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stayteezdreams · 6 months ago

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Finding out BF!TXT are Supernatual Creatures {scenarios}

Scenarios: Finding out your boyfriend is a supernatural creature

Pairings: Soobin x Gn!Reader; Yeonjun x Gn!Reader; Beomgyu x Gn!Reader; Taehyun x Gn!Reader; and Huening Kai x Gn!Reader

{Stray Kids Version} {Ateez Version}

Warnings: n/a

Requested by: @otakutrash669

A/n: Not me low-key wanting to write full-fics about some of these (mainly Soobin and Yeonjun's)??? There are probably a lot of stories and myths surrounding the Imugi, so I went with one that fit my personal narrative for these headcanons

Words: 2k

Soobin (Fallen-Angel):

Soobin was a guardian Angel who fell by choice.

He wanted to live as a human so he left his duties as a Guardian Angel, but once mortal still had remnant powers.

When he met you, he was drawn to you and felt as though he needed to protect you.

It turns out you were one of his destined souls to protect, but you were left alone when he chose to become human.

He decided to keep an eye on you, and accidentally met you when he saved you from being side-swiped by a car.

You ended up becoming friends, and Soobin ended up falling for you fairly quickly after that.

Not long into your relationship, Soobin decided to tell you about his past and what he was.

You obviously thought he was joking, but he proved it with one of his powers (teleportation).

You were stunned but in awe.

He expected you to feel betrayed or scared, but you weren't.

You trusted him, even after he told you he abandoned you when he became human.

"But you came back to me."

"Yes, I did."

He showed you the rest of his powers, and told you many stories of his life as an Angel.

You become somewhat withdrawn after some time and Soobin grew worried.

After pressing you for answers, you admitted that you felt unworthy of his love after learning about what he was and what he had experienced.

But he reassured you he loved you more than anything and found himself to be the unworthy one.

"I have never been drawn to someone like this. I have never loved as deeply."

You started referring to him as Angel, which to others was just a cute pet-name, but to you two was an inside joke and secret.

Yeonjun (Fox/Familiar):

Surprise! You are secretly a witch, you just don't know it!

The only person who does is Yeonjun.

You met Yeonjun one day when he just showed up at your work place.

He started to linger and you often caught him watching you. You thought he was handsome and mysterious.

Slowly he started to talk to you, and you became friends, but not for long before he asked you on a date. Your relationship grew from there and you started dating.

When you started to spend more time at each others houses, you started to pick up on odd things.

Things you needed or wanting suddenly being nearby. Flickering lights when you get upset.

Yeonjun somehow always knowing when you needed help.

Not to mention a fox you noticed lingering in your yard a lot, who seems to watch you.

"I think I'm being haunted."

"Or maybe its something else."

"Like what?"

"Magic."

You started to think Yeonjun knew something you didn't and grew suspicious.

He began noticing you growing uneasy and figured it was time to tell you.

But one day, it all came to a head when you woke up to find everything in your room floating, including you.

You and all of the objects fell to the ground and you called Yeonjun in fear.

When he appeared faster than humanly possible, you knew he had to know what was going on.

So he explained.

He was a familiar without a witch, and one day he sensed your magic trapped in your body and wanted to help you find it.

He explained everything, and how he had slowly been using his own abilities to draw the magic out of you.

You were confused, and took this as him tricking you, fearing he was only with you for the use of your magic, and that he didn't actually have feelings for you.

Yeonjun admitted that at first he had no feelings for you, but wanted to get closer to your magic.

A familiar without a witch often felt useless and alone, and their magic increases once they bond with a witch.

But he had truly fallen for you early on, and wanted to be with you while helping you to discover your magic.

You weren't sure what to do, so you asked him for some space.

A week passed and you had come to terms with your newfound abilities, and were curious to learn more.

You also found that you missed Yeonjun, even if you weren't sure you could trust him.

But you accepted that he was the only one who could help you. So you reached out.

He was happy and enthusiastic, but you told him you still needed time to decide if you wanted to be with him romantically.

He understood, though was saddened by this.

So, he waiting, while he helped you to discover your magic and acted as your teacher and familiar.

You knew your feelings for him were still prevalent, as were his.

Eventually you gave in and accepted you wanted to be with him.

He was relieved and ecstatic, and promised he would never keep anything from you again.

Beomgyu (Imugi):

The Imugi is a large magical water Serpent, that after 1000 years can choose to become a full-fledged dragon.

However, there was one, who chose to become human instead.

When Beomgyu finally did become human, he adapted very quickly.

You met at school, and thought he was a bit odd, but cute.

He often seemed to be unaware of many simple or well-known things. And often asked a lot of questions.

He told you he had just been sheltered his whole life and you took his word for it. Not asking too any questions for fear of bringing up painful memories.

Yet at the same time, he knew about niche things you had never imagine he would know about.

You became friends and then after a few years, gave into your feelings.

The two of you had only been dating for a short time when Beomgyu decided to tell you what he was.

You thought he was just making a weird joke, but the more time that passed and he didn't reveal it was a joke the more you grew uncertain.

Was he secretly a bit crazy? Was his past more "sheltered" than you thought? Or was he telling the truth?

The last option seemed the craziest of them all, but he proved it to you by showing you the remnants of his past serpent-nature.

Meaning, he grew horns and scales appeared across his cheeks, chest and hands.

You were startled and speechless and he was afraid he scared you.

Honestly you were a bit afraid, but not necessarily of him.

Your world had suddenly been changed in the span of a few seconds, and now you knew magic creatures like serpents and dragons existed.

Once the pure astonishment wore away, you grew curious and exited.

And Beomgyu was more than happy to tell you all about the world he was from. Magic, creatures, and immortality.

He made you promise to keep his secret, which you of course agreed too. Though you sometimes wished you could brag about your magical boyfriend to someone.

Taehyun (Vampire):

So many people on your college campus were attracted to Kang Taehyun.

He was mysterious, attractive, and had an air about him no one could really describe.

He was often called the Siren of the campus.

But, there was only one person he was attracted to. You.

You were weary of him, uncertain if you should trust someone like him.

He could sense this so he was cautious in approaching you, befriending you slowly and delicately.

Eventually you gave into his advances and started to hang around him more.

You learned that he was much kinder and softer than he appeared on the outside.

He was upfront about his growing feelings for you, and though you did not mention your own, you felt the same.

Eventually, just as you did before, you gave in and accepted you had fallen for him.

As your relationship grew, you started to become aware that he was hiding something from you. But you weren't sure what exactly.

Taehyun himself, had begun growing restless.

He wasn't expecting his feelings for you to become so strong. He began wanting a future with you, and the more he realized this was impossible, the more conflicted he became.

Eventually, he grew distant, pulling away, and inevitably breaking it off with you suddenly.

Your heart was broken and you needed to know why but he would not tell you.

One day, when doing a research project for your history class, you were going through past yearbooks of your college. A name caught your eye. Kang Taehyun.

Finding the matching photo you were stunned to see he had not only the same name but the same face as your now ex-boyfriend.

The photo was from over 50 years prior. Was it Taehyun's father? Or maybe grandfather?

The more you thought about it, the more you realized you knew nothing of Taehyuns family apart from a few short stories.

You started to put things together in your mind, and as crazy as you thought you might be, you needed to know.

So you found Taehyun, placed the photo in front of him and waited for him to explain.

He knew he could give you excuses, make something up, but he missed you, and hated how he hurt you. So he gave in and told you the truth.

He didn't need to prove it for you to believe him.

Taehyun explained that he didn't think his interest in you would become what he felt was true love, but he knew you couldn't be together forever unless he turned you or watched as you grew old and die.

You talked for a long time and after some time decide to be together, Taehyun knew he would rather be with you than leave you behind.

He left the choice to you if you would let him turn you, or if you would stay with him for as long as you could, mortal and immortal.

The choice is yours.

Huening Kai (Fairy):

Everything about your relationship with Kai was normal.

He was sweet and beautiful and he thought the same of you.

You always knew there was something ethereal about him but you figured it was just your imagination and his general vibe.

So what if animals seemed to never be afraid of him? And the fact that sunlight seems to sparkle on his skin.

So what if you sometimes saw him out of the corner of your eye and thought he had wings, or some type of halo aura surrounding him. It was just your mind playing tricks.

You called him your Disney Prince and he thought it was cute, but you always noticed a peculiar twinkle in is eye when you talked about these things it him.

One day, when you caught him off guard, you found him standing out in the sun, and the wings sprouting from his back were definitely not your imagination.

You stared at him in awe, watching as the sunlight seemed to absorb into his skin.

When he finally noticed you, everything surrounding him disappeared in a second, as if he shut a light off.

You were stunned, speechless, confused.

He approached you cautiously, afraid to frighten you or freak you out.

He was not expecting you to snap back into reality with a loud "I KNEW IT"

You were relieved to no longer be plague with the thoughts that something was wrong with you. And amazed to know you had been dating a....well, whatever he was.

After asking, Kai explained. He was the son of a fairy and a human. Mortal, but magical.

He shared his history with you, and his magic, and the struggles he had always keeping it from you.

He was warned to keep it a secret, told to by his parents to keep him safe. But he loved you, and wanted you to know, but wasn't sure when or how to tell you.

No that you found out he was relieved he didn't have to hide it anymore.

You ended up meeting with his parents and discussing everything, and you promised that you would never tell his secret, and you would help keep it and him safe.

Thought a bit cautious, his parents finally accepted it, and allowed you to stay with him.

Kai does not quite like his knew nickname 'Fairy Princess' as much as his previous one though.

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson, @pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop

TxT Taglist: @thunderous-wolf, @briqnne, @crazyformfics Yeonjun & Soobin: @hongjoongsprincess, @dear-dreamie, Yeonjun: @ye0nvibezzn

-Taglist Form-

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wordsinhaled · 4 months ago

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because genderqueer payneland naturally settling into the best ways to care for each other is my beloved trope - here's a little something on their disguises, for @icarian-iscariot and @dont-offend-the-bees !!!

Charles is tinkering with the two pairs of glasses they'd just received as payment for their last case. Doing up their disguises for the first time. It's a lovely bit of magic, really, and he can already tell it's going to be dead useful. He might even be rambling about it, just a little, in his excitement, picking through the logistics of how two middle-aged versions of him and Edwin ought to look. He's just starting in on the necktie patterns he vaguely remembers his teachers wearing, when—

"Charles?" Edwin interrupts, and Charles turns toward him, expectant. "Actually, I. Well, I wondered if… I thought perhaps. If there is the choice… of course, only if it is possible, and if it doesn't—if it doesn't suit that is perfectly fine. But I—"

"Edwin, mate. What is it? It's all right. Whatever it is, just spit it out. Better out than in, yeah?"

"Well… I only wondered… must we both be men, as it were? In our disguises?"

And Charles feels taken aback, a little, if he's honest. It's a new thought, if not exactly an unfamiliar one, somehow. But he smooths his face out, keeps the catching up his mind is doing from showing. "I mean, I hadn't really thought about it, mate. Don't think I'd really fancy being anything else."

"I was not referring to you." Edwin's voice is tight and high, bordering on defensive, and suddenly it dawns on Charles that this is—this is something important to Edwin. Maybe more so than he'd picked up on, before. "I have been considering that I might prefer—but it is nothing. I can simply abide—"

"Oh, no. Shhh, no," Charles croons, overtaken with the instinct to step closer, to clear away the clouds from Edwin's expression. "Stop that right there, we're not having you abide anything, mate." And he puts his hands on Edwin's shoulders, where they belong, and rubs a little, digs his fingers into taut muscle that shouldn't be able to carry tightness. Feels the tension seep out slowly, as Edwin relaxes into his grasp.

"All right," Edwin says, as though he's convincing himself, "all right."

"I've just got to fiddle with the charm a bit, but… should be easy enough. S'not like there's rules to the disguises, after all. 'Course you can be a woman, Eds. Nothing stopping you. Don't matter one bit to me."

