#magic man chapter eight

[southernswampmamma]

Magic Man: Chapter 8

Original! Male Character x Original! Black Female Character

Chapter Warnings: Slow Burn, Age Gap,

Summary: Yolana Humphry spent her entire life stuck in Tapioca, Alabama, under the thumb of her controlling Aunt Freda. That is, until a stranger comes along and swoops her off her feet. A charming man, that everyone but herself seems to know; who easily bypasses her fragile walls and embeds himself in her heart. Escape, however, doesn’t seem to be the end of Yolana’s journey. With her newfound freedom, she now has the opportunity to pursue something she never thought she could obtain.

Chapter Summary: After the argument with Freda, an enraged Nathan produces a plan to save Yolana from her sheltered life in Tapioca, Alabama.

Please Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

A Knight Atop His Gray Steed.

Yolana should have been dehydrated with all the crying she had done the past two days. After her aunt returned from outside still yelling, she took a watery-faced Yolana to work. There, Yolana spent her entire day trying to keep it together. She ultimately crashed and spent her lunch crying on Candace’s shoulder. Her boss ordered her to do paperwork for the remainder of the day. It was the only work Yolana could do away from the patients while still earning her pay. She didn’t want to go home anyhow. She didn’t want to see Freda earlier than she needed to. Yolana wanted to see Nathan on his motorcycle, waiting for her to hop on. Also, like he had told her on Friday, it was just as nice a day as the day before. Sitting at her desk, filling in patient information, Yolana could practically feel the breeze on her face. Maybe it was the air conditioning from above fanning at her tears. She was truly miserable, not yet ready to accept her drab, uneventful life back.

On the other side of town, Elijah sat in an old plush armchair scattered in embroidered yellow, green, and brown leaves. The chair was indeed old and had the smell of many years. It wasn’t a horrible smell by any means, just something Elijah can only describe as comforting. He could smell every good year the old chair lived through. The chair sat near his painting area to help him think about things. Not anything to do with business or partnerships, but personal things. Familial things. Major Morish family decisions were made in that chair, life-changing decisions. Like the futures of himself and his daughter. At the moment he was sitting in it, it was to listen and help his grandson as the boy paced back and forth over the paisley rug.

Elijah hadn’t seen Nathan so riled up in a long time. Though the situation was serious, the elder couldn’t help but reminisce at a time that his grandson was doing the same thing so many years before, in toddler age. Grumpy face, with his arms crossed around his whole body, running his hands through his hair over and over. Blue eyes aflame like they could burn the entire world to ashes. Even as a five-year-old. His cheeks were reddened in the same way and he stomped the same too. He was such a cute little fire-head back then. Though, that day, in front of Elijah, Nathan looked more intimidating.

He huffed and cussed; he stomped, and he cussed some more. “That woman” was muttered many times. It was all Nathan could say without calling her a bitch. Nathan had told Elijah the full story. From the moment he left the house, to the time he came back. Over and over, Nathan told Elijah he was going to do something. He was going to help Yolana, but he was too riled up to even think. The argument with Freda continued to play on repeat throughout his mind. How was Yolana? Nathan didn’t get to see her, but he knew she could hear everything and that she was upset. He wished she would have looked out the window so she could see his face. So he could let her know that everything would be alright. But would it? He would do anything to help her, but Nathan didn’t have the slightest idea how. He eventually stopped moving. Running his hands through his hair one last time, Nathan’s shoulders sunk and he collapsed on a nearby chair. His considerable size making the wood creak under him.

“You should get some rest. Take some of those magic gummy bears you brought with you.”

Nathan peeked up at his grandfather through the fingers he was holding to his face.

“You’re right - about the rest - not the gummy bears.” Nathan said.

He’ll take the advice of Mrs. Henderson and his grandfather, but when he wakes, he’ll come up with a course of action.

Yolana sat at her desk, looking out the window. She was looking at nothing in particular, just looking. Her mind was running, but she couldn’t distinguish a single thought. It was a silent day and nothing was happening. The neighborhood was still, empty of people. Clouds were nowhere to be seen and there were no birds heard. The wind wasn’t even blowing. Yolana was as quiet as the world around her. Depression, as chaotic as it was, was always the most mute of monsters. It would be nice, the stillness, if it didn’t hurt so much. Her face was dry, so were her eyes, but sorrow was still present in them. Ready at any moment to drown her anew. She could feel it when she thought of him again. She could really feel it when she thought of her unfortunate future.

