laidir #oc: urchin #isabela dragon age #my writing

10 notes · View notes

takaraphoenix · 6 months ago

Text

Small But Good

Tags: m/m, directly post s2 finale, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Alpha Peter, Spark Stiles, Pack Mom Stiles, Pack Feels, True Mates, hurt/comfort, aftermath of torture, m/f

Main Pairing: Peter/Stiles

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

@WritersMonth Prompts: running + penthouse

This Fic on AO3 | This Fic on FFNet

Summary: After Gerard is taken down, Stiles finds himself disappointed in Scott and very hurt. He also finds himself alone with Peter. Peter, who is suddenly alive again. Ever since he'd helped kill the Alpha, Stiles had been thinking about Peter a lot, had realized something about Peter's behavior toward him but he thought it wouldn't matter anymore, with Peter's death.

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Today sucked, on nearly every account possible. The only good thing that had happened was scoring the winning goal and hearing his dad's cheers. After that, everything had kind of gone downhill. First he got dragged off and kidnapped by hunters. Then he got mildly electrocuted when he tried to free Boyd and Erica because Boyd and Erica were strung-up in the basement, with electricity running through their bodies, tears running down their faces and—Stiles shook his head violently, trying to shake the image of them off. The beating from grandpa Argent had sure been a highlight. Back home, Stiles had to lie to his dad again and that was its own pain too. And then he had let himself be roped into driving Lydia to an abandoned warehouse just so he could watch her declare her undying love to Jackson in a manner that broke the kanima curse and allowed Jackson to turn into a proper werewolf again. Yet somehow, the biggest blow was the way Scott didn't even ask. Stiles had visible cuts and bruises, his entire face felt like one big bruise, all to send a message to Scott and Scott didn't even ask. No, all Scott was run after Allison, again.

Stiles slumped against his Jeep, all his energy drained as he looked around, looked away from Allison and Scott, and from Lydia and Jackson. Derek and Isaac were leaving, together. Stiles noted, with a hole in his stomach, that Gerard was gone. Closing his eyes, Stiles sank down the side of his Jeep, landing on the ground. He pulled his legs up against his chest, even as that caused the pain in his ribs to jolt through his entire body for a moment. Scrunching his face up, Stiles rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. He just wanted today to be over. Maybe he should leave, but he just didn't have the energy just yet, he needed only a moment to gather himself. And maybe, just maybe, he hoped that Scott would return to him, would notice, and ask, and care, and…

"There you are. For a moment I thought you'd already left."

Stiles frowned, not lifting his head off his arms. If he didn't look up, he didn't have to confirm that he was absolutely losing his mind because that voice, that voice, it haunted his nightmares. His heart jumped as the guilt overwhelmed him again. He'd killed him, Stiles had killed him, Stiles had—A hand touched his arm, startling him so much he jerked away. Jerking away? Not a good idea with bruised ribs and various other injuries that Stiles hadn't cared to catalog yet. A whimper escaped him as white dots started dancing before his eyes and he curled together more.

"I'm sorry," Peter's voice was filled with regret. "I didn't…"

He trailed off, leaving it up to interpretation what he didn't mean to do. Stiles didn't care to try and guess at the moment, because his whole body was just one big ache right now. Taking slow, deep breath – as deep as his ribs allowed – Stiles leaned his head back against his Jeep's door and tried to reign it in. Opening his eyes, he actually looked at the werewolf.

How was this man that handsome, it was absolutely ridiculous. Like he'd stepped out of one of those underwear catalogs that Stiles definitely didn't keep in the lowest drawer of his nightstand. Those mesmerizing, deep blue eyes, the physique, the pretty face.

Not the time to focus on that. Time to focus on the fact that Peter Hale was somehow alive, even though Stiles had helped kill him. He'd helped… He closed his eyes again, tightly, wondering if Peter would be gone when he opened them once more. Like this was a trick of his mind. After all, today was such a day. He felt like he kept losing, he'd lost Erica and Boyd – Erica and Boyd were still in that basement, were probably still being tortured, he hadn't been able to free them, he had failed them, he had—and judging by the look of utter betrayal on Derek's face and the way Derek and Isaac had just left, Stiles guessed he'd lost the pack, in general, on account of his association with Scott, after what Scott had just pulled, which he also felt like he had lost Scott. Stiles was heavily injured and his best friend not only didn't ask, he also… didn't stick around, to make sure Stiles would be fine, would find home, or anything at all. He'd also lost Lydia, but then he wondered if he ever really had her, because even when she went on dates with him, she wasn't really there and her heart had always belonged to Jackson and… it didn't really hurt. Somewhere along the way of desperately trying to date her, he'd come to terms with the fact that he had made this whole thing up in his head and had romanticized and idealized it to hell and back.

"Stiles," Peter's voice was sharp, urgent.

"Not passed out, just thinking," Stiles grunted, cracking an eye open, because if he could still hear Peter then Peter was probably still there and yep, there he was, all handsome and worried.

Wait. Stiles also opened his other eye, staring at the werewolf. Worried? Why would Peter look worried? Peter should look furious or murderous or betrayed or maybe even heartbroken, after all, Stiles had helped kill him and how could Peter even look at him, he had-

"Stop thinking," Peter growled with a frown. "Because whatever you're thinking, it's spiraling you into a panic attack, darling. Get out of your head. Tell me what's going on in there."

Stiles barked out a dry laugh at that. "Why are you even talking to me."

A look of confusion and hurt – hurt? – flashed over Peter's face as the wolf took a deliberate step back, like he was trying to give Stiles space. Heaving a deep sigh, Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. His head hurt so damn much and this wasn't helping.

"Why are you talking to me?" Stiles asked again, much softer this time. "I helped kill you."

Understanding dawned on Peter, as this put Stiles' words into a wildly different context from whatever Peter had assumed he'd met. Stiles didn't have the brain-power or energy to guess.

"That doesn't matter," Peter whispered.

"It does!" Stiles barked out the words, balling his hands into shaking fists. "I killed you! I'm the one person you should have been able to trust and I killed you! I'm your mate and I killed you!"

His eyes widened and he clasped a hand over his mouth. He really needed to invest in a brain to mouth filter at some point. That shouldn't have been said. It had remained unsaid over the entire stretch that they'd known each other, every interaction, as heavily laced with the evidence as it had been – the way Peter not once laid a hand on him, not when he'd kidnapped Stiles, not when he left Stiles go again, even as he'd mauled Lydia, even as he'd killed his nurse, he'd offered Stiles the bite and had accepted Stiles' refusal, he'd even let Stiles get help for Lydia. It was all there, all glaringly there but Stiles had adamantly refused to see any of it until it was too late, until he threw the Molotov cocktail and felt the bond snap inside his soul.

He expected Peter to lash out, to sneer at him, to leave, anything, but not to… laugh. "So you figured it out on your own. Of course you did, clever boy."

Stiles felt himself flush at the praise. "Why aren't you mad? Or disappointed? Or angry?"

When Peter looked at him, his expression was so soft that it took Stiles' breath away. "Because I wasn't… all there. The fire, the coma, the isolation without a pack, it had left me… feral and insane. I was a threat, to the people you cared about, so you helped take me out. And I can't… blame you. Not you. Besides, I think dying helped. I feel much clearer."

Humming softly, Stiles wrapped his arms around his knees. "Where did you come from?"

"Mh," Peter got a far-off look. "It wasn't hell, surprisingly. I think more of a limbo-"

"No, I mean just now," Stiles interrupted him with a grunt. "I am in no shape to even halfway consider the philosophical, theological and… metaphysical, I guess, implications of your resurrection. I mean that I was sitting alone in this creepy ass warehouse and then you showed up."

"Ah," Peter chuckled, and then he flexed his claws and flashed his eyes – red eyes, Alpha eyes, holy shit, more implication that Stiles need to shelf for later. "Something slithered away while nobody was looking. But I could smell him all over you. I… don't need to ask who did this to you. So, I followed him to make sure he never lays a hand on you again, darling."

This time, when Stiles whimpered, it was not a pain reaction. It was something very deep and primal. A weird mix of pleasure, arousal, surprise and feeling protected. He couldn't even feel embarrassed about the noise. Peter had just declared that he'd killed the man who had kidnapped and tortured Stiles, all just to make sure Stiles would be safe. Blinking sluggishly, Stiles regarded the wolf and he could see the restraint in his posture, the tension. Like it took everything he had to hold himself back from something. It took a moment until Stiles' brain caught up.

"I didn't flinch because I'm scared of you or thought you wanted to hurt me," Stiles offered after another moment. "I wasn't really here, in my mind I mean, and you startled me."

Some of the tension drained away from Peter, but there was still reluctance in his eyes. "Can I… touch you, darling?"

Stiles offered a half-shrug, directly followed by a wince. "As long as you don't make it creepy."

The moment Peter's hand grasped his neck, something happened. It felt like the pain decided to just leave his body and Stiles could take his first deep breath in hours. He gasped surprised. There were black veins snaking up Peter's arm as the wolf drained Stiles' pain.

"Thank you," Stiles' voice was a whisper.

"Come on," Peter got up and offered Stiles a hand. "Let's get out of this place."

Stiles hummed but he was reluctant to follow the order. He didn't want to go home. Still, he let himself be nudged toward the passenger seat of the Jeep and when Peter held out his hand, he even handed over the keys. He was so in no shape to drive, it was still a miracle they had somehow made it all the way here in the first place. A mournful sigh escaped Stiles as he regarded Roscoe.