"Truly?"

Edwin sounds so unsure, and so terribly hopeful, as though he isn't asking Charles for the easiest thing in the world: to take him just as he is and still adore every bit of him. The secret parts becoming not so secret anymore. The mystery of Edwin Payne revealed, piece by piece, the innermost bits of him entrusted into Charles' care. It makes Charles' chest tighten in sympathy. In something like love.

He nods, insistent. "Truly. Actually, it sort of… and don't be put out, now. But it sort of… fits, don't it? Now I think about it. Fits you." Charles gives him an exaggerated, appraising once-over, grinning. "Fits us, even."

And then Edwin is smiling back, a tiny upward quirk of the lips. His eyes gone bright and beautiful, the storm in them dispersed. Privately, Charles thinks he might even be well on his way to coaxing out that crooked flash of teeth he likes on Edwin so much: the one he looks forward to every time because it means Edwin is proper content.

"I daresay it does, Charles."

#dbda #dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #payneland

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bamboozledbird · 2 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

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

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you

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absolutebl · 11 months ago

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This Week in BL - Top 3 Are HEATING UP

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Dec 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Honestly, 3 are neck & necking for top position! They are all so good in different ways. But The Sign had me hooting with laughter this week, so it scooped #1.

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, paranormal, fated mates, mystery, suspense, slasher, and horror. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. I have no idea what I’m watching but I’m ON this ride. Is it a roller coaster? Is it a haunted house? Is it a twirl & hurl? Is there candy floss? Am I even tall enough? Who tf cares. All through the second scene, I was laughing. It was legit funny. Billy has great comedic timing. Guess he’s not just a pretty face.

Everyone should be watching this. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - Yech. August may be one of GMMTV’s least likable characters ever (and that is saying something). Meanwhile, MOAR language play! They spoiling me!

Mhok letting Day go then walking away at the party hurt so bad.

Argh this show is great!

Ep 6 so that kiss was right on schedule. I’m looking forward to the boyfriend eps before doom & pain in the new year. Carry on GMMTV.

Speaking of...

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 2 of 12 - Oh they’re great. It’s great. It’s paced oddly, moving quickly through most of the key scenes of the original JBL in these first 2 eps. I think it’s intending to encompass more of the manga series than that one did. Which is good, cause that will get us all the way to The Library Kiss (TM). It's the best kiss in the manga. I also like the sides in this show (better than the JBL version).

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8fin - What a lovely slightly unhinged little show. Tew, can we talk? Un-ironic suspenders, that takes courage. Also, the revolver was a crazy gun choice.

Final thoughts:

This show is just as ridiculous as its title. About a gaymer who falls in love with one of his in-game teammates, who just happens to be a IRL gangster. A real gangster, the kind that actually kills people regularly. The lead pair is doing their best with a ridiculous story and shoddy script, but I enjoyed it. Although I was grateful it wasn’t very long, what we got was oddly satisfying if, frankly, a little bit silly. Recommended. 8/10

That said, what's important about this BL is not the show, but the production and style. Let me explain... no, too much, let me sum up.

This is a chimera BL. Regarding characters: it has Japan's style otaku + Korea's style gangster + Thailand's style friendship group. It used Thai talent + Korean money (Kakao) & IP (adapted from a manwha) but aired on a Chinese channel globally (iQIYI). I'm delighted by the eclectic insanity of this production and truly doubt that any other genre but BL could ever produce like this. It's like diplomat's BL and it's the great wonder of our age that it happened at all. This BL deserves its place in the history books on production alone, even if that place is only in the footnotes. A remarkable little monster.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - The sides are… messy. Using the same actor for the old bf is… odd. But in the end, this show leaves me smiling. Which means, I like it despite myself.

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - It's decent. It’s basically what I wanted Antique Bakery to be when I first watched that way back when (not to mention Bite Me). But there’s been so much BL since then that, for some reason, this is falling flat. I think it’s moving too fast for a Thai series. Although, say what you like, Ohm has to be one of the best soft kissers in the industry. He's just good at mouth tenderness.

Ugh, that doesn't sound right. But you know what I mean.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 7 of 10 - I love how First is so upset when Sprite starts chatting and being nice to Koh. Sprite is just a sweet easy-going likable boy. I enjoy Sprite as a main character, he’s a bubbly little communicator. And they had a cute kiss.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 14 - Because there was more Alan and Jeff and they were more key to the plot I was more into this ep. I do compare it to green smoothie down the pants in the Trash Watch.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 3 of 12 - Look OffGun are truly great. But I’m just not sure we need them in BL anymore. That said, it’s nice to see Off as "the one with the crush" for a change. Also, this show is only good when OffGun are on screen together, otherwise it kinda, well, sucks.

Night Dream (Sat YT) ep 1 of 6 - Cafe setting featuring a cook and a writer. *Seems awfully familiar.* Except these two are exes and this is a reunion romance. It’s stiff and very pulp but not bad (no crap sound effects) and I am a sucker for a reunion romance. That said, Rookie Thailand is not to be trusted, proceed with caution.

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 12fin - I'm grateful this is over. It was tense but for the wrong reasons - sadness and confusion. This final episode was fine, but that’s because it was mostly them being together + flashbacks. Plus all the familiar actor faces of the grown-up friends (hi, Karn my lovely, still stunning I see). But 2 of 12 episodes is not enough for the 10 of suffering and confusion that came before.

In conclusion:

A man is killed on his 10th anniversary resulting in a time paradox, for which the only solution is him never meeting his childhood sweetheart until later in life. Both lovers cycle back to the past at different ages, so that they each become their own 1st & 2nd great loves, but every time it ends in pain, until each also endures 10 years of separation. Finally it gets fixed, but leaves them with multiple memories of time's failures like temporal PTSD, and everyone around them has chronic deja vu. Me? I got both. This is one of those BLs that is high-quality with great acting but poor story. If you like your BL dwelling, maudlin, and tense due to angst and suffering, then you might enjoy this. But I just regret it, 6/10. Recommended only if you like confusing time travel emo pain.

In which case, just watch Tokyo in April is... instead. Give over Thailand, Japan does it better.

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 6 of 8 - While our main couple isn’t working for me... the side couple isn’t working for me either. I really wanted to give LeoTai a chance, this is the 3rd show I’ve seen them in, and still nope. I like Jade a lot more when he’s sad. He’s a much more pleasant screen experience depressed. I would like him to stay hurt for a couple of eps, just so I can enjoy this show a tiny bit more. But then he just goes unhinged again. Argh. I just don’t like it.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Pisces of Me ep 17 of 24 - Codependent boyfriends in middle school planning for high school dealing with stuff. Including other boys being into them.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 5 of 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. DNF

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - It’s cute but I don’t think BL in this short format is Taiwan’s strength these days. And this is quite slow and dull. Perhaps they should have whacked it down to 6 eps, not 10.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - This is one of those JBLs that I should like on paper but is failing me. The drag bit was ridiculous but handled gently. The kiss was… well… something wasn’t it? It’s all very odd. I like the photographer cutie character.

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Been told I shouldn't bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until after it completes its run next week.

Dear Kitakyushu (Thai/Japan movie) in theaters in country only, I know nothing about distribution.

Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) this is a historical I was interested in, but I've been told they kill the gay so I'm OUT.

Next Week Looks Like This

Still coming:

12/23 Dead Friend Forever (Thai horror) iQIYI

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

He so pretty.

I forgot how likable TayNew are, and frankly I think New is a better version of this role for me, personally. I like him a lot. He's a conscientious sweetheart. And a good egg. (Cherry Magic)

Ah the rooftop my old friend. (Last Twilight)

I would like to point out that it's no accident the naga's sex dream happened in the shower, he's a water creature after all. (The Sign)

(Last week)

#the sign the series #was very hot this week #this week in bl #bl updates #Last Twilight #Thai BL #cherry magic #my dear gangster oppa #my dear gangster oppa review #for him the series #Bake Me Please #antique bakery #twins the series #cooking crush #offgun #Absolute Zero review #bl reviewed #bl reviews

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miam0re · 2 years ago

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Aftercare(2) | Side Characters

Warning: Implied sex? Implied rough sex, overstimulation;

Pairing: Diavolo, Solomon, Simeon, Barbatos X Fem!Reader (separate)

Summary: How he takes care of you after he's fucked you nice and hard

Mia’s Notes: Back to writing after months wow this feels good!! Also what title should I use for Obey Me characters who are not the demon brothers? Is Side Characters fine or...is there another word for them. Also for anyone wanting to know if I’ll write anything for Mephisto or Raphael...I don’t know them?? Like they probably show up much MUCH later in the story (or in some events) But I don’t have much information to work on. So right now...not gonna write for them.

Hope you like this mwah mwah

(ALSO not proofread....eheheheh)

You can find the Demon Brothers version on my blog!!

Diavolo is always trying his best to be gentle with you, treating you like his sweet little princess

But can’t help it if he gets pussy drunk on how tight and warm you are. Next thing you know, he’s pounding into you like a demon in heat. Wowzie

Insides and outsides both covered in cum, you’re quivering in his hold as he’s rocking you from side to side, calming your little sobs

He makes it a point to communicate with you, asking you what all you enjoyed, what you didn’t enjoy and what he could do to make you feel good (no, not only in the bedroom sense)

Tell him all the places it hurts and he’ll rub the pain away, making note to be careful of the position that made you ache so much

Most of all, he loves to hear you tell him that he was good to you, and he will reciprocate your words, praising you with words from all three realms

“My Queen, I will do everything to see that gorgeous smile on your face. I love you…so please tell me, how you want me to show it.”

A cheeky sorcerer always finds the best ways to put his spells to use, and Solomon thinks the bedroom to be the best place to…play around

Sense depriving spells, spells that would have you cumming again and again, after effects of magic are sure to follow the bedroom activities

Sub-drop is sure to happen when he overstimulates you with magic, but magic also happens to be a good cure for head ache and body pains

You’re in his hold, head on his shoulder as he murmurs a foreign language in your ear, rousing you to fall asleep as magic tingles over your bruised skin, colouring them its original blush

His fingers caress the curve of your spine, the drag of his magical fingers relieving the pains you felt

More than that, his spell chanting sounds like a lullaby with the little kisses he’s sure to dot around your face and neck after every verse, making you sleepy…so sleepy…

Perhaps that is one of the spells he used ;)

“Time for you to rest, my Darling. Tonight has been quite fun. Oh? Asleep already? You didn’t even hear me say I love you.”

His touch is truly angelic. Nothing short of the most soulful and affectionate moments spent with Simeon worshiping your body for the night

He doesn’t know it, but he makes a mess of your insides. Ah but he only notices the mess he’s made of you outside :p

With your head resting on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeats, he busies himself with massaging your head and fixing your hair

He’s putting pressure on all the right spots on your scalp, blunt nails running through your hair making you sigh and hum in happiness

Your temples, the spot behind your ear, the nape of your neck- he’s giving all of it attention until you melt on top of him

His fingers curl in the tangled locks of your hair, combing your hair smooth and there’s something so oddly satisfying about having him separate your hair into parts and twist them into a braid

When he’s done playing with your hair, he’s pressing multiple kisses to the top of your head and hugging your shoulders tight, squishing you closer to himself

“I love you, my Angel. Would you like me to massage your head some more? Anything to make you feel loved.”

His tail is slithering down your legs and by the way you moan in exhaustion, Barbatos realises that he may have overstimulated you a tad too much

Worry not, acts of service are this demon’s specialty and you are his top priority right now

Once you’re all clean and robed in the silk blankets, thanks to him, he’s excusing himself to prepare something for you

No later, in front of you is a tray with baked dessert and a tea blend from his private collection

While blowing the steaming liquid and holding the cup to your lips, he tell you that this tea will make you feel better and help with any form of fatigue, helping you take small sips while brushing your hair out of your eyes

And who can say no to desserts, especially when they’re being hand fed to you, your lips being lovingly wiped off crumbs after every bite, don’t mind him if he uses his lips for that a few time ;p

“Is it to your liking, my Lady? I love you quite a lot and wish for you to feel good, so please, don’t hold back and tell me what you want of me.”