Yolana wondered if Nathan was still there in Tapioca, or maybe he had left already. Probably back to his normal life in Tennessee. It’s been a full day since she last saw him Friday morning. Without her phone, she couldn’t send him her well wishes before he left. Yolana thought to get him something or gift him something of hers. Something to remember her. It would have been silly, but Yolana couldn’t convince herself not to. She wanted him to remember her. She needed him to, for some unknown reason. Maybe to prove that she is worth remembering. At least for the enjoyable moments. Now, all Nathan’s going to remember is Freda, her horrid attitude, and her lonely niece.

Nathan was the first person to take Yolana places. Some of those places one wouldn’t presume remarkable, but they didn’t have to be. She was with him. That made a remarkable difference. Nathan wasn’t afraid of Freda. He cemented that fact Friday. Standing there, not allowing her aunt to undermine him or take over the argument. The only other person to talk back to Freda so strongly was Mrs. Henderson. Uncle Belvin barely did it. Yolana had only seen it once. Most of the time, Belvin did what Freda told him to. If Freda “asked” something of him, he was right there and ready to do it. Freda didn’t pay the bills in the house, Uncle Belvin did. Uncle Belvin paid the mortgage, lights, and water. He cut the grass and paid the note on the Nissan. Why? Because Freda “asked” him to. Yolana lived under Freda’s roof, and the woman didn’t even pay for it.

It was truly a miracle that it took that long for the two to get caught. Yolana and Nathan frolicked around town for two weeks straight without a single person noticing? Or maybe they didn’t care? Not likely for Tapioca. Not likely for the sheltered Yolana Humphry. In the end, they got caught by the Ring camera of an old lady that couldn’t mind her business. It was almost magic how it ended. Coincidences always felt like magic.

Yolana moved from her desk and crawled back into her bed. She was having such a lazy day. She huffed amusingly at that quip. There was nothing she could think of doing, but nothing. She made her bed that morning in an attempt to distract herself. She would have never done it if she knew she was going to pull the sheets back three hours later. Her life was a mess. She was in her mid-twenties, with nothing going on and no opportunities. Living with her aunt and no car, with no friends, and no lover. She didn’t even have a phone anymore, burner or otherwise. Freda took them both. Well, destroyed one. Yolana couldn’t walk outside, go down the street, or to visit Uncle Belvin. Currently, she couldn’t even stand right off the porch. It took four hours after Yolana got off Friday evening for Freda to purchase, unbox, and install her very own Ring camera. Well, it wasn’t a Ring camera, but a very nice knock off brand that could do virtually the same thing. Yolana watched as her aunt Freda fiddled with the thing and its settings on her phone. Freda, getting frustrated, asked Yolana to help her. Yolana couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Why would you ask the prisoner to fix the lock to their own cell?

Yolana was locked up and stuck in a life that mostly regressed, sometimes stood still, but never progressed. The only thing she was gaining from existing was self insecurity, naivety, and powerlessness. With a dash of social ineptitude.

Tears were starting to fall again. It didn’t help that right across from her, hanging heavily in her closet, was the leather riding jacket. Its patched arm staring right at her nearly lifeless body. She was supposed to wear it Friday, then return it to Nathan. Yolana’s face was instantly drenched with tears, along with the pillow underneath her. She had something of his, but Nathan had nothing of hers. Yolana would remain forgettable.

The door opened soon enough and Freda came barreling in unannounced. Yolana didn’t move an inch, but she took her eyes away from the leather jacket. Her last secret. Freda sauntered across the room, hands full with a plastic black tray. She walked over to Yolana’s side and sat the black tray on her nightstand, covering two art books that laid there. Yolana’s eyes moved over to the tray. It looked like it came from the local high school lunch ladies, but Yolana assumed it was one her grandmother used to use. Sitting on the tray were four finger sandwiches, a cup of fruit, and an orange soda poured into a paper cup. Her prison meal had arrived.

“You haven’t left your room all day.” Freda stated.

One might think that the food was an olive branch to persuade Yolana into a better mood, but Yolana knew better. She just had to wait for the woman to start talking.

“You can’t be in bed all day. I didn’t raise a lazy girl.” Freda said. It sounded familiar, and she said it so lightheartedly, but it was a dig. “You’ll see, though. That I was right. He was no good for you. Simply, no good.” Yolana’s face almost screwed sour before she mentally gave up and laid unmoved. Freda stood there, resting her hands on her hips. She looked out the window and breathed a sigh. “Things will be back to normal soon and you’ll forget all about Nathan Bard.”

Then she left.