"I am so sorry, baby girl," Stiles gently patted the door. "I so can't afford to fix you this time…"

He could feel Peter's eyes on him, but he was glad the wolf didn't comment on it. Neither on Stiles talking to his Jeep, calling his Jeep 'baby girl', or being too damn broke to repair said Jeep. Closing his eyes, Stiles leaned his head back and tried to relax.

"Why were you still here, Stiles?" Peter asked after a moment.

"Because everybody else already left," Stiles shrugged. "Because I didn't have the energy to drive myself just yet. Because I… didn't want to go home and sit in an empty house."

"Your father-"

"Is out on shift, yeah," Stiles turned his head to look out the window. "Creepy warehouse beat lonely, empty house, I guess. I doubt I'll sleep much tonight anyway."

Stiles frowned when they passed his house. Sure he had said he didn't want to be alone at home but he didn't really know what the alternative was. Finally, he turned to actually look at the wolf again. Peter didn't acknowledge it though, like he wanted Stiles to verbalize what was on his mind and since when was that a thing. People wanted him to talk less, not more.

"Seeing as I have already been kidnapped once today, I'd like to know where we're going."

The noise coming from Peter was somewhere between an angry growl and a snorted out laugh. "I am not kidnapping you, darling. You just said that your house isn't safe, with your father gone and you in... no state to fend off an attacker yourself. We're going to my place."

"You have a place," Stiles blurted it out without meaning to and winced at how it sounded.

"Yes, unlike Derek, I am not too fond of rat infestations," the look on Peter's face was filled with distaste and judgment. "He may be fine sleeping in that... train depot... but I do have standards."

Stiles hummed softly and sank lower in the seat. His eyes trailed back out the window, watching the scenery of night time Beacon Hills pass them. They left the neighborhood and the longer they drove, the bigger and fancier were the houses, until Stiles was fairly sure he'd never actually been in this neighborhood. There was a new and tall building, rich people apartment building to attract a different kind of new people into moving to Beacon Hills. Supposedly, it had a pool on the roof, or so Stiles had heard. He recognized the building when they headed straight for it, and for the underground parking beneath it, where Peter first had to show an ID to even enter.

"Of course do you live in the one apartment complex in all of Beacon Hills with a private pool."

"The pool is only accessible through the penthouse."

Stiles looked at Peter from the corner of his eyes, noting a smug smirk. "And you live in the penthouse. Of course you do."

"What can I say, I am a man of great taste."

He actually winked at Stiles at that. Looked at Stiles and winked. Like he was talking about Stiles. Like he was flirting with Stiles. His heart jumped a little at that because them being mates, being somehow fated to be for reasons beyond Stiles' understanding, was one thing, it was a thing that Peter hadn't chosen for himself. But flirting with Stiles was a choice. A choice that made Stiles' cheeks feel hot with a flush and his heart feel weirdly full, made him feel desired.

Peter parked the Jeep next to what might be the most expensive car Stiles had ever gotten to see up close in real life and something told Stiles this was Peter's. So Stiles opted to not comment on it. Instead, he got out of his car – his dented, damaged, beloved car that miraculously had brought them here while making the most concerning noises Stiles had ever heard a car make – and rounded her to stand next to Peter, his eyes decidedly not on the shiny car next to Roscoe.

"Not to jinx my luck, but... you are being surprisingly... compliant."

Peter raised one eyebrow as he led Stiles into the elevator and used a key to unlock the penthouse button. Stiles slumped against the back wall and closed his eyes again, heaving a deep sigh.

"My dad's at work. Scott just... left," Stiles couldn't help the sneer. "So did Lydia and Jackson, for that matter, but they were too wrapped up in their curse-breaking, all defying Disney-style love story, also I would rather jump off a bridge than let Jackson Whittemore drive me home. Derek left, which, I guess I can't fault him for that, to him Scott and me have always been a package deal, so if Scott betrayed him and left the pack, he most likely assumes I did too."

"Assumes," Peter repeated, tilting his head intrigued. "You're... not? Leaving the pack, I mean. I'm well-aware that whatever this… was… it was Scott's idea and not yours. Your ideas are more… refined and also effective. This one had Scott written all over it."

"Contrary to popular belief are Scott and I actually two separate people," Stiles huffed and opened his eyes to glare at Peter while motioning at his bruised face. "This? This wasn't just because grandpa gets off on torturing teenagers – though he definitely does – this was a message for Scott. I got kidnapped and beaten up and electrocuted and kicked in the ribs to teach Scott a lesson and Scott didn't even fucking ask. He didn't even fucking notice."

Stiles had talked himself into a rage and he hit the elevator wall hard with his fist, clenching his eyes shut to keep from crying. He was not going to cry. He'd gotten through getting tortured without crying, he was absolutely not going to cry out in disappointment just because Scott prioritized his girlfriend over his best friend (again, something that had already nearly gotten Stiles killed twice in the past months because Scott was too wrapped up in Allison to even answer his damn phone), even though the damn girlfriend was the reason why Scott had gotten a "message" to begin with. A gentle hand on his upper arm tore him out of his thoughts and made him look up at Peter. Red eyes and fangs, like the wolf was so close to the surface, to leaving and acting out in revenge. On Stiles' behalf, Stiles realized. Peter was wolved out to go and hunt down Scott.

"Right," Stiles cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Right. So. Yeah. Everybody else had left and you... stayed. For me. Besides, you seem much more... sane. Not less murderous, but more rational. Besides, I know you won't hurt me."

That put a look of genuine surprise on Peter's face. "You do."

"Werewolves can't hurt their mates, lesson I learned from Scott having no problems pushing me around but not even hurt a hair on Allison's head, not even on the full moon," Stiles shrugged, turning his face away a little to hide his returning blush. "That was the main thing that clued me in on... this. You never hurt me. You attacked Scott and turned him, but only after I left. You attacked Derek in the hospital, but didn't even try to attack me, before he came, even though you could have easily killed me if you had wanted to. You mauled Lydia, but didn't lay a hand on me. You killed your nurse after she was no longer useful, but just let me go unharmed. You have attacked or straight-up killed pretty much everyone who interacted with you. Aside from me. Never me."

"Clever boy," Peter whispered with a pleased look on his face. "When did you figure it out, then?"

Pressing his lips together, Stiles avoided Peter's gaze once more. "After we... killed you. I felt the... I guess I felt the bond snap, it was like something in my soul broke? Took me a couple more weeks to actually... admit that though, to look back at everything and put it into the obvious context."

Peter regarded him with a frown. "I'm sorry you had to feel that."

"What," Stiles sputtered, head snapping up to stare at the wolf incredulously. "I helped kill you and you're apologizing that your death had a negative effect on me? You're ridiculous."

"No, I'm a born werewolf," Peter's voice was gentle but void of emotions. "Mates are… Wolves pride themselves on finding their mates. Yet not every wolf is lucky enough to meet their mate. If a wolf brings their mate into the pack, these mates are… cherished, within the pack. Respected. A wolf would do anything for their mate, it's… not just instinct, it's also a sense of… gratitude. You exist for me and I will do anything in my powers to protect you and be worthy of you."

Peter's gaze on him felt so heavy that Stiles had to swallow hard. Even without werewolfly hearing, Stiles could tell that Peter wasn't lying, that he meant every word. Still, there was something sorrowful in his eyes, he looked guarded as he turned away from Stiles some.

"I haven't been worthy of you, yet. So I can't hold it against you that you played your part in killing me, darling," Peter offered a bitter, twisted smile. "I was feral. My mind was only slowly coming back to me. I turned Scott, because he smelt heavily of you. I attacked Lydia, because your scent was all over her and how dare she try to take what is mine."

A shudder wrecked Stiles at just how forceful and possessive that last word was. He swallowed again, struggling with all the emotions that were going through his head. He shouldn't be turned on by that, he shouldn't feel pleased by that possessiveness, not after everything Peter had done. But he'd never been wanted before. Not by Lydia, whom he loved for so long, not by anybody else. The want was undeniable here, Peter wanted him, wanted Stiles to be his and only his, and the feeling of being wanted to fiercely was exhilarating and dizzying.

Peter cleared his throat. "I'd like to note that this was not a display of relapsing insanity, it's simply an instinctual reaction to an unsealed mate-bond."

"Noted," Stiles blinked at him, not sure what else to say.

The elevator doors opened and Peter gently grasped him by the elbow to guide him in. Stiles' eyes roamed the space, taking in as much of it as he could. It wasn't very personal, but then Stiles supposed that Peter had lost all personal possessions during the fire. It was very fancy and very modern in decor and style. The kind of place that made Stiles not want to touch anything because if be broke something it would probably cost more than a year's worth of his allowance.

"Come," Peter reached for his arm again after locking the door behind them.

Stiles wasn't feeling snarky or defiant, even though all that gentle urging along was kind of frustrating. He felt like a little kid lost at the mall with a kind stranger trying to make him trust them so he could be brought back to his parents. That was just not the vibe he wanted from his mate. His heart jumped at that thought. At thinking about Peter as his mate. So far, he'd only ever thought of himself as Peter's mate, something that felt much more removed from him. It was a wolf-thing. But after putting words to his own experience, to the fact that he had felt the mate-bond snap, it was hard to deny that he also played a part in this, that this was affecting him too.