#mia.smut #mia.writes #obey me smut #obey me #diavolo smut #solomon smut #simeon smut #barbatos smut #aftercare #after care #obey me x reader smut #obey me x reader

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evans23 · 4 months ago

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I am yours

Pairing : Sinclair Bryant x Reader OC

Summary : Sinclair knows. He knows but he doesn't care because he loves you and you can believe him when he has told you your first time will be nothing short of magic.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : fluffy and smutty puppy Sinclair ❤️ @liviacarol88-blog ; @eccentricchick

A/N : Hello dear 😁 You asked for it, I did it ! Here my version of Sinclair and virgin reader. Tell me guys if you're still up for David's version and I will be more than happy to oblige you =)

Lionel's version is here - David's version is here

Also read on AO3

Sinclair knew. Of course, he knew. Not that he knows everything but that little secret of yours was quite obvious. At least for him.

He has known you for five months now, almost six, thanks to the chance of life. You came from a different world or what you called, for teasing him, the normal world while Sinclair was an affluent man coming from a wealthy family. Not that it matters for him or even his parents. They were happy that their son had found a good woman. Not a venal, never happy and capricious one like his ex. He told you everything about it after one month, when he had understood he wanted you in his life permanently.

You were everything Natalie wasn’t. Beautiful without vanity, intelligent without showing off but also without needing to belittle yourself to receive reassurance or compliment and, even though you were a bit shy and socialising wasn’t easy for you, you accompanied him each time he had a business party and you never complained when he organised a party at his estate, which happened quite often but as long as he was able to do the conversation, you were more than happy to be by his side.

In return, he was happy you could put up with his need to be surrounded by people and how you always did your best to make him feel important when you talked with his boss during a business party. A boss who adored your sharp mind and your ability to use sarcasm subtly.

Yet, despite the fact Sinclair was patient and, if he needed to wait for more months, he would gladly, he wanted you in the more intimate way. His desire was growing more and more since you agreed to move in with him two days ago. You had a tiring weekend, moving all your stuff into his incredible house, with the help of your father who was persuaded Sinclair was the one.

However, Sinclair wasn’t a fool, even though it is true, in the beginning, he had thought you were one of these girl who didn’t want to have anything to do with the intimacy of the flesh before the marriage. Not that he would have minded, he was already too engrossed with you for that but he was clearly not ready to take the plunge again. Not so soon after the Natalie Gate.

He couldn’t fathom how calm he had been after he had discovered the whole affair. Perhaps the fact he had understood everything far before she ridiculed him in front of his friends and colleagues had helped him to refrain from his need to kill Richard or even her. And had he not had the mastery of his emotion, what good would have he earned ?

The divorce hadn’t been too harsh, because when Natalie had tried to get more than what she deserved, he was so worked up that he had threatened her to reveal the truth to the court. A truth that would have sent her to jail.

It wasn’t really him to do something like that but he needed to get rid of her and her brother and he needed to get over the whole situation as quickly as possible. He was so down after his suspicions had been revealed to be true and even more after the divorce. Divorcing wasn’t something we do in his family. We try to work over what is wrong, to mend a damaged relationship. He could have forgiven Natalie for cheating, he loved her enough for that, even if she wasn’t really in love with him to even have just the thought of doing it, but cheating with her brother with who she was related by blood ? No, he could not forgive such an abomination.

Only his mother knew, neither he nor her had dared telling the real reason to his father. The man wasn’t a violent person, but in this case, with all his important professional acquaintances, he would have ruined the woman and as Sinclair had got his way, which meant Natalie was afraid enough to see him use the proofs he had against her thanks to his maid Xiao Mei and Pamela, his parents’ housekeeper who had revealed his mom she had surprised both rascals in the master bedroom, him naked her roughly clothed, that she had accepted all the terms of the divorce and the fact she wouldn’t get a penny of Sinclair’s fortune or half the part of the estate has it had been bought by Sinclair and only his name was on the deed of sale.

And then you arrived in his life, a hazardous, a happy accident. You were like a lighthouse in the darkness of his hazy mind. You met one year after his divorce, but even if he was trying his best to be playful and optimistic with the rest of the world, inwardly he couldn’t forget the bitterness of Natalie’s betrayal. She had humiliated him, slept in his parents' bed with her jerk of a brother, lied to him and in the end, he felt like the one punished, all alone in his big house with his broken dreams for a future with his other half.

Until you. He would never forget that holy day when he had absently darted the crowd while waiting for his coffee. You were in a hurry, your hair disheveled, wearing an inappropriate outfit for the really bad weather, you told him later the forecaster said it would be a sunny day and it was the reason you were wearing a short and a too thin pullover for the day, and you were in an urgent need of a milkshake because in the morning milkshake was for you like the God nectar.

You were beautiful. But too young he thought at first. Looking too young was your curse. Men always thought you were a child of nineteen when in reality you were 33. But then, Sinclair met you again the next day, even though you were absolutely oblivious about the first encounter. You were reading, sat down on a bench in a park under a tree which provided you a shelter for the sun which was finally there. And yet again, you were wearing the wrong outfit. An old grey jogging with the same pullover as the day before. Your hair still an untamed mess. And yet again, he found you beautiful. You didn’t put any effort into your appearance to catch the eyes of others, you were just you. And you were alluring without even trying, at least in his eyes, which very soon became to only eyes that were important for you.

“It’s one of my favorite books,” he told you.

You looked up at him, your hair body bristling at the sound of his baritone voice, and you immediately felt butterflies dancing in your stomach when your eyes dived into his hazel ones. Sinclair was tall, imposing while he was towering over you, with a hooked nose that cast a shadow on his pinky cheeks. And he had the most lovely smile in the world. In one word, you found him handsome.

“Oh really ?,” you answered, “in my point of view, Sense and Sensibility doesn’t match up to Pride and Prejudice. No one can liven up Darcy in my heart,” you added with a smile.

“Darcy is overrated,” he answered, sitting down next to you without bothering to ask you if you were at ease with his presence, because for the first time, he felt like himself, like the heavy lump in his chest was leaving him, letting a feeling of relieve washing over him. And he thought he would never feel like that anymore.

“Oh really ?” you asked, arching one eyebrow, not bothered at all to have him by your side, reveling in his imposing presence, but also a bit self-conscious as the man was undoubtedly looking for your company and you were worried to say something stupid.

“Yes, Colonel Brandon is far more interesting.”

He started rambling about the character and for the first time, he found someone to listen to him without belittling him or telling him he was showing off like Natalie would have done. In fact, for the first time since the divorce, he didn’t think about her once. And after that encounter, you were the only one haunting his thoughts.

But what really enticed him was the fact that you answered him. You always had something to add to what he was saying. And both of you waffled on the whole afternoon about books, films and anything that came up in the conversation. That day, he realised how his ex-wife was uninteresting. She didn’t have any hobbies except for spending his money on shopping spree… and shagging her brother. His parents had been so right when they had told him not to marry the woman so fast just because he was afraid to spend his life alone. Yet, if he had listened to his parents, maybe he would have had the chance to meet you. Life, sometimes, had an odd way to conduct people into the right path, and in this case, towards his soulmate.

He remembered with a fond smile how lovely he had found your accent, thick but understandable and how impressed he was to know you were an English teacher, here in London.

He couldn’t remember exactly when you became more than just a friend to him, when he had understood his feelings were strong and even overwhelming sometimes because he thought he wouldn’t be lucky a second time in love. If he had only been lucky at all in this field.

Sinclair was zoning out, thinking of you rather than focussing on his work, because he didn’t know how to broach the topic with you or if he should. He was ready to wait for you, of course, but he needed to know if you would be ready sooner rather than later. He already knew you weren’t into religion, therefore you weren’t in the wait for him proposing to you for his relief, even though he had already made up his mind about the fact that one day he would have the privilege to call you his wife.

Your reading included some explicit smutty books, so you weren’t really fierce and he wasn’t sure but one day, he had heard a strange noise coming from the bathroom that sounded like a moan, so, he was roughly sure you knew how to please yourself own body and how to get pleasure from your own touch. Therefore, you weren't a prude at all.

But what Sinclair wanted was to be the one pleasuring your body with his hands, his tongue, his cock. He needed to be inside you, to utterly claim you as his.

He was rather an honest, straightforward person in his day-to-day life, yet he didn’t want to make you feel uneasy by being too blunt with you about something you were maybe ashamed of, though he couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t a defect. If truth should be told, he found it endearing. Lovely. Terribly arousing. He was so sure you were a virgin, he would definitely be a bit disappointed learning it wasn’t the case. But he was sure. You were so unsure the first time he languorously kissed you, his hands roaming under your shirt to feel your skin. He had tried thrice to lead you towards the foreplay and what was coming next, but each time you had coyly shied away. Because you were a bit clingy and you liked cuddling with him, something he wasn’t used to but more than happy to learn to do with you, he had arrived to the conclusion you were a virgin and you didn’t know how to display the truth.

However, you knew you could trust Sinclair. He wouldn’t mock you. But how could you explain to him that you had reached the age of 33 without having ever been touched by a man ?

Wasn’t it a bit immature of you ? Maybe he would think finally you didn’t worth the trouble. No, it was not him. You were sure he wouldn’t even laugh, Sinclair was too kind, too pure for that.

When he came back home, earlier than usual as he had a party organised at his house to celebrate a significant contract he and his colleagues had got after hours and hours of hard work, meetings, follow-up meetings and late calls at night with their American partner, he found you in the kitchen, helping Xiao Mei and the caterers he had hired for the party.

You didn’t notice his arrival, and he stayed a bit backward, leaned on the threshold, looking at you with a fond smile. You were always nice to everyone, always helping those who it was the job to work around the estate, and for that, he does love you even more.

He eavesdropped your conversation with Xiao Mei with not an ounce of shame for doing so. Sinclair being always honest with himself as he was with others had started to get some insecurities since Natalie and despite himself, he often needed to be reassured you were completely into him, but also not talking bad about him behind his back. He wanted you to be as sincere as he was and if something was wrong, you must talk with him and not spit out your bitterness to people whose it wasn’t their business at all.

“Sinclair is really happy you have moved in with him,” he heard Xiao Mei said.

“And so do I. Some of my friends think we are going too fast but I don’t think so. When we know, we know and we almost spent all the days of the last five months together. We already have gone through our first argument, therefore I think we are ready,” you giggled.

Sinclair smiled at the remembrance. It wasn’t really a quarrel between you, just a mere disagreement which had been settled as fast as it had begun. However, Sinclair would have liked to settle it under the sheets, with him into you, but at the time he had already understood you were not ready and he already had some suspicions about your virginity.

“And I’m so proud of him,” you added, still unaware of his presence, “he worked so hard for this contract, he really deserves to enjoy himself and his commitment to his work tonight.”

Feeling an urge of pride and affection, he decided it was time to let you know he was here.

“Here is my favorite girl,” growled his baritone voice, reasoning inside the little kitchen.

“Sinclair, your back,” you said with a smile, drawing closer to him to kiss him on the lips.

“I wanted to be sure you weren’t making the whole meal yourself,” he joked, poking your nose with his hooked one playfully.

“Oh ! I almost had to threaten her to cut her hands if she continued to do my job for me,” bantered Xiao Mei.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny, both of you,” you uttered playfully, “Actually, I arrived five minutes ago, therefore I haven’t even had the time to steal a piece of the desert Xiao Mei made.”

“And how was your day ?” asked Sinclair, sneaking up a salted cupcake from the tray behind you, ignoring the disapproving look of the housekeeper.

“Exhausting. A whole bunch of dunderheads. And yours ?” you asked while preventing him from stealing another cupcake.