Sunday morning, Yolana sat prettily at her desk. She wished she felt how she looked. Her braids were swept into an updo. It wasn’t neat by any means, but it was still pretty. Her hands were busy thumbing through her notebooks, looking at all her sketches. She smiled at a few of her more recent ones and how inspired she was when she drew them. Yolana absorbed so much from Nathan that she had a nearly completed rough draft right in front of her. Her colors were already picked and all. The Tennessee mountains were the backdrop to the adventure, with a road map like maze as the board. There was even a feature from Nathan as the park ranger, guiding you through the twists and turns of the puzzle and to provide helpful hints. Yolana focused on the little Nathan in the corner, smiling back at her and she sighed. The little guy was the most detailed part of the rough draft. Since Nathan was right in front of her when she decided to illustrate him, she completely achieved his likeness on paper. Yolana could count that as something else she had of him. He should be home by then and she should try forgetting about him. The mind doesn’t work like that, however, you can’t simply drive your thoughts away.

Downstairs, Yolana could hear talking. It was Freda, of course, and since there were no other voices heard, Yolana assumed she was on the phone.

“You can’t ask someone else?” Freda said from downstairs. The woman could sure talk loud. There was never a conversation Yolana missed from her aunt. “Alright, alright.” Then it was quiet once again, but soon Yolana heard the thumping of Freda’s church heels clumping up the stairs.

Yolana shut her notebook and dropped her head in her hands. Freda was making a beeline straight for her room and she knew it. Her door opened, and Freda, standing there with her purse hung in the crease of her arms, looked at Yolana. She did a quick up and down of the young woman before speaking.

“You look less mopey, good.” Freda started. She looked down at her watch. “It’s almost time for us to leave for church, but your hair isn’t done, and where are your shoes?”

Yolana simply shrugged her shoulders, not giving a damn. The more hours that passed since she last seen Nathan, the less she cared to pretend to be ok. Yolana made more steps that morning than she did all of Saturday, but she can’t, won’t pretend and perform a show for her aunt. Freda rolled her eyes, not wanting to respond to Yolana’s lack of response.

“I need to stop by the store and grab hot dog buns for this silly girl. I swear if I’m not in charge, nobody does anything right. I’ll be back in 20 to 30 minutes.” Freda moved to leave, then went back. “Please have your hair redone by the time I come back.”

As Freda’s heels clapped down the driveway, Mrs. Henderson made her appearance at her front door, bending down to pick her water hose from the ground. When she stood back up, holding her back, her eyes met with Freda’s, who just happened to look her way. Freda stood in the distance looking at the woman with a hard, jagged, pinched lipped frown on her face. Mrs. Henderson paid no mind. She simply threw her wrinkly hand to the sky and waved politely. Freda huffed.

“I know we’ve had our disagreements, but I do believe, soon enough, things will turn around for the better.”

Was the old woman high? Freda thought. She stood there by the orange Nissan, bewildered. When was the last time Juanita attended church? Who gets high on a Sunday? Juanita Henderson was way too cheery for a Sunday morning. And to speak to Freda at that?

“You have a blessed day!” Mrs. Henderson waved again, turning away from Freda and watering the flowered bushes along the front of her home.

Blasphemous! The old woman had to be on something that morning. Freda couldn’t remember if she ever heard Mrs. Henderson bless anyone’s day, and she could bet all her money that the woman didn’t mean it. Freda shook her head and yanked the door of the vehicle open. With the force of her descent onto the seat, the entire car shook. Mrs. Henderson laughed to herself as she heard the vehicle peel out of the driveway and through the neighborhood.

“What a rigid bitch.”

Yolana was still sitting at her desk, despite the fact. She was folding her hair every which way, non-committed to even fixing it to begin with. She shouldn’t have let it down and she wouldn’t have if she knew she wouldn’t have been able to put it back up. Yolana gave up, tired arms flopping over the arms of her chair. She blew a breath out before settling. She’ll be OK, right? Yolana had to be. What was the point of all the suffering if, at the end, she’s miserable? Isn’t her circumstance exactly what they preached at church? Hold on a little longer. The battle is not yours, it’s the Lord’s.

“No good thing does he withhold from those who walk is blameless.” Yolana knew she was no saint, but she was far from what Freda had deemed her. Why would she be withheld from her good things? From her blessings. There must be something for her. That’s what all the tears are for, and the hurt. Her salvation must be near. This can’t be all she deserves. Or maybe it was. Maybe Yolana was seeing exactly what she deserved. For not speaking her mind, Yolana was getting walked all over. For not being confident, Yolana wasn’t earning any respect. With following all of Freda’s rules, no matter what, Yolana was suffering from dependency. She wasn’t improving her life by being pleasant and quiet, she was making it worse. Yolana was making it easy for Freda to root her in the same spot, unmoving. This was all Yolana’s doing, and she deserved it.