"I'm not a spooked animal," Stiles pointed out after a moment. "I got the shit kicked out of me but I am not made of glass, okay? You don't need to be this… this careful not to push me."

The ghost of a smile spread over Peter's lips as he nodded. "Fair enough, darling."

Stiles took in the bathroom and he made a soft, high noise. There was a gigantic bathtub at the center of the black-tiled room, easily big enough to fit two people – and Stiles actively tried to not picture himself and Peter in there together, no sir – and a large shower-stall in the corner. Two sinks, Stiles noted curiously. A large shelf filled with towels and bottles of various kind.

"Take off your clothes," Peter prompted, giving Stiles an expectant look.

"Yeah, no," Stiles huffed out a laugh. "I am not getting naked in front of you."

"Fair enough," though as Peter said it, he sounded defeated and a bit… pouty. "I do need you to take off your shirt and pants though. I need to check your injuries, darling."

"Ri—ight. Check my 'injuries', creeperwolf," Stiles muttered teasingly.

He did comply though. He'd done his best to take care of them earlier himself but that only went so far. With a wince did he peel his shirt off over his head, stretching up pulled painfully on his ribs. A hand grabbed his shoulder and the pain was once again replaced by a warm, comfortable feeling. A pleased sigh escaped Stiles as he relaxed in Peter's grasp.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered while unbuttoning his pants.

He kicked them off and found himself down to his boxers and oddly self-conscious. His breath hitched at the sound of a growl. It was filled with rage, the kind that should tell Stiles not to move because there was an angry werewolf in the room. When he looked at Peter, he could see the Alpha all wolved out, snarl on his face, all fangs and glowing red eyes. His hands were balled to fists, blood dripping from them where his claws were digging into his palms. Without even thinking about it, Stiles stepped up and took Peter's hands, startling the wolf into relaxing his grip enough so Stiles could ease his fists open. Stiles frowned down at the claw-marks that were already healing.

"I'm sorry," Peter sighed. "I didn't mean to scare you…"

"You didn't scare me. Come on. Give me a little more credit. I know that little display wasn't aimed at me, it was aimed at Gerard. Yeah, I know it looks… bad, worse than the bit of bruising on my face," Stiles heaved a sigh. "I don't think anything is broken though. Broken ribs feel different. But I do think they're bruised. But I'm okay."

"You are not okay, you are hurt," Peter growled again.

"Yup, uhu, fully aware of that," Stiles looked up at Peter with one raised eyebrow. "But nothing's broken, or torn. I can walk all on my own. I'm okay. Besides, you already killed him, so there's nothing you can do about this with violence and wolfiness right now anyway."

Stiles' heart jumped at the admission that Peter had killed Gerard Argent. Peter had killed Gerard Argent for hurting Stiles. Impulsively, Stiles leaned up and brushed his cheek against Peter's. The wolf went impossibly still at the action, his breath catching in his throat.

"Stiles-" Peter growled, a soft, low warning. "Don't do things you don't understand."

"Don't," Stiles growled back, annoyed. "Don't start underestimating me now, Peter, not after you've been pretty much the only person in this damn town who acknowledges I got a brain."

A flash of surprise and confusion went over Peter's face. Like the wolf had really thought Stiles would do something as weird as rub his cheek against someone else's just for fun. Of course did he know about scent-marking, he'd been reading up on werewolf behavior for long enough at this point and he knew that scenting was important among a pack, among mates even more so.

"You killed him," Stiles said in explanation, offering a half-shrug. "You killed him for me."

Peter huffed out a surprised laugh. "Sweetheart, aren't you perfect for me."

A blush lit Stiles' face up at the compliment. "C'mon, you wanted to inspect my injuries. Because I would actually love to get into that bathtub and soak in it for like an hour."

"That can be arranged," Peter's voice was a purr.

"Alone," Stiles clarified with a sharp glare. "I will be going into that tub alone."

Again with the pouting! A grown-ass man had no right to look that cute while pouting!

"Another time then, darling," Peter winked playfully at him, before turning more serious. "I am going to touch you now though, to check your injuries. Is that okay?"

And oh. Oh, Peter and consent were really fucking hot. A thought that had crossed Stiles' mind already when Peter had toyed with his wrist, offered the bite – and let go as soon as Stiles had declined. So much has been happening to him with no say so on his part that it was just incredibly good to be asked, and for his boundaries and wishes to be respected.

"Yes," Stiles whispered, his voice soft. "That's okay."

Peter's fingers were gentle as they ran over bruises, prodding at places to check if something was broken. Gentle and slow, which only made Stiles hyper-aware of the touch. His heart was hammering in his chest as soft hands wandered over his ribs. Closing his eyes tightly, Stiles tried really had to not get hard. This was not the time or place for it.

"I'm sorry," Peter frowned and paused. "Am I hurting you?"

"Opposite," Stiles pressed out embarrassed. "C'mon. Use your nose, creeperwolf."

When Peter sniffed the air, the Alpha froze and growled – not threatening, not playful, but a primal, lustful sound and Stiles hadn't known that growling could sound lustful. The hand previously on his ribs was now gripping his hip tightly, not painfully so but possessively so. Stiles couldn't help the small whimper that escaped him. Flushed in embarrassment, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Peter's chest. Fleetingly, he thought about Scott – which did kill the arousal, thank you very much. But this was what Scott and Allison had experienced. This forceful draw to each other, this feeling of desire and care and safety and love – love, even though they didn't even really know each other. But standing here, in Peter's arms, there was an unwavering certainty that even if he looked in the entire world he would never find anyone who'd love him as deep and fierce as Peter. That didn't make Scott walking out on him sting any less, but it did put things more into context.

"Is it…" Stiles swallowed hard. "Is it always going to be this intense?"

Peter made a small, curious noise, too busy nosing at Stiles' neck. "No. Once a mate-bond is sealed, it… settles. The draw between us is so strong right now because we're not bonded."

That answer satisfied and relaxed Stiles somewhat because how would he ever get anything done again if Peter was close-by? Taking a deep breath, Stiles pushed off Peter some, taking a step back. The wolf actually whined at him, which had no right to be cute.

"Injuries," Stiles reminded him. "Because it is kind of cold standing here in my underwear. Plus… really do not have the energy to stand much longer. I want in that bathtub."

The reminder of his overall state did sober Peter up some. His fingers moved quicker this time around, which indicated that Peter had been savoring the moment before. The thought of that put another blush on Stiles' cheeks, because holy shit Peter really wanted him, huh.

"Nothing broken," Peter whispered. "You're all good."

"I know," Stiles chuckled, raising both eyebrows at the Alpha. "I told you."

Peter grumbled, finally letting go of Stiles so he could instead draw a bath for his mate. "I didn't doubt you. My rational mind knew you had no reason to lie. The wolf, on the other hand, needed for me to make sure you really were okay myself."

"That's okay," Stiles whispered, sitting down on the rim of the bathtub.

He watched the water fill and bubbles forming. Peter had bubble baths. In the quiet of the room, with nothing actively distracting him, like Peter's touch had, his mind wandered back to the basement. To the feeling of electricity running through his body when he'd tried to take of the bindings on Boyd and Erica. To the tear-streaked expressions on both their faces, their muffled cries and pleas behind duct-tape. The way they'd jerked in their bindings, trying to help him while Gerard was kicking him. A hand caressing his cheek brought him out of his thoughts, causing him to flinch. He blinked rapidly, blinking away tears. Damn it.

"He's dead, he can't hurt you anymore, darling."

"It's not about me," Stiles growled frustrated.

"Tell me what it is about then," Peter prompted, looking at him with too much patience.

"He didn't just have me. He had Boyd and Erica too," Stiles averted his eyes. "They took me as a message for Scott, they took Boyd and Erica to find Derek. The fact that they were still being tortured by the time the hunters got me tells me they stayed quiet and protected Derek, but I don't know how long that lasted, I don't know if-"

His breath hitched at that and he found himself unable to finish the sentence. Damn werewolves, always causing Stiles worry and distress. They were absolutely going to be the death of him.

"Would… you like me to go look for your friends?"

"We aren't friends," Stiles huffed out a laugh. "We don't even like each other. Or we didn't. I don't know. But ever since the rave, I just… I feel so protective of them. I mean, Isaac, Erica and me were alone with still-a-kanima-Jackson and I pushed the damn werewolves behind me like I could protect them, I'm a squishy human, they heal! Still baffled that they let that happen, or that they listened to anything I said, honestly. But seeing Erica and Boyd down there, I just… I wanted to rip Gerard's throat out. And now I don't know if they're safe, if they're…"

"Mh," Peter had an amused smile on his lips, which seemed just so inappropriate for the severity of the situation. "It's ironic, that you have stronger pack instincts than Scott."

Stiles' head jerked up to stare at Peter. "What."

"You said earlier, that Scott betrayed Derek and left the pack, and that Derek would assume that meant you'd leave the pack too, which implies that you don't," Peter offered. "You joined the Hale Pack and you are still a member of it. What you're feeling is the pack bond. You are protective of your pack mates. I'm assuming you joined the pack closely before that… rave?"

Stiles blinked slowly, eyes widening. "I… I… Yeah. Yeah. We… the rave, that was the first time we all worked together, as one pack. Derek, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Scott and me. I… oh. I didn't… I didn't even, I mean, I'm not a wolf, I didn't expect that I could feel a pack bond."