“Exciting. I’ve a new client. A very interesting person. He worked with the CEO of Harrods and you’ll never guess about…”

He started to talk about some white powder during night parties, which wasn’t surprising for him, either for you, and he went on and on and on, happy to see you really listening to him and answering him accurately without trying to shut him up or to change the conversation topic because you didn’t care about what he had to say. The truth was that you always cared for Sinclair and his needs and you didn’t mind his incessant talking, it wasn’t as if the man had nothing interesting to say after all, he was so cultivated and everything could catch his interest, something you found endearing.

The night went well. You were glued to Sinclair’s arm most of the time, but he didn’t mind, he liked having you beside him while some of his coworkers were glimpsing at you. Before Natalie, he wouldn’t have been jealous, but since her betrayal, he couldn’t help the feeling of possessiveness which washed over him each time a man looked at you with a glint of desire tinkling. He tried his best to not overwhelm you with these new insecurities of his, but you understood where it was coming from and didn’t mind at all. In fact, you were flattered a man as Sinclair had noticed you and you felt a feeling of protection when he was clinging to your hand, subtly marking his territory.

Your societal abilities weren’t as developed as your other skills and you were grateful Sinclair did all the talking. Not that you were bothered with meeting new people, but you were rather an introvert and a crowded room with too much noise and the need to make some small talk about nothing particularly interesting was a bit exhausting for your mind.

As the last guest had just left, you went to the bathroom for a well-deserved shower. Sinclair, even though he had just finished having his own, felt the urge to join you, to feel your body under his, make his hands run on your skin, kissing your neck…

“Sinclair, control yourself,” he said out loud, shaking his head in a vain attempt to make his thought disappear.

But it was already too late, he could feel his member hardening in his underwear. When you popped up in the bedroom, only wearing a mini shorts and one of his shirts, his desire to take you here and now was burning him from the inside. Yet, he knew he had to be tactful to not frighten you away.

He casually took his place in the bed, patting the other one to urge you to join him, which you did willingly.

You cuddled up, making the best of his warmth to warm up your cold skin. Sinclair put his arm around your shoulders while his other hand was caressing your naked thing with a lingering desire of lust.

You thought it was time for the both of you. You couldn’t shut him down each time he tried something. and you wanted that too. But you weren’t sure if you had to tell him the truth, moreover, although you weren’t a prudish and naive woman, you didn’t know how to initiate it without him noticing your inexperience.

Fortunately, Sinclair, desperate to have a deeper connection with you, began to kiss your neck slowly, passionately, finding that sensible spot that inevitably sent shivers through your whole body.

You made your nails run through his hair, scrapping his scalp, which had for effect of making him moan loudly.

You watched him closing his eyes and you couldn’t deny your own desire for him while he was irradiating so powerfully that you could feel it.

You kissed his cheeks, his neck, then, without being able to fathom what got into you, you straddled him in a swift motion. Sinclair was taken aback by your action, feeling less certain about his assumption concerning your virginity, yet he knew you weren’t completely innocent in that matter.

And, while things became more intense, him patting hungrily your breasts under the shirt you had decreed was yours since you had moved in, he felt your hesitation. It was just a little flinch in your attitude and you continued to kiss him, but less ardently now that you could feel his length pressing against your covered pussy.

Sinclair had the feeling you were ready for that. Everything in your corporal language screamed how you wanted that as much as him. But he feared, you back away again if he didn’t take the lead from now on. Not that he would coerce you if you weren’t in for a treat, however, Sinclair was sure it was the right time for both of you.

He hesitated before eventually deciding to let you come to him if you needed to admit something to him. After all, maybe was he wrong and if that was the case it would be embarrassing for both of you. Anyway, he already made up his mind that he would be gentle and if he was right, he was roughly sure he would be able to feel it by the way you would move under him and by how tight you would be. The blood could also be an indication he thought, though not all women bleed during their first time he remembered himself.

He fidgeted a little bit under you to turn you around with a swift move so that you were under him.

One of his hands was playing with your nipple, making the wetness between your legs worse, while his lips were busy leaving a string of sweetness along your throat to your neck. You will have several little bruises of love the next morning, for sure.

When he tried to remove your shirt, he felt you stiffened and he stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes.

He sat down and forced you to lean up against the headboard with him. You looked at him with a mixture of trepidation and puzzlement.

“Honey, is there something you would like to tell me ?” he asked gently.

You looked down, blushing, something he found enticing.

“I won’t judge you, no matter what you want to tell me,” he added, his tone soft to not trigger you.

You opened and closed your mouth several times, your blush intensifying. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sinclair, it was that you were so ashamed to admit it. How many times your girlfriends had told you it wasn’t normal and it would repulse any man with who you would want to commit with. You had never accorded any attention at their talking that you always qualified as rubbish, but here you were, more ready than ever to make love with our amazing boyfriend, but also with all your doubts and insecurities.

Sinclair felt he should help you. He kissed the crown of your head, feeling a little bit hurt at the sight of your distress. He sighed heavily and held out his hand to grab your chin to force you to look at him.

“Are you a virgin honey ?” he asked without any mockery in his tone.

You didn’t look away, but tears invaded your beautiful eyes. Unable to answer, you just nodded once.

“Don’t cry, darling. I didn’t ask it to embarrass you,” he said while laying several kisses on your cheek, forehead and head.

“It’s just… I hoped you wouldn’t figure it out,” you whispered bashfully.

“But why ? Don’t you trust me to tell me that ? We are together as a couple now and you told me a couple shouldn’t have any secret for one another,” he reminded you.

Indeed, after having heard the gruesome story of his marriage with Natalie, you told him that a couple should share everything, even more their struggle and their disappointment towards each other. More importantly, you mustn't go to bed without having sorted out any argument between you. You were the one who had come up with that rule and Sinclair had immediately settled on with it. He wanted to build up a healthy relationship with you above the foundation of love and communication.

"I trust you, I swear, it's just..." you shut down one more time, biting your lips so hard Sinclair thought you would eventually hurt yourself.

"But what ?" he asked, his soft tone appeasing you.

"I was afraid you could be disgusted with my state," you said so low he wasn't sure if he had clearly understood you.

"Disgusted with which state ?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, "Do you have a terrible sexual disease that could kill both of us ?" he asked seriously.

You knew the question was rhetorical and you felt more embarrassed than before.

"Darling, you don't have the cholera, you are a virgin, it's not a defect or a shortcoming."

You looked at him, searching in his eyes for any form of deceit despite you. You couldn't stop your insecurities from gnawing at you. Sinclair could see how uneasy you were and he tried to soothe you down a little bit.

"I really don't understand why you give so much importance to it," he said, caressing gently your cheek.

"I don't know... Some of my friends kept telling me how strange it was to be 33 and still not having managed to get rid of my virginity. And my closest friend seemed to think that it was the best way to frighten a man and make him run away from me," you answered without looking at him.

Once again, he forced you to look at him, his hand guiding your head towards him. The tears in your eyes threatened to fall down at any time soon and you felt like a little girl who had just made a mistake and was on the verge of being scolded.

"Your friends are stupid. All of them. Truth be told, I find it arousing," said Sinclair before placing a kiss on your nose.

"Really ? You don't find me weird or something like that ?" you asked, a feeling of relief beginning to wash over your anxiety.

"Any man in the world would find it incredibly endearing, arousing and quite exciting too. But, I can't help but ask myself how a beautiful and smart girl like you has never met anyone, let alone never made love with anyone."

You shrugged, reveling in his soft touch against your neck.

"Maybe because I'm too smart," you answered genuinely.

Sinclair agreed. After all, he had read in a book that the more intelligent a person was, the more difficult it was for the said person to make acquaintances, true friends and to find the right partner because it made you more picky, more demanding and more in the need to be with someone because you were really in love with that person and you could find some peace and relieve with the right one, the one who could complete you.

He could relate to you as, for too long, he had thought Natalie was the right one. The one he needed. Only his parents, at the time, had understood his fear of being alone all his life like his cousin, a wealthy businessman at the head of the largest media company, surrounded by the most beautiful masterpiece of the greatest painters, possessing as many incredible cars as Sinclair, but terribly alone and bitter.

"Also," you started shyly, "I don't really attract men. I mean, I'm such an introverted, bookish girl, socially awkward. It's a miracle you noticed me. Another one that you didn't care about our social differences."

"Darling, please, not that again. You know I don't care about that kind of thing, either my parents don't care. You're such a courageous girl to have gone through all those awful things and still standing, facing the world, living away from your country because it was the only way to fulfill yourself."

You blushed under his praises. He told you so many times before and he will do it again each time you will need to hear it.

"I'm... I"m sorry," you stuttered.

"And now you are apologizing again and I don't even know why," he said half serious, half joking.

"To not have told you the truth immediately. At least, when it became serious between us. You deserved to know. Yet, you knew. You always know everything," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

"It wasn't really difficult to fathom it out, darling. At least, for me. Even though I wasn't sure. It could have been anything else, you could have been in an abusive relationship in the past but the way you act around me left little doubt about the fact you were still untouched rather than afraid of me."

Sinclair, pragmatic and direct as always, explained it as if you were an equation he had resolved long ago. You chuckled a little bit, feeling some reassurance that he wasn't revulsed at all but rather excited about the news.

"I feel so unfit for this world," you said calmly, "And I was so afraid to never meet you. London is quite a big city and I felt swallowed by it, invisible, even though I was invisible in the quaint little village where I used to live too. But here, I was so alone while surrounded by so many people. And then you arrived in my life and I... I just knew. But then, I was so afraid of your reaction. Honestly, I don't think I would have told you if you hadn't guessed it."

"Honey, there is no shame at all to be a late bloomer. Once again, I find it enticing !"

As to prove his point, he started kissing your throat, delving slowly down your breasts, your belly, your thigh, then he climbed up before stopping above your pussy, still covered with your shorts.

"Do you want it ?" he asked, surveying your face to seek any sign of hesitation.

"Yes," you said in a breath. "I"m sure you're the right one, the one I've waited for and I want you to have it."

You kissed him with fervor as if you wanted to prove to him how you wanted him. Again, Sinclair pinned you under his body, leaving a lingering kiss on your face. You put your hand under his shirt, giggling when he hissed at your cold palm on his chest, then, you helped him to get rid of his shirt.

You looked at his chest, musing how he could have a toned stomach with all the food he was eating, not that you mind either what he could eat in a day or if he had or not his hips poking over his pants. You loved him entirely, the in, the out and the in-between.

But when came Sinclair tour to take off your shirt, he stopped to look into your eyes, searching for something you couldn’t fathom.

“Sinclair ?” you asked with trepidation.

Could he have changed his mind, finally ?

“Promise me,” he said in a husky voice, full of desire, hungriness, but also something that wasn’t usual for him, uncertainty.

“Promise you what ?” you asked with concern, caressing gently his face with the tip of your fingers to soften his features.

“Promise me you are not using me to get what you want and then you will leave me.”

At his words, you felt a pang of sadness for the man you loved. Sinclair was always so composed, so strong, and even if you had talked together about his past depression and The Affair, never had he let you think he was living with the fear of you betraying him like his ex-wife. Even though you didn’t have any brothers, you could still go away, trying to see if the grass was greener, but you were too honest with yourself to do something like that and also totally mad about Sinclair.

The love you felt for him was something you had never felt before. Never ever would you be able to hurt such a beautiful person, even least when he was giving you everything you dreamt of and even more. Sinclair had offered you a world full of possibilities, a world you didn’t even now you could walk through.

“Sinclair, I have not saved myself for so long to finally choose to do it with the first man enough interested in me to make love with him and then throw him away like dirty clothes,”

He wanted to talk but you cut him short, putting your hand on his mouth.

“I wanted someone who would love me as I am, the good, the bad, my anxiety, my shortcomings, everything. I have waited for a man who would respect me, with who I would have fun and with who I could speak about everything. In fact, before meeting you, I didn’t know you were the one I was looking for. So, I promise you Sinclair, this is not an evil game of mine. I am totally committed to this relationship and profoundly in love with you, I want you to be my first love but most importantly, my last love.”