So, since she was aware, was she going to do anything about it? Or was Yolana going to sit there, staring at the popcorn ceiling, humming to herself.

She hummed lowly. She didn’t know she was doing it while she was so deep in her thoughts, and she only noticed when another hum matched hers. It was so faint Yolana paid it no mind really, but for a second, both hums synced. Then the other hum got louder, and so did hers. It wasn’t until the other hum was nearly over powering her own, that Yolana realized, that the hum was no hum at all, but a roar. A roar of an engine.

Her body snapped upright. Her braids scattered around her shoulders. She looked towards her window, not seeing anything, but the roar slowed down to its previous hum, then to a purr. She looked down from her window and laid eyes on one of the prettiest blues she’d ever seen. They had a smile to them, like they always did, that matched the one only a nose away.

He looked beautiful, like a knight in shining armor atop his gray steed. Yolana was ecstatic, but she stood at the window, dumbfounded. Shouldn’t he be in Tennessee by then? Did he come to say goodbye? Yolana waved her hand. Nathan didn’t wave back. He simply dismounted his motorcycle and sat on one end, calmly. He pointedly looked in Yolana’s eyes, serious then. His smirk wiped from his features. Yolana put her hand down, puzzled. She cocked her head to the side, looking like a befuddled puppy. She mouthed a silent “What”. Nathan only looked from her to the seat right beside him and back to her. Yolana’s face scrunched even more before mouthing “Huh”. Trying to show an even clearer signal, Nathan reached across the bike towards the back. He was slow about it. He really wanted Yolana to see. Nathan unclasped one compartment, and it sprung open dramatically.

Yolana watched it, and it didn’t take too long for her to notice that the area was completely empty of luggage. To really make it stick, Nathan patted the seat next to him. Realizing what he was trying to say, Yolana’s eyes met Nathan’s. Shock, apprehension, uncertainty, and wonder laid within her eyes. Nothing but determination and confidence occupied his blue pools. It only took a second longer for Yolana to start moving into action. When Yolana disappeared from his sight, Nathan moved to rearrange a few things in his carry-on. He didn’t know what Yolana planned to bring, but he was determined to fit it all.

Yolana ran to her closet and dove to the carpet. In the back of it, she remembered there being a small black leather bag and a larger yellow one. Those were her travel bags. She’d only ever used them two times. Once at a slumber party at the church and once at a slumber party with one of the evangelist’s daughters. Both times she was 10 and the bags have been sitting in the back of the closet ever since. It was a dark closet, so it took some digging, but Yolana found them and began throwing anything she could fit inside the bags. She made sure she threw in plenty of shirts and pants. A few skirts were permitted to go, but not many, as most of them were for church and picked by Freda. She stood on the balls of her feet and tossed in some shoes from the shelf, then snatched the bags off the floor and ran to the bed.

Yolana moved on to her dresser, where she grabbed a random assortment of underwear, bras, and socks. Yolana didn’t care how many of each she was packing, just that she had some packed. When the chest of drawers were ran through, she hit her desk, not grabbing much at all, but her notebook, watercolors and watercolor paper. Lastly, she ran to her bathroom, dunking all her toiletries in a towel, and stood by the sink, wrapping it neatly. Her reflection caught her attention, and she took a minute to stare at it. There she was, standing in her bathroom breathless with tears running down her face. Yolana touched her cheeks. She didn’t know she was crying, let alone why. She must have been wiping her nose, because it was tinted red, her lips too, like she was biting them. There were too many emotions flowing through her. There was nervousness, but it couldn’t stand near the excitement that flowed through her. The rest of her many emotions were just as lively, the uncertainty and the wonder, but the excitement and relief she felt when Nathan showed up, felt more vibrant in her chest. Yolana looked towards her bedroom window. He stayed for her, came back for her.

Yolana sprung around the room again. She nearly had both bags filled to the brim and was worried they might not zip closed and they were getting heavy. She dropped them to the floor, struggled for 5 minutes to zip both bags, then flew down the stairs. Upon opening the door, there was Nathan, big and broad, with arms open to accept her bags. Yolana nearly threw herself at him, but reined herself in and handed Nathan her bags instead. He nearly loses his grip in the exchange, but she steadies the bags until he gets ahold of them. No words have yet been said between the two, but they never understood each other more. There were only a few more things that Yolana wanted to have from her room. She was going to retrieve them and meet Nathan down the stairs, then… she didn’t know what happens after that, but she was down for whatever.