"You could feel the mate-bond," Peter pointed out. "Maybe you're not as human as you assume."

Stiles sucked in a breath at that. For some reason, he saw the line of mountain ash he'd drawn that day. Magic. But Deaton had said that was something everybody could do – oh. No. Never mind, never believe anything that lying, secretive man had to say. Damn it, he really should know better.

"I'm magic," Stiles blurted out.

"You sure are," Peter's voice had dropped into a purr again.

"No," Stiles swatted at the wolf's chest in annoyance. "I mean literal magic. That day, at that rave, I performed magic. I created mountain ash out of thin air. I'm magic."

Well, seemed Stiles finally managed to shut Peter up for good. The wolf was staring at him in amazed bafflement, which only made Stiles blush. Again. Ducking his head, Stiles turned to look at the tub again, watch the way the water was slowly rising.

"They left the pack," Peter offered when he noticed Stiles' avoidance and clear desire to change the topic. "They left, running away, presumably before they were captured."

Stiles' attention returned to his mate, a confused frown on his face. "What. But you just said that what I felt was the pack-bond. How could I have a pack-bond with them if they left the pack."

Peter pressed his lips together to a thin line and turned away from Stiles. Mh. Interesting. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles walked around Peter to put himself into the wolf's line of sight.

"Oh no, mister. You know something," Stiles accused him, poking his chest with a finger. "Tell me. I don't really know what this is, or what it's going to be, but it's not going to work if you scheme on your own and not share with me. No lies, no secrets. Got it?"

Peter had the decency to look sheepish. "I don't… know for sure, but I'm… starting to have a theory. No lies, no secrets, but… give me a bit more time to test my theory?"

Stiles wiggles his nose, frowning, but in the end, he nodded. "I just… After the shit Scott pulled today, after the secrets that fucking Deaton keeps having, I don't…"

Peter reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I understand, darling."

Sighing, Stiles let his hand drop into the water, feeling the temperature. "I think I'll take that bath now. If I'm not out in two hours, you are allowed to knock on the door to check if I drowned. But you're only allowed to enter if I actually don't reply."

Amusement returned to Peter's face at that and he nodded, before looking more serious again. "Do you want me to go and look for them? The wayward pups."

Stiles went still for a long moment. He hadn't even considered that. That he wasn't alone anymore. That Peter was there, with werewolf senses and speed. Stiles' heart jumped.

"Yes," Stiles forced the word out. "Please."

Peter leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles' head, which had no right to be that comforting. "Anything for you, sweetheart. I hate to leave you alone, but I know you are safe in my den. I'll get our wayward pups back for you."

Our. Something about that made Stiles' heart swell. Our pups. Not Derek's betas. That reminded Stiles that he still needed to ask why or how Peter was an Alpha, if Derek was also an Alpha. Before Peter could leave did Stiles grasp his wrist, stopping him. Peter turned to give him a curious look.

"Be… careful," Stiles didn't look at him. "You may have killed Gerard, but there are still other hunters in Beacon Hills besides the Argents. Be careful, okay?"

The way Peter was practically beaming at him made Stiles' heart beat like crazy. "I will."

With that, the Alpha left the bathroom, leaving Stiles to his bath. Gingerly, he stepped out of his boxers and got out of his socks before slipping into the huge tub. It was perfect. All of him was covered in water. They had a bathtub at home too, but only limited space, so usually he had to pull his legs up to fit in and then his knees were outside the water. But this tub was perfect. Stiles sighed contently, closing his eyes and relaxing for the first time all day. Maybe the first time in weeks.

/break\

Stiles wasn't good at sitting still for too long though so after somewhere just under an hour, he got out of the tub again and carefully dried himself off with one of the way too fluffy and soft towels that his fancy wolf owned. He frowned down at his bloodied clothes and then daringly went to the door, cracking it open just a bit while clutching the towel around his waist.

"Peter?" Stiles called out loudly. "Peter, are you back yet? Pe—eter?"

No answer, no werewolf rushing to his side. Okay. Opening the door fully, Stiles stepped out and headed over to what he assumed to be the bedroom – no, that was a… holy shit. Stiles' eyes widened when he took in the shelves lining every wall of the room, two shelves standing in the center of the room back to back. Peter had his own library. Shaking his head, Stiles tore himself away from the temptation of the very old looking books and instead left to check where the bedroom actually was. Heaving a relieved sigh, he headed straight for the closet. And damn. Of course did Peter own expensive, fancy suits, on top of the… way too deeply cut v-necks. These were just obscene, honestly. Huffing to himself, Stiles went further through the closet, knowing the wolf had to own some comfort clothes – and hah! Lo and behold, a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Stiles couldn't help but bury his nose in the hoodie, inhaling the wolf's scent that clung to the clothes. He gave a content, little noise, safe in the knowledge nobody had heard it. His eyes landed on the very large, very inviting bed and he remained strong for about three point two seconds before he allowed himself to collapse on it and oh those sheets were actual heaven.

A blissful sigh escaped his lips as he rolled around on the bed and curled together.

/break\

Peter was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, feeling tense and wired. Partially because he had left his mate unsupervised, alone and vulnerable. Rationally, he knew that Stiles was safe in the penthouse. The wolf inside him wasn't rational though, not with his mate injured, not with the mate-bond still unsealed. His eyes stared into the rear-view mirror, watching the two betas huddled together on his backseat. They looked worse for wear. Not as bad as Stiles, but considering they were werewolves? The fact that there were still unhealed injuries on them was concerning.

"Who are you," the blonde girl asked, staring at him. "Why did we… trust you."

A lazy smile spread over Peter's lips at that. "Because I'm your Alpha."

Both of the teens tensed at that and exchanging a look. His theory had easily proven correct when he had found the two betas – not really knowing them, he hadn't been able to track them by their scent, but Stiles' scent clung onto them enough and the mate-bond was still so open and raw that Peter was overly aware of anything Stiles. He'd found them in the woods and ordered them to come with them, promising them he could bring them to safety and to Stiles.

"How," the boy growled. "Derek was our Alpha, but we left his pack. We didn't actually join any other pack. Allison got us before we had a chance to even leave town."

Allison? Peter raised his eyebrows high. The girl. A sneer found its way onto his face. He'd thought she was different, being a werewolf's mate herself, but it seemed the Argent genes were too strong. Just like Kate, just like Victoria, just like Gerard. Looking down on werewolves, thinking they had a right to kill every wolf they met simply for existing. Who went after innocent teenagers. Kids.

"I'll explain it to you upstairs, with Stiles present."

The two betas still looked doubtful but they didn't argue. At least something. They quietly followed Peter through the garage, up the elevator. He noted the way they held onto each other, trying to shield the other respectively. Mates. It was written all over their behavior. That explained why the two betas had thought they could just run off and would be fine. Not just youthful stupidity, but youthful stupidity fueled by the overwhelming feeling that a new mate-bond gave one. A sense of invincibility and that, as long as one had their mate, they could do anything. Peter had never understood it, until he'd held Stiles earlier and the whole world seemed to slip into place.

"There we are," Peter announced as the elevator door opened into the penthouse. "The living room is over there, take a seat, I'll just go and fetch Stiles."

He headed for the bathroom and knocked, not receiving an answer. Concern colored his features as he knocked again. No answer. When worry took a hold of him, he opened the door, even though he knew that if Stiles was just dozing he would be furious with Peter for entering. Still, he had to make sure his mate hadn't drowned, or slipped on the tiles, or… was simply gone. The frown on Peter's face increased as he noted the distinct lack of Stiles. His dirty clothes were still here, in a pile on the floor where they'd left them earlier, but Stiles was nowhere in sight.

Closing his eyes, Peter took a deep breath, following his nose to find his mate. It led him first to the library, with no Stiles in it either. Only when he reached his bedroom did he finally find his mate. His heart jumped into his throat as he laid eyes on Stiles. The human was curled together small, laying in the center of the bed – Peter's bed, Peter's mate was in his bed – and he was wearing Peter's clothes – surrounded by Peter's scent, soft, good, smelling like mate now.

He approached slow and careful before sitting down on the edge of the bed, running gentle fingers through the no longer very buzzed cut. Still short, but decidedly longer than the last time Peter had seen his boy. It was soft, Peter liked the feeling of it. He wondered what it'd feel like if it were a little longer still. Stiles beneath his touch stirred, those captivating, big, brown eyes staring up at him curiously and sleepily. Stiles stretched in a far too cat-like manner, yawning.

"You're back," Stiles noted, nuzzling into Peter's hand still on his head. "Did you…"

"Yes, I found them," Peter smiled down at his mate. "They're in the living room. Do you-"

-need another moment. The rest of the sentence was lost on Stiles as the human had jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room at a speed that surprised Peter, considering Stiles' earlier exhaustion. Getting up, Peter went to follow his mate, reaching the living room just in time to see Stiles fully launch himself at the two werewolves, who happily caught him between them. They wrapped their arms around each other in a tight hug, the betas burying their faces in either side of Stiles' neck, sobbing out noises of relief. Peter's eyes softened as he watched this clear display of pack. It filled his heart with warmth. This was what pack should be like.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," Stiles gasped out, rubbing his cheeks against both of theirs. "Peter went looking for you but I wasn't sure if he'd find you-"

The girl interrupted him sharply. "Who is he?"

"U—uhm…" Stiles flushed furiously.