The doubts in Sinclair’s eyes flew away, replaced with a predatory look. Your words were what he needed to hear. He already knew that, but he needed you to tell out loud what he represented to you, how important was this relationship for you because for him it was already too late, he was so fond of you that sometimes he woke up during the night with the fear you could leave him.

He was not used to that sort of invasive thought, it had begun after the initial shock of what Natalie had done and it had become worse after the divorce. And here you were, comprehensive, gracious, and in love with him, something he thought he would never get, not after the terrible questioning he had gone through after the divorce. How bad of a husband had he been if Natalie preferred to shag her brother rather than trying to sort out her problems by talking with him ?

“Sinclair,” you said softly, “don’t get lost on me,” you almost begged him, “the past is in the past. I am not her. I am yours.

“And I am yours,” answered Sinclair, resuming his kisses on your body, finally taking off your shirt.

He licked one of your nipples, sucking and biting it playfully. He felt his length hardened at the same time your nipple did in his mouth. With his thumb, he brushed up and down over your other nipple, trying to ease you as much as possible to make it enjoyable for you.

He knew the first time could be painful and he wanted you to forget the pain to bask in the pleasure he was willing to give you. It should be the connection between two bodies, two lovers, two souls, not just him taking what he longed for so long, since he had understood how drawn he was with you.

“Sinclair,” you moaned under his touch.

You arched your body, wanting more, wanting him, which made him laugh.

“Slow here, darling, we don’t want to rush here, do we ?” he said, letting the hand that was brushing your breasts go down to the hem of your shorts.

Before slipping his hand under your panties, he asked you one more time if you were ready for that.

“If you need more time, if you want us to go slower, I’m happy to wait for you. I don’t want this if you are not sure it is the right time for you,” he said, though inwardly he desperately hoped you wouldn't refuse his endearments.

You felt a surge of affection for him and his understanding.

“I want this. I want you Sinclair.”

It’s all he needed. He leaned in, slowly to give you the time to brace yourself and stop him if you had any doubts, but he hoped you wouldn’t do that, his member was almost hurting him as he wanted you so much.

You tussled his hair in your way to pull him closer to you, deepening the kiss he was giving you, your tongue fighting with his while his hand found its way to your pussy.

You pressed instinctively your legs together, but your wetness couldn’t lie, you needed him and Sinclair could feel it.

“Don’t worry honey, I will take it easy on you.”

He started rubbing his thumb against your clit. Sinclair had read once that it was easier to give an orgasm to a woman when she already had one and the best way to relax her was to stimulate her little bundle of nerves. He also read that he would probably do that again once he would be inside you, as it wasn’t easy for a girl to have an orgasm just with her cock partner, even when the said cock was bigger than average. Actually, he was a bit afraid to hurt you as your walls were probably too tight, therefore he would take his time with the foreplay.

His thumb was still working on your clit and his tongue on your breasts when he inserted his first finger inside you, making you gasp in surprise to feel him inside you. Yet, it wasn’t painful. He played with your wall a tad before reaching your opening with his middle finger, pushing it slowly before scissoring you slightly.

You were already wet, but definitely not ready for him. He continued to make his fingers play and stretch your walls before finding what he was looking for. He knew he had reached it when you let out a moan louder than the other ones.

“Sin… Sinclair,” you stuttered, your mind confused amid the pleasure which was invading you.

“Give it up [Y/N],” he murmured in your ear, hitting tenderly your earlobe.

You didn’t need more to come, not as hard as he hoped, but he was discovering your body and how to please you. It will be a patient exploration, one that will not be done in one day, fortunately for him and for you.

You kissed him anew while he removed his fingers from you, looking expectantly at your reaction. The sight of your glimmering eyes should mean you were rather satisfied until now.

“Are you still sure ?” he asked.

You nodded and he gently squeezed your hips.

“Use your words [Y/N], because I won’t do anything if I am not sure here. I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to do, I…”

“Oh please Sinclair,” you cut him off, “yes, I still want you. I want you inside me and now,” you said urgently, which had for effect of making him laugh.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you ?” he said, teasing you with his thumb which he rubbed slightly against your fold.

“Only for you, Sinclair,” you answered in one breath.

He stroked his manhood several times to get harder, then he placed himself between your legs. You shivered at the sensation of his cock tip against your entrance, trembling with a mixture of anticipation and arousal.

“I will be gentle, [Y/N]. But if you need me to stop, just say so.”

“Yes, Sinclair,” you said, your eyes delving into his hazel one.

You kissed his hooked nose which cast a shadow on his cheek and he took the opportunity to slowly enter you. He stopped when your hands grabbed his shoulders, more by surprise than any real pain at this point.

He could feel how tight you were, how careful he must be to make it as pleasant as possible, even though he knew pain was unavoidable.

You stroked his armpit when he resumed his way inside you, always with care for your well-being, surveying your eyes, your face, to catch any sign of discomfort.

You hissed when he broke your hymen, but he blocked your little scream with his mouth, caressing every inch of your body with his lips to make you forget the pain his cock was inflicting on you.

Looking down, he saw the crimson liquid tainted the sheets, yet he was reassured to see you weren’t bleeding too much.

“Can I move, my love ?” he asked you.

You said yes, though you weren’t sure if you could bear having him fully inside you as he was already stretching you so much.

You held his shoulders, shoving your nails in his skin, but Sinclair was so engrossed with his duty of pleasuring you with the least pain possible that he didn’t even notice the pressure of your fingers on his back.

Your body arched slightly when he entirely filled you. Yet again, Sinclair held still to let you enough time to adjust to his cock, brushing your breasts with the tip of his fingers, while he used his mouth to distract you with a string of kisses in your throat.

He felt your inside contract around his cock and it was his clue he could move. He started to move slowly, ensuring your initial pain was ebbing away, at least a little bit. When you moaned at one of his swift motions, he retained a smile of pride at the understanding that he was doing what he should.

“I’m… I’m sorry Sinclair,” you managed to stammer between a moan, “I don’t really know what to do to please you,” you explained coyly.

His face softened at your words.

“Having you in my arms, like this, is enough to please me, honey. Believe me, I am the most happy man in the world right now with the precious gift you are offering to me.”

The twinkle in his eyes matched up to yours. Both of you were exactly where you should. In the arms of one another.

When you moaned louder than the other times, Sinclair speeded his thrusts a tad, determined to make you come first. This night wasn’t for him, it was for you.

Unfortunately, the passion was too intense and he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. With two deeper thrusts, he came into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

When he straightened his face, all you could see was the sheer ecstasy of his orgasm. He was handsome. The most handsome man you could have met in all the sense of the term. Yet, you couldn’t help too feel a bit frustrated but he reassured you immediately.

“We are not done [Y/N], I’ve enough stamina for a second round and you will have your pleasure too, darling.”

His baritone voice sent shivers through your body, while his thumb found anew your sensitive clit, stroking it in an exquisite slowness.

“Sinclair,” you half-moaned, half-pleaded.

You could feel your orgasm building up inside you and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips, trying to pull him towards you. His chest crushed on yours, though he did his best to bear his weight on his forearms.

“You’re so beautiful, [Y/N],” he whispered in your ear, kissing your cheek.

The pain mingled with the pleasure he was desperate to provide you with.

“Sinclair, faster, please,” you begged.

More than happy to oblige you, he intensified his thrusts and you felt estranged from your own body. What Sinclair was doing to you had nothing to do with the pleasure you were able to give yourself with your fingers. It was more intense and there was that feeling of connection with Sinclair that made you feel complete for the first time since long.

Little did you know that Sinclair had the same thought at the same moment as you. He felt an urge of happiness so throng he could have cried if he wasn’t such a composed person. After the humiliation of Natalie and Richard’s affair, he had thought never would he meet the path of happiness again. How wrong he was and for the first time how pleased he was to not have figured out something correctly.

“Sinclair,” you loaned, his own name like a song into his ears.

He intensified a bit his pace, reveling in seeing your body tremble under his while his thumb continued his dance against your little bud.

“Haaa, Sinclair, please…”

He thrust harsher than the previous times, pressing at the same time his thumb against your clit, and you let go of your pleasure.

“Sinclair !” you cried out while he held your convulsing body against his, kissing your mouth with passion.

He held you until you came down from your high, your body still shaking from your encounter, a satisfied smile and your face and a smug one on his. He pulled out of you with one last kiss on your lips to muffle your hiss of discomfort at the loss of his warmth inside you, but also at a new kind of soreness.

He cradled you against his chest, letting you have the time to bask in the afterglow of the love you had shared.

“I love you,” you said while a sort of calmness invaded you.

“And I love you,” he said, kissing the crown of your head.

He asked you if you were hurt with some trepidation, remembering the little pool of blood in the sheets, worrying more when no answer came. He glimpsed down at you to see you sleeping soundly in his arms and his smile grown wider if it was possible.

He wanted to pamper you after that to make your first time completely worth it. He had planned to run you a bath in which he would have joined you before more cuddles in bed, but everything he had in mind to lavish you with could wait the next day. He didn’t want to disturb your sleep, taking some proudness to have you safe and sound in his arms, to have you at all, entirely.

He looked at you, his heart swelled with affection, knowing that now, no matter what, he was sure to have the perfect one by his side, the one who had waited so long to give herself to the one she thought would be worth it and he couldn’t describe how his entire being was reignited, knowing that he was that person for you because you were definitely his person and he couldn’t wait to see what the future will reserve for both of you as a couple. Because from now on, you were his past, his present and his future.

#alan rickman x reader #sinclair bryant x reader #alan rickman #close my eyes #Evans23 #sinclair x reader

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shadowtriovibes · 1 year ago

Text

before the origin of love

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Blood, Major Hogwarts Legacy Spoilers, Canon Divergence, Ancient Magic Theory

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "You know the part during the game when MC visits Ollivander's alone and Rookwood Apparates her away? Can I request an angsty version of this where Sebastian is with f!MC? Rookwood is angry they killed all his men and casts Imperio on Sebastian to force him to attack her. Even though she’s expecting to die by Sebastian’s hand, he eventually fights the curse off because love is more powerful than dark magic."

a.k.a. y'all thought lily potter was the only one with ancient love magic? think again!!!

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!” “My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all…” You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

The moment you and Sebastian step outside Ollivander’s shop, you realize that the typically bustling streets of Hogsmeade are disquietingly empty. It’s nearly sundown now, and instead of seeing a friendly mix of witches and wizards doing their holiday shopping or stocking up on supplies for the winter months, you find yourselves all alone.

“Take out your wand,” you murmur to Sebastian. “Something’s not right.”

Wordlessly Sebastian draws his wand and takes a step closer to you, warily glancing up and down the empty streets.

Then in the blink of an eye, a well-dressed figure Apparates into view just across the way – Victor Rookwood, you realize, complete with that infuriating hat of his.

“Rookwood,” Sebastian boldly calls out. “So we meet again. Didn’t you get enough of a telling-off last time?”

You silently aim your wand at him, daring him to take one step closer.

“Well, well… looks like your friend Sirona isn’t here to stick up for you little menaces this time,” Rookwood says with a sneer. “I’m afraid you two are on your own. In fact, I’ve ensured that we have a moment to ourselves.”

Sebastian quickly lifts his wand and aims it squarely at the man’s face. “What do you want, Rookwood?”

“Oh, come, come, no need for such theatrics,” the man drawls, slowly creeping closer to you both. “In light of what Ranrok now knows, you must agree that our interests are aligned.”

Sparks crackle at the tip of your wand as you lift it toward Rookwood.

“Our interests will never be aligned,” you murmur.

Rookwood glances significantly at Sebastian before he challenges you.

“My dear, you would let goblins take what is rightfully ours? The final repository belongs to wizardkind. We would be fools not to work together.”

Beside you, you observe the slightest falter in Sebastian’s aim. You should have known that someone like Rookwood would immediately be able to pinpoint and exploit his biggest weakness – his resentment toward goblinkind, his uncompromising belief that only they carry the blame for his sister’s curse.