No More than 10 minutes down the way, Freda stood in the bread aisle, putting too much energy worthwhile into two different brands of hot dog buns. Her choices were America’s Best Hot Dog Buns, or Lawry’s Premium Buns. America’s Best having the cheaper price and tougher buns, and Lawry’s being more expensive with softer buns. America’s Best had an attached coupon, but Lawry’s was guaranteed not to choke someone when ingested. Which one?

A vibration in her purse was causing havoc against her makeup case and lipstick. She didn’t know it was going off while she was contemplating the hot dog buns. When it wouldn’t stop, Freda begrudgingly took her phone out of her purse. Who could be calling her so persistently? It better not be that silly girl with something else she needs. Freda looked at the screen. It wasn’t the girl. It wasn’t even a phone call.

“There was movement detected at ‘front door’.” Freda read aloud.

She opened the notification, which opened her doorbell app. It was dim, not the best quality at all. Not like her neighbors. It was still clear, however, clear enough to see a hulking figure at her doorstep taking bags from her home. He nearly drops them, but a hand that wasn’t his own, helps stay them. A smaller hand, darker hand. Yolana’s hand.

A piercing, bone chilling scream sounded through the grocery store, followed by a hard clicking and clacking of heels. Furious and flushed, Freda thumbed through her phone. Smashing the phone to her face, Freda waited with smoke coming from her ears for the call to connect.

“Good Sunday morning to you, Freda.” A cheery voice spoke through the speaker.

“Belvin. Hurry and get up to my house. Right now!”

“Wh-what’s the matter?” Belvin asked, recovering from the mistake in the mood.

“Nathan is taking Yolana, and I need you to stop him.” Freda hissed. She was trying to keep quiet and show the urgency in her tone. It resulted in a hissing sound.

“Nathan is what? What are you talking about?”

“Nathan is at my house, this very second, kidnapping your niece. You need to go down there and stop him.”

Belvin stood in his home with the phone between his face and shoulder. He was tucking in his wife-beater, but paused at Freda’s words. Kidnapping? Nathan? Yolana? Would he even do such a thing? Not Nathan Bard, one of his boys.

“Freda, you got to be mistaken.”

“I saw him on the Zoom camera outside the door.”

“Zoom camera? When did you get one of those?” It would have been comical, if not for the situation, that neither Freda nor Belvin knew what Zoom was, and the fact that she did not own a “Zoom camera”, but a Ring camera. It would also have been hilarious that Belvin knew exactly what she was referring to, though both being completely wrong.

Freda explained she purchased it Friday as she stomped through the parking lot to her car.

“Well, have you called her?”

“I took her phone.”

“What you take her phone for?”

“Because I caught her talking to that boy”

“Who?”

“Nathan, Belvin!” Freda slammed herself inside her car.

“So what?” Belvin shrugged.

“That boy is a delinquent!”

“No, that man isn’t.”

“Belvin!” Freda yelled, taking a breath afterwards “It don’t matter who he is if he’s taking Yolana! Please go!”

“Alright. I’ll go! You’re probably overthinking things, anyway.”

Yolana hobbled downstairs with her pot of flowers in one arm and the leather jacket on the other. Nathan met her at the steps and took the pot from her. Yolana sprinted away towards the kitchen and took two trash bags from the cabinet to cover her flowers from the wind. When they got everything on the bike, safe and secure, Yolana put the jacket on while Nathan posed to help her with the helmet. They still haven’t uttered a single word to each other. However, with his face so close to hers, Nathan couldn’t help but speak.

“I couldn’t leave you here.” Though he knew to hurry, he took this moment to settle and regulate both their heartbeats. “You deserve better than this.”

Yolana, with face still drenched and lip still bitten, smiled. “I was thinking the same thing.” One last tear rolls down her face.

Nathan instantly held the parts of her cheek that he could reach with the open-faced helmet. He rubs at the damp skin for a moment, looking in her eyes. He looked like he had something else to say but didn’t know if he should say it. However, his mind landed on something. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Yolana didn’t know if he was referring to their personal relationship or their ride to Tennessee. She trusted him, though, all the same.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“Yes.”

And then they hopped on. Yolana behind Nathan, holding him tight as he revved the engine and sped off.