And oh, his boy was delectable when he blushed, it was truly a challenge for his wolf to not grab his mate and ravish him on the spot whenever he did that. Stiles pushed off the betas a little and turned his body to look at Peter, to look between the betas and Peter.

"Peter Hale, he is… Derek's uncle and was the Alpha of the Hale Pack before Derek and he's… uh… he's my mate," Stiles' blush deepened. "Peter, these are Boyd and Erica."

Boyd and Erica. Peter stared at the teens intensely. Now that they were his betas, he ought to learn their names. He hadn't bothered before, when he thought they were Derek's. Instinctively, his eyes flashed red. Both betas flashed their eyes golden back at him. Good.

"You said you'd explain," Boyd spoke up after a moment. "What… is this."

"As my mate just told you, I was the Alpha before Derek," Peter motioned at Stiles. "I died, temporarily. It wasn't for me, so I decided to come back. But it appears that my death had a certain… effect, on Stiles."

"The broken mate-bond?" Stiles frowned. "But it like… snapped back into place? Right?"

The way he reached up and rested a hand over his heart made Peter's own heart jump. Stiles really could feel the mate-bond. Humans couldn't. They were more likely to fall in love with a wolf who shared a mate-bond with them, but the intensity, the connection of a mate-bond, it was lost on humans. His boy really wasn't simply human. But then when was anything about Stiles simple?

"No," Peter shook his head and rounded the couch to sit down on his living room table to be right in front of the three teenagers. "I was the Alpha when you and me met, when our bond… first formed. I was the Alpha, and that made you the Alpha mate."

By the way Stiles' eyes widened, these words meant something to him. Peter smirked pleased. His boy was clever. All the research he did, the knowledge he absorbed with so much greed. It was mesmerizing. Knowledge was power, much more so than physical strength. Too many underestimated that. Not Stiles. He wielded that power and that would always appeal much more to Peter than any physical prowess. His mate was clever, brilliant even, a strategist to boot too.

"Traditionally," Peter continued, at the blank looks from the betas – his betas. "A pack is led by an Alpha pair, a pair of mated Alphas. The Alpha, the physical protector, the leader of the pack, and the Alpha mate, the… heart of the pack, the emotional protector. When I died, I was still the Alpha."

"Died," Boyd repeated, grabbing Erica's hand more tightly.

"Yes" Peter waved a dismissive hand. "Not the point of the story. I died, Stiles didn't. And when Stiles, together with Scott, officially joined the Hale Pack, Stiles… was still the Alpha mate, due to the fact that Derek doesn't have a mate. The role wasn't filled, but Stiles had a mate-bond with a Hale Alpha, so he… filled it. From what he told me. Protecting you and… Isaac, was it, at that rave, trying to free the two of you, feeling protective of you betas, feeling that pull toward you. I'm assuming you feel the same. The bond between betas and the Alpha mate is a strong one, often times even stronger than their bond to their Alpha, because it is… more emotional."

Both betas turned to look at Stiles wondrously, but it was Erica who spoke up. "Yeah I thought it was weird that I felt so… protective… of Stiles, all of a sudden. I mean, I always liked him, even before I got turned into a wolf, but I had no problem threatening him when Derek told me to-"

Peter interrupted her with a loud, deep growl at the thought of Derek threatening his mate. He knew he was flashing his eyes, judging by the way the betas whined. Stiles heaved a sigh.

"Yeah, he does that, a lot, it's okay," Stiles waved a dismissive hand. "It's like, our thing. He threatens me, but in the end, when I actually need him, he always comes. He saved my life more than once. I saved his at least as often. Maybe at least one time more."

The growl turned into a grumble, still not pleased with the situation but appeased for now. "Yes. So, even without a mate-bond to the Alpha who turned you, Stiles still filled the role of the Alpha mate for you. You formed a bond with him. And then I was brought back from the dead. I… don't think I would still be an Alpha if Stiles hadn't joined the Hale Pack, but since you were part of the Hale Pack when I was brought back, you kept my connection to the Alpha spark alive. It's like a feedback loop. You became Alpha mate because of our mate-bond to me, the Alpha. I became Alpha again because of my mate-bond to you, as the Alpha mate."

"Okay," Stiles frowned, but Peter could tell that he was keeping up.

"But what does that mean for us," Erica argued.

"It means that you may have turned your back on Derek, but you didn't turn your back on Stiles – and by the time you left Derek's pack, I was already alive again," Peter replied. "Stiles is my mate. If Stiles has your loyalty, your wolves recognize me as your Alpha."

Boyd grunted, frowning as he looked from Stiles to Peter. "Is that… okay?"

Stiles rested a hand in Boyd's neck, calming the beta instinctively. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay. We're pack. That feels… right, right? And if it feels right, it has to be okay."

Erica whined as she nuzzled into Stiles, curling around him. "So it's just… us?"

"A small pack," Peter conceded, but when he saw the protective and comforting way by which the three teens on his couch were entangled, he wasn't worried. "Small but good."

Stiles made a soft noise, burying his nose in Erica's hair "C'mere, Alpha. Bond with your pack."

He grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him close enough to press the softest kiss against Peter's lips, sending a jolt of joy and love and belonging through Peter. Small but good. Besides, who knew. A pack traditionally had two Alphas, Stiles was human, he couldn't be Alpha. Maybe, just maybe, Derek and Peter could work together. But that was a matter for later. Right now, all that mattered was right here, on his couch, in his den. Safe from any danger and all his.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Steter #Teen Wolf #Alpha Peter Hale #Pack Mom Stiles #Peter Hale #Stiles Stilinski #Fanfiction #Steter Fanfiction #Phoe's Fics #Stiles Summer Stories 2024

16 notes · View notes

gurokichi · 24 days ago

Note

I’m almost pissed. You went from at least one post a day to nothing all day yesterday. Trust me. I checked. Unfortunately, I don’t feel like waisting energy being angry on you, so I’ll put it to something much better.

Torturing you.

What if I chained you to the ceiling again and started fucking swinging with a baseball bat like you were a piñata? Just swinging over and over with no care if I break any of your bones. I bet they’re fucking brittle considering you don’t move, right? Maybe I’ll use your little body like a dart board. Sharpened needles sinking into your skin with no care where they land. I bet your screams will be delicious.

But even then - I can’t forget the last thing you said for me.

“Hey… hey sadistic anon… if I’m good, would you let me out of my cage for longer? I wouldn’t bother you, I promise!!! I would just sit by your side on the floor while you do stuff. And you can pet me if you want. :3”

Adorably pathetic. Just how I like you mutt.

Maybe if I wasn’t so unreasonably enraged I’d say yes.

I can see it, letting you out of my dingy basement and into the living room. Maybe give you a proper little doggy bed, maybe even give you real food for once.

But right now I’m just a little annoyed. Annoyed enough to drug you up and leave you to take the high by yourself. All alone. I’d be fun to prop your sluggish body against a heater and watch your flesh singe and smell its scent in the air. Maybe flip you like a fish on a grill. I did say you’d look pretty with burns, didn’t I?

Fucking hell… it’s hard to stay mad at you. I just bit my arm and imagined it was your skin. Maybe I’d let a dog bite you. Maybe you should be caged with an actual dog so you understand that you’re nothing but a stupid fucking little mutt.

… heh. I’m actually not mad anymore. What I shock. I can’t have your attention all the time and I know that. I don’t know what came over me. Heh. Heh heh. Ugh. I’m going to smother you under a pillow and consume you. Teeth, eyes, nails, hair and all.

I don’t really care if you answer this one directly. Let them see what sort of freak shit you want sent to you. You’ll be my mutt anyhow.

I wonder… eh. I’ll come up with more stuff for you. See ya mutt. I’ll try not to be so possessive heh.

Sadistic anon

CHECK YOUR TAG!!! I posted proof that I made a post, but it was in my drafts… erm. Oopsie.

Anyway, YAY torture!!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) Sorry. I mean Oh noooo, how awful. Not tortureee. I definitely wouldn’t want thatttttt

WOAH? Bon piñata (˶°ㅁ°) !! Very creative, I will give you that. And I actually have no idea whether my bones are brittle or not… probably? I don’t do much, and I am very weak (╥﹏╥) We should find out! Let’s test if you’re right, ehehe. Needles don’t seem too bad, but I guess the pain would add up if you did it long enough…

NOOOO, I’M SORRY FOR ANNOYING YOU. I really did mean to make more posts! I slept all day and then didn’t send the one I made in drafts, wahhhh </3 I’d love to be let out of the basement!!! I may like being treated horribly, but I’d also like to have some affection at times too… I’d be such a good dog for you, I promise! I’d follow your orders and make sure not to be an annoyance to you (>︿<｡)

GUH… I loveee the idea of someone drugging me. I think someone should drug me. And adjsjfjshfjshfghfjgsdfgh, OUCH. I don’t actually like the feel of burns too much, but if that’s what you want! You doing that anyways despite knowing that would make it even better, actually. You know what kind of burn scar I think I’d look prettiest with? A brand :3c

Ehehehe, it should be! I’m cute. You can’t stay mad at cute things foreverrr. I think you should bite me for realsies! Also. I think I would Die. Dogs kinda scare me… HELP. Being caged with one that bites would be terrifying

YAYAYAYAY!!! Mmm, you could always try and get my attention more often, though ∩^ω^∩ And good luck with that last bit… I have really long hair. I think that would be a very unpleasant experience. AND THE EYES TOO, ACTUALLY. I remember one of my previous anons telling me that eating eyes will make you throw up, but I never fact-checked that, so don’t take my word on it. I may be wrong. But that’d only be because they were wrong!!!