You imagine him thinking, Could he be right? Are we fools to allow Ranrok’s goblins to continue ransacking Isadora’s Repositories? Could we instead be using them to cure Anne?

But before Sebastian says a word, Rookwood’s eyes land on the long, thin box in your hands.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” he demands.

Quickly, you slip the box safely inside your robes. You shake your head only slightly, but Rookwood easily detects its significance.

Rookwood continues, “Might this sudden visit to the wandmaker have something to do with our… mutual pursuit?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say softly.

Suddenly, you see Rookwood’s countenance shift as his true motives become clear.

“That repository is my birthright!” he shouts, stepping toward you with a hand outstretched.

Instantly Sebastian steps in front of you and points his wand at Rookwood once more. “I know one thing for certain, and that’s that Charles Rookwood wouldn’t have wanted you anywhere near it!”

Rookwood laughs darkly as he takes a step back.

“The arrogance,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on Sebastian’s determined expression. “I should have known better than to try to reason with a Sallow, after all – you’re no better than your sister, you simpering fool.”

In a frighteningly low voice, Sebastian asks, “What would you know about my sister?”

“Nothing, of course,” Rookwood sneers. “I only meant that I’ve always thought that children should be seen and not heard.”

You inhale sharply, absently lowering your wand as you process Rookwood’s words – the very same that Sebastian had told you were the last words Anne had heard before she was hit with her curse.

Sebastian understands the implication a split second before you do, and you can see bolts of green light shooting down the length of his wand before you even understand what he’s doing.

“Avada–”

Before he can finish his spell, you feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly you’re hurtling through time and space as you’re forcibly Apparated away from Hogsmeade, landing in a crumpled heap in the snowy grass. You’re smack in the middle of a desolate bandit camp somewhere in the Highlands.

Beside you, Sebastian is catching his breath while his hands tremble with rage.

“Where did he go?” Sebastian demands. “Where did the bloody coward go?!”

“Careful, Sallow,” Rookwood’s voice calls out from the darkness. “Wouldn’t want to get yourself into a bind!”

Sebastian suddenly shouts as thick lengths of rope appear out of thin air and wrap themselves around his body, forcing him to his knees.

“Sebastian!” you yell. “Finite!”

Your spell deflects right off the enchanted ropes, and Sebastian grits his teeth.

“I’m okay,” he insists. “It’ll be alright, just – just get him, you can do this.”

Desperate, you find yourself alone while Sebastian struggles against his ropes. You’re keenly aware of the dozen or so fully-grown wizards Apparting into the camp with their wands drawn. You’ll have to take on every single one of them by yourself, you realize, with nothing but your own wand and the ancient magic coursing through your veins to defend yourself.

It feels endless. Simply deflecting their spells takes nearly all of your focus, even if you try to spare some for Sebastian while he struggles uselessly against his bindings. You toss curse after curse at Rookwood’s men and eventually you’re forced to start tossing actual barrels and crates at them as well, until finally you pare down the lot of them to the last executioner with his wand trained squarely at your heart.

“Bomarba!” you holler, and across the field, the burly executioner goes flying into a pile of rubble and melts away into smoke, the last to abandon his mission and surrender.

“Show your face, Rookwood!” you shout into the darkness. “Come out and fight me!”

“My dear, why should I fight you?” Rookwood laughs from high above you, still unseen. “This is child’s play, after all��”

You feel like time stops as you see a bright green curse rocket through the air toward Sebastian, who is powerless to do anything to stop it. The curse hits him in the chest with such force that he’s knocked backward, his head tipping forward as he lets out a sickening groan. But instead of watching your friend die while you stood by helplessly, you watch in abject horror as he tilts his head up and locks eyes with you – smoky-green, soulless eyes.

Imperio.

“So go on, then,” Rockwood demands. “Play!”

The ropes that had bound Sebastian’s arms to his side quickly fall away, and before you can even react he lifts his wand and rounds on you.

“Confringo!” he shouts, and a blaze of fire soars just past your ear.

“Sebastian,” you call out. “Can you hear me? Don’t do this, please!”

You know it’s fruitless. Sebastian himself had taught you that the Imperius curse cannot be fought off, even by the most powerful wizards who have ever been trained to resist its impenetrable influence. Despite his dueling skills and his broad knowledge of the Dark Arts, you have to assume that Sebastian doesn’t stand a chance against Rookwood’s voice in his ear.

“Levioso!” you counter, hoping to merely hold him off long enough to get to Rookwood and force him to free Sebastian.

But to your chagrin, the Sebastian you’ve known and loved since your first days at Hogwarts is indeed one of the most disciplined and talented duelers you’ve ever fought, and even though he doesn’t want to, he’ll surely give you a run for your money.

“Diffindo!” he growls, and the edge of his curse just barely nicks the side of your calf. You cry out in pain and collapse to the ground as you press a hand to the bleeding wound.

“Want me to release your little friend?” Rookwood calls out. “It’s simple, darling. Join me against Ranrok and I’ll let him live!”

You know deep down that you can’t ally yourself with Rookwood. Despite Sebastian’s initial hesitance, you have to imagine that if he were able to understand your position, he’d do the very same thing that you’re about to do.

It wasn’t the goblins after all, it was him, you can hear him say. We can never join him, not after what he did to Anne. There’s only one way out of this.

Merlin, you think. This is it.

Without your ability to wield ancient magic or the wand made of the Pensieve artifacts, Ranrok may never gain access to the final repository, you convince yourself – especially if he splinters from Rookwood. Sebastian can give the wand to Fig after you’re gone, he can hide it somewhere Ranrok will never find it…

It could all work out, you reckon, if you die.

“Never!” you call out to Rookwood. “I’ll never join you!”

“Then you’ve made your choice,” Rookwood’s voice echoes back. “I’ll let the Sallow boy show you what happens to anyone who says no to me.”

Rockwood’s twisted laughter rings out all around you as Sebastian’s opalescent eyes look you up and down. He lifts his wand and aims it at your heart, and you close your eyes with your own wand at your side.

“Avada Kedavra!”

…

…You’re still breathing.

How are you still breathing?

When you open your eyes, Sebastian is standing before you looking entirely drained, his eyelids drooping as he sways from pure exhaustion. However, just before he collapses you catch a glimpse of his eyes – his usual warm brown ones, the same magnificent eyes you’ll never tire of seeing after all this.

“Sebastian!” you shout, running over to support him as he tumbles to the ground. “Wh-what just happened?”

“Did I get him?” he asks in a whisper. “Rookwood?”

Stunned, you cast Lumos and peer across the empty field until you notice a figure lying in the snow far at the other end – Rockwood, you assume. He isn’t moving, and his legs are bent in a sick, absurd way as if he’d fallen from the watchtower that he now lays below.

“Yes,” you breathe. “You did, b-but… Sebastian, how did you–”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. He’s clinging to your arm as you help him to sit up and rest his head between his knees. “I have no idea, I just… I couldn’t do it.”

“He wanted you to kill me,” you surmise.

“I wouldn’t,” he says hollowly. “It… felt like my head was being split open right down the middle, with one half of me forcing my body to move and aim my wand and the other half knowing that I’d rather die than use that curse on you.”

“Oh, Seb,” you whisper.

You’re both quiet for several long moments while Sebastian takes deep breaths, his face still hidden between his knees. You slowly rub his back through his cloak and wait for him to sit up. He looks haunted when he finally does – even more so than he usually looks.

“I hurt you,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, love,” you say softly, the pet name slipping out so easily that you barely even register at first. “I’m okay, it’s just a cut. Some Wiggenweld will fix me right up when we get back to the castle.”

“Can I?” he asks hesitantly, and you reluctantly let him pull your cloak to the slide so he can see the gash on your calf.

It isn’t deep, and it isn’t even bleeding anymore, but the ripped trouser leg and drying blood stains make Sebastian curse under his breath nonetheless.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Why did I do that?”

“You have no choice,” you remind him desperately. “No witch or wizard has ever fought off the Imperius curse like that before, Sebastian, and you spared me my life. I don’t care about a bloody cut when I should be dead.”

“Never,” he chants mindlessly. “Never, I wouldn’t.”

That’s when a thought occurs to you.

“Sebastian…” you say softly. “It’s possible that there are… other types of ancient magic in addition to mine.”

He frowns. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe there’s something… something primeval, something elemental to our magic that you accessed,” you wonder aloud. “Professor Fig told me that his wife Miriam had spent years studying ancient magic, and it can’t only be that which I have the power to wield. Perhaps you were able to defy Rookwood’s will because you – you connected with a magic that’s more powerful than even an Unforgivable.”

“More powerful than that kind of darkness?” he asks softly. “...That type of magic exists?”

“Of course, it must,” you say simply. “Darkness can’t be more powerful than light, can it?”

He considers your supposition as if it’s the first time the thought has ever occurred to him.

“So… so what, the power of ‘friendship,’ something like that?” he asks, a corner of his mouth quirking up into the first thing resembling a smile that he’s shown since you entered Hogsmeade hours ago.

“Something like that,” you tease him. “Maybe the power of ‘love.’”

You’d meant it entirely in a platonic way, but as soon as the words are out of your mouth, Sebastian goes red and ducks his face.

“That’s – that’s ridiculous,” he mumbles. “I mean, love, that’s… Who said anything about love?”

You’re quiet while you watch Sebastian try and fail to gather his thoughts. He’s flailing, and all of a sudden you realize something clear as day that you can’t quite believe you never recognized before.

“Sebastian,” you murmur. “...Do you suppose you broke through an Imperius curse because you’re in love with me?”

“Wh-what?!” he laughs.

“Because if you did, that would be probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, in all the books I’ve ever read,” you continue. “And if that were the case, I would have to tell you that I’m madly in love with you, too.”

Sebastian is stunned into silence.

“You love me?” he eventually whispers.

“I do,” you tell him. “And… and I never really thought about it before, because it doesn’t really feel all that different from being friends with you, except – except I would have let you kill me rather than kill you, even though I know what’s at stake.”

“I still think you should’ve,” Sebastian jokes quietly. “You’re much more important than I am.”

“Regardless, we couldn’t have let Rookwood find out about the last Repository, and I would have taken the Killing Curse to stop him,” you sigh. “I trusted you would have taken the Pensieve wand back to Fig.”

“I would’ve turned my wand on myself first,” Sebastian says plainly. “Without a second thought.”

Merlin, you can’t believe he actually says things like that.

Rather than continuing to dwell on what could have been, you offer him a hand up and support him by the elbow while he shakily makes his way to his feet. He still looks pale and rattled, but he’s able to start to walk toward the exit of the crumbling ruins – still clinging to your hand.

“Come on,” you murmur. “When we get back to the castle you can rest.”

“What about the Repository?” he asks weakly.

“Let me and Fig worry about that,” you murmur. “You’ve already done more than enough for me today, love. You need to recover.”

“M’not even hurt,” he protests, but he sounds utterly depleted.

“Hush,” you whisper. “Just keep holding onto me, alright?”

It’s not easy getting Sebastian back to the castle; he keeps pitching to the side on the back of your broom as he fights to stay conscious, but you manage to keep him from falling off. Despite his protests, you take him straight to Nurse Blainey so he can get some proper rest (and so someone will be forced to keep an eye on him for you).

“Be safe,” he murmurs while you squeeze his hand in his infirmary bed. “Please.”

“I promise, Seb,” you tell him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Just be here waiting for me when I get back.”