Chief Friday didn’t live far. He lived only 8 miles away on a half an acre plot of land across from two large squares of farmland. He inherited the land from his parents but didn’t imagine he would actually live on the property. There was even a mind to sell it, but he was glad he didn’t. It was convenient after his divorce.

His divorce was a shock to him that threw his life into a loop. A rock in front of a moving bicycle. However, what wasn’t a shock was his continued devotion to his former wife. As much heartache Freda brought Belvin, he would always answer her call. Even when she didn’t make any sense. That was why Belvin was driving after his niece, who was attached to the back of an old friend.

He saw the two as they merged onto the highway not far from Freda’s home. He approached their rear, but when he honked his horn to get their attention, he was met with a quick glance and a spurring engine. Why did they speed up? Belvin sped up behind them. Maybe they didn’t recognize who he was. He approached and honked again when he was close enough to read Nathan’s license plate. Again the motorcycle sped up, but that time there was no glance. Like they knew who was behind them and wanted to avoid them. That put a frown on Belvin’s face. He grabbed at his cell phone and dialed Nathan’s number. I rung and rung, but the body in front of him didn’t move to answer it and it went to voicemail. So Belvin tossed his phone to the passenger seat.

Belvin decided that it would be harder to ignore him if he was directly in their line of sight. He increased his speed to approach Nathan’s left side. When he could see the man’s eyes, he rolled down his window and leaned his head out.

“Pull over!” Belvin yelled. He assumed he was loud enough, though the wind was trying to carry his voice elsewhere.

Yolana looked at him, startled. Her eyes were wide, like she didn’t expect him to still be there. Her eyes then moved to Nathan, who side-eyed Belvin and smirked, speeding ahead and cutting him off before turning off the road. Belvin followed them.

Yolana didn’t know, but that wasn’t the first time Nathan found himself running from Belvin. There were two more times before then that had Belvin hightailing it through the roads after Nathan. Nathan swore that last time would be the last time, but he was wrong. At the times he and Belvin had these little chases, Nathan was never caught, and he had no intentions of being caught this time either.

Nathan drove off the main highway, deciding it would be better and safer for them to continue on the back roads towards I-65. If Belvin really wanted to chase, Nathan would give him a good chase. But it will be away from other traffic. He didn’t want to scare Yolana, but he was sure she was up for anything at that point. She barely made any noise when he sped up or made the sharp turn off the highway. However, if he had to go off roading, he didn’t know how she would react.

The county road he was on was a route he ventured on plenty of times. It wasn’t a road hard for him to ride on, however, for a car, the speed limit was set to 20 miles per hour for a reason. County road 9 was filled with sharp turns and stop signs. Add that with potholes and sometimes uneven asphalt, it was best to drive slow and steady.

For two-wheeled vehicles, like say a motorcycle, going around such obstacles was a breeze. The road was sure to slow down Chief Friday, though, and gain him and Yolana more ground. Belvin knew what the boy was doing and knew to pay extra attention. It wasn’t his first rodeo with Nathan. He knew chasing him would prove difficult, but Belvin was going to stay on his tail. Even if it meant he would knock his car out of alignment.

With every twist and every turn, Nathan took it in stride. Although, to his surprise and amusement, so did Belvin. Had the old man gotten better? He avoided almost every obstacle in his way, though the dead deer, after one of the many sharp turns, almost got him. He missed all the potholes and Nathan was betting all his coins on the old man hitting one. They both were speeding; easily going 50 over the speed limit. It was too fast for the type of road. Yolana was holding tight, and Nathan was sure her eyes were screwed close. If her death grip on his body was any indication.

They were nearing the end of the county road, and Nathan was surprised that he had to lean on Plan B to get rid of the fire chief. For a moment, he wondered who the old man had been chasing after all this time while he was gone. There had to be someone throughout those 15 years. Another juvenile delinquent with a heart aflame with passion. They only had a little way to go and Belvin would be back on a simple road and gain ground on the two young-ins. Belvin didn’t know what he would do past the point of making it onto the interstate. Would he follow them all the way to Tennessee? Well, he didn’t have enough gas for that. He would definitely have to stop, then he would lose them. So, it was important at that moment to get in front and cut them off. He could do it; he knew he could. Then he could get some answers. One more turn, one last turn and Belvin could pull them over and ask what’s gotten into them. Especially Yolana. This wasn’t like her, Nathan he could see, especially former Nathan. Maybe not kidnapping, if that’s what was happening, which Belvin still doesn’t believe. When he pulls them over, he will get his answers.