Since you said to let everyone see, here I am answering it directly! I don’t think anyone would be too surprised. I am openly Weird on my blog. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Also, just letting you knowww, I like possessive! I will be eagerly awaiting your next ask as always ^o^

#// bon's mail #// sadistic anon #tbh i want fish now after that fish on a grill line #seafood is so yummy #SORRY thats offtopic

7 notes · View notes

typosandtea · 5 months ago

Text

Got tagged by @irradiatedpiratebooty (Thankyou!) to post some wips…. 😅

No pressure tags for: @sirmanmister @acorncoffeeformysweetheart @charliesvarietyhour @fuzzydreamin @bokatan :]

I’ve got so many abandoned sketches / concepts and very few wips that make it past that because usually by the time I’ve hashed out the sketch I’ve figured out if I like it and if i have the ability to pull off what I am picturing yet ahahah and the ones past sketch are often abandoned for ‘I cant figure out why I don’t like this’ rip

(I’ve also tacked a half written danse fic on the bottom!)

Some active wips✨ (Danse like its 2015, silly comic based on this post, sketch of Murphy and Nathan)

Some I’ll hopefully come back too??????????? (Tacky mug, Danse and Frankie in Far harbor (based on Night Letter by @/watchyourdigits, I paused for falloutober and never picked up again sorry :/ ), Sweetbrew fallout 76)

Proper abandoned rip (Danse as a dnd paladin (a request that I didn’t finish since the vibes are bad, sorry @/never-gonna-danse-again :/), and a silly comic based on this screenshot of mine)

And some writing since I’m trying to figure out how to do that yay ⤵️

(Untitled, unfinished) Danse, 2nd person, Danse is kinda oblivious, ‘How does Danse deal with loving and being truly loved by a railroad sole, even after the events of rr fallout 4.. (poorly)’

Dawes, Worwick, Brach and now Keane. All good soldiers dead too soon, too young, under your command. With a heavy heart you know now that soon you'll watch as you lose Haylen and Rhys too, before succumbing yourself to the ever growing tide of ferals that has been ebbing closer over the course of the battle, it feels like an eternity has passed since you saw Keane fall to the abominations, time seemed to have broken, though you know that its only been half an hour at most. If you survive the onslaught you'll have to organise a proper memorial.. if..

Reload. Aim. Fire. Assess the situation, update tactics. Breathe. Reload. Aim. Fire. Godless heathens! Rhys is injured! Breathe. Reload. BREATHE. Aim. Fi- Fire rains down on the ferals from outside the compound. Reload. Update tactics with Haylen, while more gunfire and another molotov begins to part the irradiated sea of scum. Aim. You catch a glimpse of them. Fire. The remaining abominations are dealt with swiftly, and while thankful for the well timed assist you can't help but to be cautious of them after all of the opposition your team has faced in the commonwealth. You ask them about themselves and they ask about you in return, thinking back you never got a straight answer out of them but no time to think about that now. Leading the way, you fill the silence with a debrief of Gladius' disastrous mission here, after all they had seemed interested in the Brotherhood, even if the sunglasses clad man with them had frowned. Arcjet brings more surprises, in both the unwelcome form of gen 1 synths, and the strangers' apparent combat effectiveness and familiarity with facing them. Between both of your combat prowess, the dilapidated laboratory is soon devoid of any synthetic 'life'.

Choosing to debrief outside you stumble through attempting to compliment their outstanding combat abilities, for a civilian. You part ways after gifting them Righteous authority and an accepted invitation to join the brotherhood, much to the dismay of their companion it seems. On the walk back to the station you realise that you feel lighter than you have in months, if just a little bit crispier too.

Months pass and things have been going well for the soldier, their already good combat skills have been steadily improving, Maxon has promoted them already! They are turning into a model knight, albeit with some unorthodox choices sometimes, but you want them to succeed you know they can!

After a particularly gruelling day of clearing out yet another super mutant nest you mutually decide to camp out in a suitably defensible old house, "you're quite the soldier" you say for not the first time, casual conversation comes easily with them, easier than it has for you in years you realise with a pang. And so you tell them about Kreig and how you are pushing them the same way he pushed you, to grow into the potential you see in them, and then you apologise. For being like Kreig, pushing too hard without explanation or reward. The soldier is silent for a while, before replying, but you see a new glimmer in their eyes, of understanding. They take first watch, and you drift off to sleep easily for the first time in recent memory.

Much progress has been made in the brotherhood's hunt for the institute, with the both or you being assigned more missions near constantly it seems someone has noticed your effectiveness as a team. You've heard whispers of rumours and caught the occasional stares drifting around the prydwen, but you pay them no mind, speculative gossip has never been of any interest to you, especially not something so obviously false as those rumours, that would be inappropriate after all. Your thoughts drift to the soldier, and realise just how much they have come to mean to you and how little you've told them anything about you, how could you have been so selfish after they have bared so much of their soul with you? Their life prewar, the death of their spouse at the hands of the cruel institute mercenary, the hunt for a way into the institute and their overwhelming fear at what they will find there. How much pressure they feel from everyone to be the perfect soldier, you sigh internally thinking about that, you owe them an apology it seems. With your mind made up now you just wait for them to return and for a suitably private moment to present itself. The opportunity arises later that day, they have just returned to the prydwen after a week away, and much to your surprise beeline straight for you with a smile before even turning in their documents or missions. They seem to be oblivious to the stares and raised eyebrows of the mess's other patrons, and a round of suitably authoritative glares ensures they will remain so. Brandis just smiles, damn him.

You warmly accept their request to join them on a routine acquisition for Haylen, but you know by now that no mission will ever be ‘routine’ with them, not that you mind the challenge. En-route to the target zone you cant stop thinking about what you are going to discuss with them, how will you open such a sensitive topic with them? Its been a substantial period of time since you’ve spoken to anyone about back then, not that you could ever forget him, after all how could you when he haunts your sleep like some sort of sorrowful spectre of loss, guilt and pain.

Lost in your ruminations as you are you nearly walk right into the Soldier as they signal ‘hold’ and ‘danger’. Snapping back to reality while cursing yourself for your inattentiveness internally, you spot the obvious threat almost immediately: a roving band of super-mutant scum and worse yet, a suicider. Outstanding. Your friend signals for stealth and for a flanking manoeuvre, you never did understand their insistence on such quiet methods when you both have access to power armour, but you’ve seen enough of their handwork enough to trust their tactics, even with their continual overestimation of your lacking stealth capabilities. As quietly and you can in full power armour you move into position on the opposite side of the pack to them, shoulder your rifle and wait for their signal. You can feel your heart rate quicken in time with the warming thrum from your charging laser rifle as the anticipation and adrenaline flips the switch to combat mode. They don’t keep you waiting long as a well placed laser volley from them sets off the unsuspecting suicider right in the middle of the pack. As the stragglers stupidly turn in the direction of the apparent danger you fire on their backs with deadly accuracy. With the element of surprise now used to its fullest, you charge into optimal combat range as one of the remaining brutes correctly picks you as the bigger threat, Good. Its better if you are the target. A few more well places shots from the both of you and its over as quickly as it started, “Outstanding!” you complement their marksmanship and tactics as they walk over. You notice of the charred abominations still writhing nearby and you put it out of its disgusting misery with a well placed stomp.

The Soldier shows you the location Haylen specified on their pip-boy, its just on the other side of this small commercial district, if the mission goes smoothly you could be back on the prydwen by nightfall, sharing a whisky to chase away the taste of messes’ latest attempt at dinner. You both freeze as you hear the distinctive sound of laser fire nearby, one look and you both move towards the commotion weapons hot. At the first sign of creepy plastic and blue lasers you charge with an “AD VICTORIAM!” but you barely get a round in before mini-gun fire tears through the remaining machines. After ensuring that they were in the clear you join the soldier as they approach the heavily armed newcomer. You meet the strangers glare with a level one of your own, before they can say anything your friend asks what they are doing here, “kicking ass, though it looks like HQ messed up scheduling again” the stranger answers. Ah this must be one of their minutemen acquaintances, you had heard they were getting more active lately, and poor organisation is expected from the civilian militia. The strangely dressed silver haired minuteman explains that the subway has been overrun with gen 1 synths, your friend offers to help, “it would be an Honor to assist in exterminating these abominations” you agree, though this earns you a strange look from the minuteman. No matter. Unbeknownst to you the Soldier and the minuteman share a significant look behind your back. No pathetic synths stand a chance against the three of you as heavily armoured as you all are, you briefly considered extending the minuteman an invitation to join the brotherhood, though you reconsider when they lament the ‘deaths’ of the machines, such a naive outlook would never be allowed to continue in the brotherhood, don't they know how dangerous synths are? With the battle dust settled, “damn!, you’re one ass-kicking angel of death” the stranger compliments your friend as you all backtrack to leave the dingy subway, “agreed, outstanding work as always” you contribute, they are positively beaming at the combined praise. The minutemen leaves with more crude but positive words, its good to see that the minutemen have at least some capable fighters on their side, it is a noble cause.