“You’ve made sure of that,” he grumbles, but he offers you an encouraging smile before you leave for the Map Room one final time.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #victor rookwood #ANON I AM SO SORRY THIS IS MY OLDEST REQUEST I FINALLY DID IT #YOU ARE A REAL ONE IF YOU READ THIS #title is a reference to 'the origin of love' from hedwig and the angry inch

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galedekarios · 1 year ago

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good day! thank you for beautiful visuals and metas of Gale, its great to find fans who care about him so! You got me thinking - for a character so romantic, so delighted to be in love Gale knew little about it with Mystra. He spoke about being her lover like it was a highest honor, losing her favor, being cut off described as fate worse than Netherese Orb itself. Gale agrees to die for her forgiveness no questions asked. All this while he realises deep down even through it was voiced later - he was her plaything, another mortal falling under her spell, no love requited ever could be there, gods don't feel it. It's very sweet and a little heartbreaking, how open and smitten he can be if romanced, how happy he becomes loving and being loved in return.

thank you for your wonderful and very sweet message, anon. 🖤 i really do appreciate it.

yes, that is everything that i find very touching about gale's romancce.

to me, gale is someone who hasn't truly known what love is yet. he has known worship and obedience, wonder and pleasure. i think, considering how young he was when mystra came into his life, it's perhaps no surprise at all that once their relationship changed, he may have thought it was love between them. it was most certainly for him. in fact, i do remember a particular line from early access that always stuck with me and truly showed the imbalance at work here:

Player: What did Mystra’s attention feel like? Gale: Love.

and

Player: Teacher’s pet, was he? Gale: He fancied himself much more than that. He fancied himself favoured above all others. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him. Mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. The gossamer veils first, draped across the Weave. The delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘Chosen One’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely.

and even now, in the full release version of the game, that sentiment still lingers. he wasn't just her chosen, he was her lover - and we learn throughout the game what love truly entails for gale: heart, mind, body and soul.

Gale: I'm many things to many people, but I'm never a man to throw the l-word around lightly. I said exactly what I meant: I love you. You should never, never doubt that. - Gale: We didn't just make love. We bonded, body and soul. I got lost in you.

with mystra casting him away, he not only lost his power, his status, but also one of his most central relationships with the goddess who was his teacher, mentor and love all at once, all at the same time.

but we also know that he had relationships before mystra and before the protag:

Gale: No, you are not the first. Though you are the first since my relationship with Mystra came to its ignominious end.

i think this quote is just so interesting, especially if you pair it with:

Gale: To know you love me for the man I am, and not the magic I command... None have loved me so purely before.

and:

Player: I love you. But for the man that you are. Not the god you'd pretend to be. Gale: But think what I offer. The vastness of eternity to explore, the Weave at our fingertips... You would really prefer me as I am? Node Context: Genuine, vulnerable - the player just told him they loved him in a way that no one else has

so whatever these relationships before were, it's clear that something was missing from them for gale. something that gale sorely needed.

all of these little puzzle pieces combine to a larger whole of why we find gale as he is when we meet him in the story: someone who very much is struggling to find any worth in the person that he is outside of what he can provide to be useful.

Gale: Let me make myself indispensable. - Gale: I'm indispensable, aren't I? - Gale: My best is yours. - Gale: Please - continue to believe in me. I want to show you the wizard I am capable of being, rather than the poor excuse for a man who's kept you company thus far.

there are so many more of these, following the same vein, even in act iii.

gale is only now learning how to be loved, how to allow himself to be loved, and under that continuous reaffirmation given by the protag, he opens up to it, strains towards it, like a flower to the sun.

Gale: You truly are a soul that steels my own. From all my new-rallied heart I thank you. I stand at a precipice, but if you do not give up hope, neither shall I. I'll fight, I'll resist - as long as I can. - Gale: You give me hope, and I've not had that in some time. - Player: How are you feeling? Gale: Worried, if I'm being honest. I have so much to live for - more than I thought I'd have again, after Mystra. - Gale: It's been so long since I used it. Gale Dekarios cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep'. Player: Gale Dekarios. I think I like him more. Gale: You like so many things about me I'd have sooner discarded... Your generosity is quite wonderful. - Gale: You see me as I am, and do not find me wanting.

he still has a very long way to go, to heal, it's not a process that's completed by the time his quest is completed or the game ends - and depending on your protag, they too have things that still weigh heavy on them as well - but it's a beginning.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tav x gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #otp: a soul that steels my own #otp: you give me hope #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3 #text: asks #grooming cw #for the mystra part #to be safe

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husbandhoshi · 2 years ago

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LILY HI ITS ME STAR!!! HOW ARE YOU I LOVE U AND WISH U ALL THE BEST MUAH MUAH!! also: perhaps smth a little naughty at 11:36 PM with lab partner!wonwoo 👀👀

tags: college!au, inexperienced!wonwoo x f!reader, nerd!wonwoo, experienced!yn, oral (m!receiving)

[11:36]

wonwoo has never liked chemistry.

the periodic table looks like a colorful placemat and a titration might as well be a long winded recipe for a terrible cocktail. (although the ones at the delta tau delta chemistry themed party were good. they served them in little beakers, and wonwoo thought those were quite cute. that was also the party where he met you.)

speaking of you—unlike chemistry, wonwoo does, however, like you a great deal.

which makes chemistry much more tolerable because you are his lab partner.

on the first day of lab, when they had asked the class to pair up, you walked over to him, and wonwoo almost melted right into the ground.

"you're the only one here i know," you whispered, waiting for him to lean down to your height. he did, and you smelled like cherries. "we talked at the delt party. wonwoo, right?"

"yes, i'm wonwoo," he had said, words tripping and tumbling off of his tongue like he was learning to speak for the first time.

it was no better at the party, except he was drunk and you were drunker, and you had made the grave mistake of asking him what classes he was taking. two mike's hard lemonades and a battery acid vodka shot later, his dumb ass was still talking about emily dickinson, and you, somehow, were standing there in those mile-high heels, listening as if he was the most interesting guy at the party.

i think she's totally into you, mingyu had said, in that loud, spitty cadence he has when he's 90% beer.

don't be ridiculous.

but then you had asked wonwoo to walk you to your dorm, and you took the long way, winding right through campus.

he doesn't dream often, but he thinks the one he had that night was red and smelled like your lip gloss.

now, he thanks god for the miracle that is you in an oversized hoodie and shorts in his room past sundown.

granted, you're there to work on the last lab report of the term, and he had seen you just two nights ago at the kappa party, but wonwoo thinks he likes this version of you best. (that night, you had tried to break in your new heels. he ended up holding onto them, and you ended up holding onto him on the drunken stumble home. whether it was for support or for something else, wonwoo doesn't know, but he wishes he wore something different than the ratty polo from the back of his closet.)

"thanks for all your help," you say, closing your lab notebook. "i don't know how you're so good at all of this."

"i'm not," he laughs. he hands you your pencil case with the sailor moon charm, the one you were so proud to show him when he mentioned he watched anime. "it was all you."

you wave him off and bend down to put your things in your bag.

wonwoo tries his best to avert his eyes. he really does.

it's a valiant effort. there's a book out of order on his shelf (anna karenina, tolstoy). he really should have put that gundam figure away before you came over.

and your ass is perfect, but that doesn't really surprise him because he doesn't think there is a single thing wrong with you.

"you know," you start, still rifling around in your bag. "i heard something real interesting from mingyu the other day."

"hm?"

wonwoo changes the backlight color of his keyboard. it does not make him calmer. instead he feels all the peely leather on his gaming chair poke through his sweats and he tries not to think about the little birthmark you have on the back of your thigh.

"he told me that..." you stand straight and turn to face him. there's a fresh coat of gloss on your lips, like a magic trick. "you have a crush on me."

wonwoo doesn't know what to say. he likes to think before he speaks but now you're walking towards him and thinking isn't really an option anymore.

"right?"

"um."

not good. he didn't think he was that obvious but he's no liar.

"fine, i'll start." you're standing right in front of him now, and he thinks the gulp he takes is audible. "i like you."

he watches your lips form around the words, glittery and confident, and if he wasn't doomed before, he certainly is now.

his near perfect gpa is doing jack shit to help him understand why someone like you, gorgeous and funny and smart and popular, would ever take a second look at the gangly boy in the glasses.

but you are—in fact, you're staring with an intensity that makes him afraid you can actually see right through all the clothes he's got on.

"i—" come on, wonwoo thinks. they're the words he wanted to tell you outside your dorm building three weeks ago when you said you didn't know anyone quite like him. "i like you too. a lot."

"good."

the first thing he learns is that you're forward, and he likes that.

the second thing he learns is that your lip gloss tastes like cherry.

your mouth is hot and soft on his. he thinks he died and went to heaven, and then you're kissing him again, catching his bottom lip between your teeth so he whines into your mouth.

the last time he tried kissing was during senior prom. his date stood on her tiptoes and he accidentally bumped his nose into hers and missed her mouth and the whole thing was a disaster.

and yet now, wonwoo feels like he's melted right into your hands. you lead and his body just knows how to follow.

"you're shy, huh?" you murmur, pulling back to look at him. "that's so cute."

he doesn't quite know what he looks like but his glasses are slipping down his nose and he feels the menthol sting of your lips all over his. there has never been this much blood in his cheeks but that doesn't quite make sense to him because he feels all of it going straight to his dick.

"you're perfect," is what the primordial ooze in wonwoo's brain manages to put together.

you kiss him again, and when he remembers to relax his lips enough, you're slipping your tongue in and letting him suck, and you moan.

wonwoo swears he could have blown his load right there and then—when it came to you, it really didn't take much, and now he's wondering what your skin tastes like, craving the cherry of your cunt.

your hand on his chest, sharp nails and glittery rings, trails down nice and slow. it feels like he's on fire. it's a wonderful distraction from the sensation of your teeth on the pretty, taut skin over his collarbone, but then you're biting and licking and he feels his balls get so tight and heavy in his pants he might just cry.

and then your hand comes to rest on his lap, right over his hardness, and wonwoo's about to protest—no, no, sorry, i don't mean to have a boner! i've never been kissed like that before in my life!—until you drop to your knees, right in between his parted thighs.

"has anyone ever touched you like this?" you say, voice low, dizzying. "anyone ever made you feel good?"

he shakes his head no, a new, sudden wave of desire climbing his bones.

mussed hair and swollen lips, you look more beautiful than anyone wonwoo's ever seen in his entire life. he doesn't know what he did in a past life to earn this but he must have saved the world.

"p-please," he says, but it's somewhere between a moan and a gasp because you're palming him through his sweats, the sensation foreign, thrilling.

"patience," you tease, and he would be morbidly embarrassed at the spot of precum on his pants if you weren't already thumbing at it yourself.

once you take his cock out of his sweats, he knows he's losing whatever battle he was fighting. he sees how your hand looks so little around it, and it's his nth struggle to make sure he doesn't just cum in your face. maybe another day, if he's so lucky.

"i-i might cum really fast," he confesses, because he doesn't know how to really say he's never gotten a blowjob before.

"good," you answer. unlike him, somehow you always know exactly what to say.

the third thing wonwoo learns that day is that he's fully, wholly, entirely obsessed with your mouth. with your slick bottom lip, with your tongue, and now with the way he sees your gloss-smeared mouth wrap taut around his cockhead.

wonwoo can never return to watching porn again. there is simply no one quite like you.

"f-fuck," he pants, the feeling overtaking him all at once. "feels so good, mouth's so good—"

one look at your eyes, big and watery and good for him, and he feels his cock twitch in your mouth. and then you start moving; you take him all the way to the base and then some. he feels your tiny little throat close around him, and the groan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic. he never thought he was that big, but seeing your eyes well up and your mascara get all dewy as you gag around him is doing something crazy to his brain.

it doesn't take long for you to fall into an easy rhythm. you're figuring him out so fast, and that would scare him if it didn't feel so good. your tongue's on his veins, the underside of his cockhead, and he's already gripping the armrests of his chair with white knuckles.

you sink down again and swallow around his length, let your throat do all the work, and wonwoo throws his head back, chest heaving. his eyes flutter shut, and the fluorescent ceiling light phases in and out of vision as you give him what could possibly be the best head you've ever given someone in your whole life.