Right at the crest of the last bend, when Belvin was fixing his steering wheel to take the turn in stride, Nathan kept straight off the road and into the woods. “What in God’s name?” Belvin uttered. Except for staying on the road, he’s gone through the woods? Now Belvin had never seen that before. Upon his approach to the same spot, the fire chief noticed a small separation of trees. A man-made trail. It wasn’t anything odd. It could be for the people who live near to avoid the long way home, or for some folks who like to exercise and hike. It could also be a path for law enforcement to get to the interstate discreetly, so oncoming traffic wouldn’t notice them. If Belvin knew Nathan and his talent for getting into trouble, it was most likely the third option.

Was he crazy? Belvin, that is. Was Belvin crazy? The path was made for a car, so there was no doubt he could fit his old Ford through, but it was still the woods. He couldn’t go fast. He was losing ground, thinking so hard on the decision. So Belvin went on, not slowing down at all to catch up with the two.

Yolana heard laughter come from the man she had a death grip on. He said something to himself, then laughed again. Yolana had an idea why and dared herself to disconnect her head from Nathan’s back to turn around and look. Just as she thought. Her Uncle Belvin, her sweet, sensible Uncle Belvin, dared to come through the woods with that old beat-up car. She quickly spun back around and tucked her head back into Nathan’s shoulder blades. That part of the journey was proving to be very nauseating. She thought the turns from the road were sickening, but apparently it could get worse. Nathan, though running from her uncle, was still doing his best to make sure she was comfortable. He warned Yolana before he made his descent into the trees. She was happy that he did. There was a large height difference between the asphalt and the dirt road. If she didn’t brace herself, Yolana could have hopped right off the bike and onto the ground. Nathan said that the wooded path was a shortcut to I-65, and they should be able to lose her uncle there, if not at the break from the road. They barely slowed down, and Yolana was getting worried. Not for herself and Nathan, but for her Uncle Belvin. The path was easy for a car going 10 miles per hour, but 50 or 60? She didn’t want him to get hurt chasing after them. She sent a quick prayer to the Lord above that it all ended quickly and safely.

The old path must not have been used as much in the past few years. Overgrowth was starting to cover the road and vines were reaching across to the other side. There were some limbs here and there of various sizes. Even though Nathan was going pretty fast, he could still tell that some have mossed over from the damp earth beneath them. That let him know that they’ve been there a while. It made the ride a little more difficult, but only really for Belvin, and Nathan was grateful for that. His motorcycle wasn’t made for those types of trips. Fast and ever-changing terrain was for something smaller and less bulky. However, Nathan was working the bike quite well through the terrain, even with both his and Yolana’s luggage.

Belvin, however, wasn’t doing so good. The creak of metal from his car was loud enough for Yolana to hear it from atop the motorcycle. Bangs coming from her rear every few seconds let her know he didn’t avoid the limbs or rocks that were in his path. It was all ending soon, though. Yolana could see the opening onto the interstate. There was a feeling of excitement and gloom that mixed in her body. “Thank god this ride is almost over” and “Holy shit, those cars are going way too fast”, buzzed around in her thoughts. For them to simply merge onto the highway; Yolana couldn’t see it. Though it seemed impossible, Yolana squeezed Nathan even harder. Nathan felt it but couldn’t reassure her that time. He was too busy focusing on the rather large branch that sat in-between them and freedom. It must have fallen recently. It still had its green. There was a soft spot in the middle from what he could see. It was a rotting spot, one of two, the other being at the break of the tree. If he was lucky, they could speed right through the middle and onto the road. It was perfect, as if it was by design.

One more peak and Yolana saw the branch ahead of them. Nathan knew what he was doing, right? What about her uncle? What could happen to the old car if he was to hit that thing? That would total it for sure. He wouldn’t be able to afford a new car while maintaining Freda’s bills. Yolana sent a prayer up to heaven. “God, please,” was all she could utter.

As they came upon the limb, Yolana slammed her head down and away from the scene. Either they make it or they don’t. Nathan’s gorilla grip on his handles had nothing on the titanium hold Yolana had around his abdomen. He sped up, lowered his head, and braced for impact. Straight down the middle he drove, breaking through the branch of half mush, half thick bark. The motorcycle jumped and jerked, but it ran through with only a millisecond of a hangup. Nathan and Yolana could feel each other’s release of breath once they were clear of the hurdle. Next, it was Belvin’s turn.