The target artifact is soon acquired with minor resistance from some more mutants, but the hour is too late to return to the prydwen now. They suggest that a settlement nearby will be a safe place to camp for the night, you agree, and privately hope that the arrangements will be secluded enough for the difficult conversation you have planned. A short walk in the dark later and you both arrive at the small nursery and are immediately accosted by a group of hysterical settlers. Eventually the soldier calms them down enough to learn the location of the kidnapped one, an older man. The mutants are just across the road as it turns out, why on earth they have tolerated living a stones throw from these monstrosities for so long is a mystery, but at least the proximity makes for a brutally quick rescue, you both use the night to you advantage and the monsters are dead before they can even take up arms. The man is injured so you carry him, trusting your friend to have your backs on the way back to the settlement. You mentally resolve to make significant note of how much mutant and synth activity there is in this region in the next mission report. With the settler returned, sustenance and a semi-secure place to set up camp for the night acquired (to be continued oops, 1/4 affinity talks written, the 4th being romance dialog)

#thanks for the tag!#<- wow that feels weird to type #tag games #typos! art tag #typos! writing tag

14 notes · View notes

biolizardboils · 9 months ago

Text

Sorry to do this so suddenly, but I'm putting all my blogs on hold until further notice. I might log in to like or private-reblog some posts for reference, but that'll be it.

The short reason is that I wanna work on myself. Mostly personally, but with a side of visual art skills.

The long version is under the cut. Content Warnings: current geopolitical events, mental health.

So I'm writing this part for two reasons: so I can send it to friends and others when they ask what I'm doing; and to remind myself why I'm doing it, in case I'm compelled to come back too early. This is gonna be a ramble; I'm writing this after midnight, cus I'll forget or lose the nerve in the morning.

You likely already know what this is about from the emoji tag. You'll also notice that I won't mention any proper names in this post. That's one of the issues I'm stepping away to work on.

I've been quiet about it ever since it started, for a few reasons. Unfamiliarity with the history behind it, fear of spreading misinfo or propaganda, doomscrolling tendencies. For months, I've done the daily click and left it at that.

(Speaking of, last month I found out that the site doesn't track cookies or whatever its called? TL;DR: you can click as many times as devices you have. That's 3 for me.)

But anyway, this week it stopped feeling like enough. From this post's date and what I usually post about, you can probably guess what broke the camel's back.

And... I feel guilty that this is what broke it. And I feel guilty that I feel guilty. It's not my struggle; I'm a bystander. But I chose to be, and I can't tell how much of it was for my own mental health, and how much was denial, selfishness, misplaced optimism.

I want to believe people aren't so cartoonishly cruel. I want to believe people do their research before acting on or speaking about these things. I want to believe people can treat these things with the delicate nuance they deserve. I want to believe that one side destroying innocents on the other is inexcusable, no matter the historical context, and that the rest of the world's powers will act to stop it.

I'm scared of how much I still want to believe it, despite reality. I'm scared of how long it took me to feel the appropriate horror. I've had intrusive thoughts and pits in my stomach all week, and it's compounded by the guilt that I'm only having them now.

I still want to believe some things were misguided, or made before the situation, or will be fixed later. And I can't tell anymore what's a coping mechanism, and what's just a selfish hope that it'll all be fine.

So... I'm gonna get better coping mechanisms.

I'm looking for therapists. Not just for this, but some other things that happened to stack up this week. It doesn't take much to throw off my daily functioning, and I've been holding off addressing that. Again, it's horrible that it took something like this to make me realize that.

To fill up the spare time, I'm gonna put more work into my art skills. I can finally afford better tools, so it's time I practice more professional techniques.

So, yeah. I'm leaving because I feel I can't address things like an adult, and I hope to learn how before I come back.

Thanks for reading, and goodbye for now.

#me talking #pinned #vent #long #bad feels #🍉

16 notes · View notes

tearfallpixie · 4 months ago

Text

Trust and Love - Side Chapter: Accidents and Acceptance

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @Shilohrosechicken @abiomens @awkwardalex @rumoured-whispers @miss570

“I’m sorry that we have to leave you mama.” Vinny murmured. “You’ll be joining us in a few days though when tour starts. It wont be long.” I hugged Vin tight as a few tears slipped my eyes.

“I just hate being parted from you two.” I sniffled.

“I know. Just a couple of days and you’ll see us again.” I nodded as his thumbs brushed my cheeks to wipe the tears away. “No tears mama. You know I hate it when you cry.” The announcement for Vinny’s flight to board sounded and I started to pull away. “Come on, one kiss.” He teased. “I can’t leave without a proper goodbye.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss me soundly.

“Fly safe. I love you.”

“I love you too mama.” He picked up his bag and kissed the back of my hand before heading to the terminal and disappearing down the hall. I waited until the plane took off before heading back to the car and going back to our empty house. I sighed and hung my keys up as my phone rang. I looked at it to see Ricky was calling me.

“Hi baby, how are you? Vinny’s on the plane.” I greeted him.

“I figured as much. Have you been on twitter?” He said in a stiff voice.

“No, what happened?” I asked slowly.

“I sent you a post. Go look at it.” I pulled the phone away from my head and clicked on the twitter icon. I went to my messages and clicked on the one Ricky sent me only to gasp. It was a tweet tagging Ricky and attached to the tweet was a very clear pic of Vinny and I kissing.

“Fuck. We were out of the way. I thought no one could see us!” I exclaimed. “Ricky, I’m so sorry.”

“Baby girl, its ok.” He chuckled. “I figured something like this was going to happen sooner or later. None of us have been very careful. Now the question is how do we proceed? We should probably tell the fans because judging by the 9 thousand likes and counting on the photo, we can’t just cover this up and ask the person to remove it.” Ricky suggested.

“Can you and Vinny skype me tonight? We can all discuss it together.” Ricky nodded and looked at the time. “Tell him when he lands. He should be with you in two hours. He’s going to feel horrible.”

“I’ll take care of him and we’ll talk tonight. I love you baby girl.” Ricky said.

“I love you too baby.”

Vinny did not handle the news well and apologized to Ricky a thousand times when the guitarist picked him up. Ricky grabbed his arm and had to haul him to the car to get him to leave the airport.

“Vin, it’s ok.” Ricky repeated again. “You deserve to say goodbye to her too when you leave. We’re going to skype her tonight and discuss what we are going to do. It’s not going to be that big of a deal.” They got to the hotel in record time and headed up to their room for the next few days. Ricky picked up his laptop from the bed and set it on the desk, opening skype immediately as Vinny put his stuff away. “Hey, baby girl. Vin’s in the bathroom.” He said when I answered. The drummer popped his head out and waved to the camera.

“Looks like we caused a little bit of drama while I was flying mama.” Vinny snickered.

“Looking at the 21 thousand likes I would say so.” I giggled. “So what do you want to do? I agree with Ricky that we need to be honest with the fans. I’m just worried how they will take it. I’ve already seen hundreds of tweets calling me a whore and a cheater.” I grumbled.

“Baby girl, stop reading them. They will only make things worse.” I sighed and nodded.

“Why don’t you grab my streaming gear and fly out here and we can do an impromptu stream tomorrow to explain everything.” Vinny suggested.

“Everything? Even you two?” I asked in shock.

“It might make things a little easier to swallow knowing that it isn’t just Vinny with you and you with me.” Ricky pondered.

“But the band doesn’t even know about you two.” The only person that had given any indication that they new about Ricky and Vinny’s relationship was Finnick, Vinny’s old roommate.

“Well they are about to find out.” Vinny snickered.

“Are you two prepared for the backlash we are going to get because its inevitable.” Ricky asked. “Between people going to be pissed that she gets both of us and calling her a whore or calling us greedy its going to be bad for a while.”

“As far as I’m concerned, our decisions are all I care about. I married both of you knowing this might be a possibility down the line so I am willing to put up with anything.” I told them.

“Same here. I’m not ever letting some stupid fans get between us.” Vinny confirmed.

“Good. Vinny and I will lay low for a while and we will have Logan pick you up from the airport. Don’t go making out with him too. We have enough chaos to deal with here.” Ricky teased.

“I make no promises. His blond hair is so pretty.” I giggled.

“Good night baby girl.” Ricky rumbled.

“Night you two. I love you.”

“We love you too Mama.” I closed my laptop and went to pack up the necessities for Vinny to stream in my bag. I crawled in my big empty bed and tossed and turned for an hour before I was able to get somewhat comfortable. I wasn’t use to sleeping alone anymore because usually I had at least one of my boys with me.

“Logan.” I walked over to him, and he pulled me into a hug.

“Hey little miss. I thought you weren’t supposed to come out for a few days and then Ricky said there was drama and you needed to come out now. Is everything ok?” He asked. I pulled out my phone and showed him the tweet as I pulled my bag off the baggage claim. “Got it.”

“I thought we were out of sight of people but apparently, I was wrong. We’re doing a big stream announcement this afternoon to explain it to the fans. They currently hate me for hurting their precious Ricky.” I giggled. We started walking out to the parking lot shoulder to shoulder.

“Like they know the ins and outs of his feelings.” He scoffed. “They are lucky you are willing to explain this to them.” I rolled my eyes and agreed with him.

“It will also paint Vin in a bad light if we don’t confront the rumors because he is stealing his best friends wife.” I offered.

“That’s fair. Lets get you back to your boys so you can deal with this.” We loaded up and headed to the hotel where Ricky and Vinny were waiting for me in the lobby. They immediately pulled me into their arms and held me tightly.