"gonna cum s-soon," wonwoo manages. "you're so fucking hot."

it's either a moan or a whimper that comes out of you when he says that, and he thanks his lucky stars he has the wherewithal to put that information in his back pocket. he doesn't know when or how but his plan is to return the favor to you in full. and if that involves a copious amount of praise, he's all the better prepared because he has no shortage of nice things to say about you.

you take him once, twice to the base and wonwoo feels all the heat in his balls and his belly and then he's cumming, more and harder than he ever thought possible. he almost thinks it's like a piece of his soul was taken from him.

"d-don't have to swallow," he says, but you do, every last fucking drop until it's dribbling from your perfect mouth, and wonwoo is now fully convinced you are a real life goddess.

i'm an addict in the making, he thinks, but then you smile at him with those eyes, and he doesn't think that's such a bad thing.

he searches for the right words to say, something cool, experienced. it's a constant effort to be that guy for you because he's still not really sure why any of this happened.

"stop thinking so hard," you say, coughing once, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "i can see your wheels turning."

how you can read him so easily is beyond him. he wonders if you knew he was in love with you the second he laid eyes on you at the delta tau party.

where are my manners, wonwoo then remembers, and the post-nut clarity possesses him to brush the hair out of your eyes and help you up from your position on the ground.

"i like you. i don't care how experienced you are."

he hears you, and he believes you. instead of arguing, he cups your tear-streaked face in his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe your cheeks.

"plus, i think i'm a pretty good teacher."

you smile, and wonwoo has the confidence to kiss you back, for real this time.

#hope u enjoy my love!!#ask #mutuals #star #mine #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut

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rosanna-writer · 4 months ago

Text

Karma Is My Boyfriend (3/6)

Summary: Elain Archeron saved countless lives by vanquishing Graysen Nolan, her literal demon of a fiancé. She's a hero, but it's just not fair that being a good witch destined to rid the world of evil has left her tragically, painfully single. Enter Lucien Vanserra, the best cupid in the business, who's been sent by the universe to balance the karmic scales and find Elain the perfect new partner…

Another update for @elucienweekofficial!!!

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

The third chapter can be found Here on AO3 or under the cut.

Archeron family dinners were a chaotic affair. That night, Nesta was using her telekinesis to move Rhys's wineglass another half-inch to the left every time he stopped paying attention, and Cassian was tossing grapes in the air to see if he could catch them with his mouth before Feyre turned them to mist. And when they weren't terrorizing their siblings-in-law, both married couples were holding hands under the table and making eyes at each other over their plates.

Elain loved them all—as individuals. But she hated feeling like a fifth wheel in her own home.

And she had to admit, it was better with Lucien there. Partially just because it was a relief that for once, she wasn't the only one with table manners. But also, because things felt…balanced with him there. Like he'd filled in a spot that none of them knew was vacant.

Elain could almost fool herself into believing that Lucien was a permanent addition to the household. But when the plates were cleared and Lucien stood to go, the illusion was broken, and she felt a strange sense of disappointment.

He held out a hand for her and said, "I have something to show you."

"Now?" Elain said.

"No time like the present. And I think unclogging that block is going to be quite the undertaking."

Elain wondered if he was really so eager to be rid of her that quickly. Perhaps as a cupid, he really did think of her as nothing more than a particularly nasty drain in need of a good plunging.

She took his hand and tried not to look hurt.

There was a flash of red light, and they found themselves in a crowded basement at a Halloween party. As Elain blinked and took in their new surroundings, a girl in cat ears walked straight through her and Lucien. And there was a strange, dreamy haze over everything.

They were watching a memory.

A version of herself from the past came down the stairs, wearing a headband with a halo on a spring and a pair of cheap plastic wings. She'd scrounged up the costume at the last minute, less worried about how she looked and just wanting one night of non-magical, normal fun.

As she made her way to one of the coolers full of drinks, one of the wings knocked into someone. "Sorry!" Elain said in the memory, turning to see who she'd bumped into.

It was the man she'd been hearing about all night. He wore a headband of his own, one with bright red horns, and carried a cartoonish pitchfork—no wonder Elain had been getting such strange looks when mentioned that she'd come here alone. Everyone had assumed they'd planned a couple's costume.

Graysen Nolan was even more handsome than she remembered.

Elain found herself clutching Lucien's hand as she watched herself flirt her way through her first interaction with her future ex-fiancé.

Their costumes, his cheesy line about whether or not it hurt when she fell from heaven—all of it was so much more painful in hindsight. She'd been so stupid and naive, starting with this very first night when she went home with him.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and her grip on Lucien's hand became painfully tight. "Why did you show me this?" she said, and the memory around them paused.

"You loved him, didn't you?" Lucien said gently.

"He was just another demon." One in a very long line of them—Elain had vanquished more than she could count.

"In the end, yes. But I brought you to this moment because none of that had happened yet. I won't deny that Graysen ruined it all later. But beginnings—when there's nothing but a spark and infinite possibilities—those are pure. You're blocked because you stopped believing in that."

Elain wiped at her eyes with the hand that wasn't entwined with Lucien's. "It was doomed from the start."

As a seer, she knew all about fate and inevitable sad endings. Her gift was meant to help her find innocents in need of protection—she never had visions of her own life. But still, a part of her thought that with all that experience, she should have predicted where things would end with Graysen anyway.

Lucien wasn't looking at her like she'd been silly or naive, though. There was a deep well of understanding in his eyes as he said, "Perhaps. But if that's the case, it makes you even braver for trying."

Before Elain could even begin to figure out what to say to that, there was another flash of light. This time, they appeared in a rooftop garden. The place where Graysen had proposed.

And the place where Elain had killed him.

He'd gotten paranoid, in the end. Elain had known something was wrong when he tried to isolate her from her sisters—urging her to move out of the manor, complaining that they stifled her, refusing to even be around them. After they'd discovered he'd lied about no longer killing innocents, Nesta or Feyre would have gladly been the ones to land the killing blow, but it was too difficult for them to get close enough. It had to be Elain.

To make a potion strong enough to vanquish him, they'd needed to brew it together, imbuing it with their combined power. Elain had dipped a dagger in it, then packed the blade along with snacks for a picnic and told her fiancé she'd planned a surprise for their anniversary.

The memory played, and Elain watched herself kiss Graysen hello for the last time. Even though it had been a risk—he might have found the dagger—she hadn't pulled it on him right away. To the very end, she'd been stupid and sentimental, and they'd reminisced about their first meeting in the place they'd gotten engaged.

Graysen hadn't known it, but it had been her way of saying goodbye.

Lucien wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Elain watched the memory. She leaned into him, grateful for the support as they watched the version of her from the past pull out the dagger. Graysen hadn't tried to fight her off; instead, he'd tried pleading with her, promising he wouldn't hurt another innocent again if Elain just let him go. He'd even cried.

Just for a moment, she'd considered it. He'd smiled when he saw the hesitation in her eyes, and that was when Elain plunged the blade into his heart.

Without thinking, she turned her head, burying her face in Lucien's chest as Graysen began to scream. The memory stopped, but they stood there in silence for a long moment, and Lucien's thumbs rubbed soothing circles onto her upper arms.

Safe. Elain felt so safe with him. He rested his chin on the top of her head, and she let out an involuntary sigh. They might have been standing right in the middle of the worst memory of her life, but she'd want to stay there forever if it meant Lucien kept holding her.

"I know this one was painful to watch," he said eventually, "but I hope you can come away knowing how strong you are. You have every reason in the world to be afraid of finding love again, but I fully believe you can master that fear."

"Thank you," she said, voice tight.

There was another flash of light, and this time, a forest emerged around them. A gentle breeze was sending autumn leaves tumbling to the ground, and the air felt crisp as Elain breathed it in.

It was beautiful, but…completely unfamiliar. This memory wasn't hers.

Before Elain could ask where they were, she caught a glimpse of auburn hair gleaming in the sun. This was Lucien's memory, one old enough that there was no mechanical eye or scar on his face.

He looked contented enough, hiking a trail alone. And it seemed like he might have been the only person around for miles, but the sound of a dog barking shattered that illusion.

A woman Elain had never seen before came around a bend, her excited little dog wagging his tail and straining at his leash to get closer to Lucien. They stopped to talk. Lucien scratched the dog on his head, and somewhere in the middle of the conversation, the dog's happy bobbing and weaving between their legs resulted in the leash tangling together Lucien and the dog's owner.

They both nearly fell over, but at the last minute, Lucien grabbed her and pulled her flush against him. The woman giggled and blushed prettily.

"Her name was Jesminda," Lucien said quietly. Past tense.

He'd said that dating wasn't in the cards for him anymore. Perhaps it was rude to ask, but Elain supposed he'd shown her this for a reason. "What happened to her?"

"My stepfather was a demon, and she was one of the many innocents he killed before he was vanquished."

"I'm sorry." The words had never seemed so pathetically small, but there was nothing else she could think of to say.

"I became a cupid to honor her memory. After everything we shared, it seemed fitting to connect people with their true love so they could experience the same blessing that I did."

Elain turned to face him fully. By bringing her here, Lucien had bared a part of his soul to her. It was far more vulnerability than he needed to show in order to fix her block.

There was something more he was trying to tell her than just that she needed to believe in herself. "What makes you think you couldn't experience it again?" she said.

"It's exceedingly rare for lightning to strike the same place twice."

"But not impossible."

Lucien's smile didn't meet his eyes. "Not impossible. But close to it."

Elain couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't the only one whose past had left them blocked. But she wasn't a cupid whose expertise was matching people up with their happy endings.

Maybe…this had been Lucien's way of letting her down gently. If he wasn't ready to try again, she understood.

"Thank you for this," she said, taking another step away from him. "Really. It was all quite…illuminating. I think I might be closer to moving on."

"That's good to hear," he said, voice tight.

One last flash of light, and Elain was back at the Archeron manor, with Lucien nowhere to be found. She'd see him again—after all, she hadn't actually found true love yet—but with a pang, she realized she wished she could have bid him goodnight.

After everything she'd seen…Elain didn't want to be alone. The kitchen light was on, so she headed that way and found Cassian washing dishes. They did have a dishwasher, but it was out of commission. And since Cassian's job as a handyman repairing the manor was revealed to be a ruse that allowed him to keep an eye on his charges, nothing in the Archeron manor got fixed quickly anymore.

Ducking around one of his massive, feathery wings, Elain grabbed a clean towel and started drying plates. Might as well make herself useful.

"So what did you and Lucien fight about?" Cassian said, not even bothering with a greeting.

Elain nearly dropped the plate in surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"You left to go unclog yourself or whatever and came back looking like you might cry."

"Nothing happened," she said quickly. Cassian just dropped the sponge, raised his brows, and waited. Elain sighed. "Nothing important happened."

"If it involves one of my charges, it's important."

Elain bit back another sigh—it wasn't fair of him to play the guardian angel card. She wouldn't be surprised if Nesta put him up to this. "Lucien's not a threat."

Cassian raised both hands in a conciliatory gesture, then went back to scrubbing a pan. "Good. Because if I need to give anyone the break-her-heart-and-I-break-your-face speech, I'd rather not find out last minute. And since you're dating again…"

He let the implication hang in the air. And despite herself, Elain's cheeks went pink. "It's too early for that."

"I'm just saying, since I'm banned from Adriata and all, I'll need extra advance notice with Tarquin."

Right. The wrecked building that he'd refused to share any further details about, no matter how many times she and Feyre asked about it. Elain found herself cracking a smile.

"You'll be the first to know. I promise."

"This is why you're my favorite charge. So much easier to keep track of than the other two," Cassian said, knocking a wing against her arm affectionately. Dropping his voice to a stage whisper he added, "Don't tell Feyre and Nesta I said that."

By the time the last of the dishes were dried and put away, Elain was feeling just a bit better. It helped that Cassian gave the best hugs of anyone she knew, wrapping her in both his massive arms and cocooning her with his wings, too. Once she was alone in her room, she sent a quick text message.

But somehow, once that was done, Elain was unable to shake the feeling that she'd just made a wrong choice.

#elucienweek2024 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

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