“I’ve missed you baby girl.” Ricky murmured. He had been gone for a week before Vinny left so he could visit his family before the tour so I hadn’t seen him for a bit. He pulled me into a kiss and I noticed a flash from the side. We pulled away to see a couple of fans outside the hotel taking pics. “Let them think what they want. It will be cleared up soon.”

“I missed you too Ricky. I don’t like being parted.” I mumbled.

“Next time you two are going to come with me to Washington and I will explain everything to my parents in detail.” They had come to the wedding and they had met me on several occasions but they didn’t know the nature of our relationship with Vinny. They just thought he was our roommate for the time being. We all entered the room and I handed my carry on to Vinny.

“I brought the streaming stuff on the plane with me because I didn’t want it to get damaged under the other luggage.” I explained. He pulled me into a deep kiss.

“You are a fucking angel. Let me set up.” He started setting up and leveling the equipment, so it was balanced and an hour later we were all set up. “Ok Ricky. Attach your computer and pull up twitch. I’ll log in and we can start.” Vinny went to put on some actual clothes seeing as he was still in his sleep shirt and sweats. When he came back he was in his signature cargo pants and baggy shirt. He logged into his account and waved us off to the side so we were out of camera. He kicked on the stream and sat there as he posted it to his social media accounts, allowing people to get on. Ricky clicked the link on his phone and shared it to his as well.

@Rickyolsonx: Hey guys, Vin has a huge announcement in this stream. You should check it out. [link attached]

“Hey guys, I know surprise stream and I’m obviously not in my house right now. It will all be explained here in a bit. I won’t be answering any questions until more people are here.” He said to the growing crowd. Ricky and I watched his phone with a frown as people were saying mean things to him about hurting Ricky and kissing me. I could tell it was bothering him.

“Ricky is advertising my stream? There is a reason for that.” It was a few minutes later when there were easily a thousand people in the stream. “Ok, I think I can start explaining. Look, the photo is not faked. It was real and I did kiss Olive. However, it isn’t what you think.” He looked around at us and jerked his head. We moved into the camera and waved awkwardly. Ricky knelt next to the desk as Vinny pulled me into his lap. I watched as the chat went crazy with hello’s and questions.

“Guys, to clarify, I am very aware of their relationship.” Ricky started out. I noticed Chris in the chat and pointed it out to Vinny and Rick who grinned. “Well it looks like he’ll find out then.”

“I bet the band is watching with him.” Vinny grinned.

ChrisCMotionless: Should I get them?

“Probably. We’re about to drop a bombshell that even you guys don’t know about.” Ricky answered him.

ChrisCMotionless: I’m worried now. Let me get the other boys.

“This just got a whole lot more interesting.” Vinny mumbled. Ricky pulled out his phone and pulled up the camera.

"Update, I'm here in Vinny's stream, we're gonna talk about what's been going on." He turned to show the stream before he ended the video and posted it to his social media.

ChrisCMotionless: Ok they are here.

“Ok, let us explain. Yes I kissed Olive yesterday in the airport. That is because she and I are in a relationship.” Vinny started.

ChrisCMotionless: Oh, big shock.

“Watch it Cerulli or we’ll mute you, asshole.” Ricky snapped playfully.

BeeforV: So you two are dating but shes married to Ricky?

“BeeforV, yes exactly. We are in a poly relationship. Ricky and her have been together for almost two years. I’ve been with her for about a year and few months. But the part that the band doesn’t know about is that-“ Vinny trailed off and part of me thought he was getting cold feet. I looked at him to see him frowning.

“Vin, you ok?” Ricky asked, touching his arm.

“Listen here Brady, you little shit.” Vinny snarled to chat. “I don’t care what your opinion is of our relationship. The only opinion that matters is Ricky’s, Olivia’s and mine. But I will not have you calling her a whore just because you don’t like how we handle our lives. Mods get rid of him and anyone that says anything disrespectful about her, Ricky or me.” He clung to me a little tighter and buried his nose into my neck to help him calm down.

NicholeMotionless: Vinny being protective and all cuddly of Olive is adorable.

Willinmotionless: So what was the other thing you were going to share.

Vin let out a little growl making Ricky chuckle. He stood up and pulled the extra chair up next to us.

“Are you ok to keep going Vin?” Ricky asked softly. Vin shrugged and didn’t make a move to pull away from me. “The other bomb shell we were going to drop was that-“ Ricky took a deep breath, “Vinny and I are also together.” The chat went insane and for a minute none of us could read a single message. I could tell Vinny was peaking at the chat from my neck but otherwise we all stayed quiet. I tried to see if there were any messages from Chris but I couldn’t catch his name.

“Guys, I love Olivia and Vinny with everything in me. If it weren’t for a fan catching their kiss yesterday, you would not know about this. However, I won’t have her or him attacked because of our relationship.” Ricky told the chat.

ChrisCMotionless: You and Vin? That shouldn’t surprise me at all. The entire crew is happy for you three.

I let out a sigh of relief and pointed out the message. I could tell that Vinny relaxed after seeing it too because he started to sit up.

“Thank you, Chris. It means a lot. We’ll come talk to you after the stream.” Vinny said.

“I don’t know what more there is to say. I love you both and that’s what this was about. To just explain the kiss yesterday. No one is cheating on anyone, and we are all happy together. If you can’t support us and our relationship then forget the band. Because I guarantee you, Chris, Justin and Ryan will support these boys to the end of their careers.” I finally spoke.

ChrisCMotionless: Got that fucking right. Their happiness is more important to us than anything.

“We love you guys. And we hope you support us.” Ricky said to the camera.

KitKatCathy: Can we see you kiss before you leave?

“I’m pretty sure you have definitely seen me and Olive kiss before.” Ricky teased before pulling me into a sweet kiss. Vinny shifted until he was sitting a little straighter and pulled me into a kiss too. The chat was spammed with ‘awes’ and people calling us cute.

“I think they’ll get mad if you two don’t amuse them too.” I giggled. Both Ricky and Vinny looked at each other with wide eyes.

“No, I’m sure they don’t-“ The chat spammed with confirmation, halting Vinnys words in his throat.

“The fans want what they want.” Ricky shrugged. I bounced off of the drummer’s lap and moved back to the bed. I could tell they were hesitant, and it made me giggle a little.

“Ricky just kiss your boyfriend already.” I laughed. He glanced back at me before rolling his eyes and grabbing Vinnys neck and pulling them together. The kiss was sweet at first until Vinny’s hands grabbed Rickys shirt and pulled him closer. I glanced down at Rickys phone that we had abandoned on the bed to see the chat losing their shit until it froze and the stream crashed. “Hey you two? You broke stream. Literally.” Vinny and Ricky pulled away from each other and looked at the computer. They both slumped into their seats in shock and stared at it for a few minutes.

“Wow.” Vinny finally uttered. I snuck up behind them.

“By the way, that kiss was hot.” Both of them jumped and looked back at me. I giggled and dashed away as they both tried to leap out of their chairs and grab me. We chased each other around the room for a few minutes until the door opened and Chris walked in. I dashed behind him and grabbed his jacket. “Chris protect me!” I begged.

“Chris.” Ricky said dangerously. “Give us the instigator.”

“Who?” Chris smirked. Justin had gotten up behind me and went to grab my waist, but Chris swung us around and faced him, looping an arm around me to keep me behind him. “Don’t.” He said sharply.

“Right. You don’t like to be touched. I’m so sorry Olive!” Justin freaked out.

“It’s ok. Thank you for stopping him, Chris. Justin, I don’t blame you. It’s easy to forget.” Familiar hands grabbed my waist and pulled me back into a firm chest.

“Think you are funny?” Vinny asked quietly in my ear. He pulled me into a kiss before we all moved to sit around the room. I found myself sitting in-between Ricky and Vinny on the bed as Chris sat on the end of the bed and Justin and Ryan took the chairs.

“So why didn’t you tell us that you two were together? I mean we are pretty accepting.” Chris questioned. Vinny and Ricky looked at each other before looking back at the band.

“We don’t know. We didn’t really think about it. Before we were both dating Liv it was more of just us fooling around and using each other as stress relief.” Vinny explained.

“Then all that shit happened with her ex, we made the decision to move in together and when she wasn’t with us, we still gravitated to each other at night.” Ricky continued. “Our relationship has always been more about Olive than each other. We only started dating each other about a month before we proposed actually.”

“I’m sorry you guys had to come out like this.” Ryan said honestly.

“We talked about it last night. We had a feeling something like this would happen so we aren’t too torn up about it. We just hope the fans are understanding.” Ricky brushed it off.

“The response seemed pretty positive on chat.” Justin offered.

“I guess time will tell. This is going to affect the band though. Our fans might turn, our monthly listeners might drop. We will get hounded from all sides.” Ricky pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter. Do we support them?” Chris asked Ryan and Justin who immediately said yes. “Then whatever happens we handle it together. You three are our family and that’s more important than any fans we will ever have.” Ricky moved to the end of the bed and wrapped Chris in a hug, quickly joined by Justin, Ryan and Vinny. Vinny looked at me and held out his hand.

“They are safe.” He murmured. I grinned and took his hand to be pulled into the hug. These were my family and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. In that moment I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to call mine.

#motionless in white #miw band #vinny mauro #vinny mauro fanfic #trust and love #ricky olson #ricky olson fanfic

10 notes · View notes