As the two raced towards the roadway, Yolana couldn’t help but turn around. She had to see about her uncle. They made eye contact. Belvin’s worried expression matching her own. Yolana worried about his safety and Belvin worried about hers. What will happen if he runs over that limb? What will happen if they successfully get away? Yolana, not sure if he could really see her, looked deep into his eyes. As deep as she could, being so far away. He was approaching the limb as quickly as they were approaching the road. Yolana shook her head, hoping he could see it. He did, and it confused him, but she did it again, shaking her head more vigorously. The face he made brought water to Yolana’s eyes. He looked so hurt and concerned. He shook his head back to her, determined. Yolana let one hand go away from Nathan’s waist to place it on her chest above her heart. She shook her head again, that time pleading that he stopped, though he could not hear her words. He could read her lips and he could see the desperation in her eyes.

Belvin Friday spent all of Yolana’s life looking after her. Teaching her how to walk, potty training her and hearing her first words. He was there on all her first and last days of school, graduation, and her first job. He celebrated every life steppingstone and grieved when she failed. It always saddened Belvin that he held her more times when she was crying than when she was laughing. Even with living with Freda, Yolana had become an exceptional young woman. Very beautiful and intelligent. Still able to hold herself up after everything. No matter how many times Freda pulled her back further away from people, she still got up every day and pushed through. Belvin always knew that she would go on and find her way, but he didn’t imagine like that. And there he was, stopping her from doing what he hoped she would do. She was going off finding her own way. He never had any children, but he raised Yolana like she was his own. Every parent must watch their child move on in life, and now it was his turn.

Belvin slammed on the brakes. The old car creaking to an abrupt stop right at the large limb. It lurched him forward into the steering wheel with how fast he stopped. At least those new brakes worked. Yolana watched as he stopped, smiling and thanking him through the air. He just stared at her with teary eyes, praying to the God he served that Nathan would keep his niece safe.

[tteokdoroki]

ᯓ★ ONCE UPON A FUCK ME !? — kinktober 2024 !

mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the filthiest fairytale of them all? your favourite storybook characters, reimagined.

✧ there’s a note from your fairy godmother - hello my angels !! welcome to another kinktober. i hope you guys are as excited as i am. wave your magic wand here ! to join the taglist. rb for a happy ending ₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡.

✧ read the blurb - each of the following fairytales contain nsfw and dark themes. fem!reader. each fic comes with its own warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL - satoru gojo.

[OCT 1ST ��� BONDAGE] once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants.

additional kinks. orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, switching.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER EIGHT BEAUTY & THE BEAST - katsuki bakugou.

[OCT 8TH ★ MONSTER FUCKING] once upon a time, a village girl thinks to herself — fuck it! being trapped inside a castle with a monstrous sexy bloody beast isn’t so bad… she might as well make it worth her while.

additional kinks. bath sex, soft sex, blood play, size kink, praise kink, body worship, body modifications.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER FIFTEEN CINDERELLA - tobio kageyama.

[OCT 15TH ★ MUTUAL MASTURBATION] once upon a time, a soon-to-be crowned princess, once down on her luck, says fuck it and settles on consummating her marriage with the crown prince before they’re actually due to be married.

additional kinks. oral sex, clothed sex, cherry chasing, first time, corruption.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE LITTLE MERMAID - eijirou kirishima.

[OCT 16TH ★ FUCK OR DIE] once upon a time, a princess decides — fuck it! fuck the engagement. who cares when a sexy half-man, half -fish…prince? whatever! needs to drown her in an ocean of pleasure in order to survive…

additional kinks. underwater sex, ritualistic sex, voice kink, pain kink, choking, quickie.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO SLEEPING BEAUTY - seishiro nagi.

[OCT 22ND ★ SOMNOPHILIA] once upon a time, a brave knight, destined to marry someone she’d never met, says fuck it and plans to reap the rewards of saving the prince from eternal slumber. without realising that he’s already awake…

additional kinks. hold the moan, overstimulation, cockwarming, dacryphilia, outer-course, free use, dub con, cumplay.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER TWENTY NINE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD - yuuji itadori.

[OCT 29TH ★ KNOTTING] once upon a time, a curious little girl says fuck it and disobeyes her mother’s only wish. stay on the path when you visit your granny, you don’t want to get snatched up by the big bad wolf.

additional kinks. wolf hybrids, mating season, oral fixation, sweat + scent kink, pregnancy kink, lactation, breeding, a/b/o.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ BONUS CHAPTER: GOLDILOCKS & THE THREE BEARS - bachira, isagi 'n nagi.

[OCT 31ST ★ CUCKING] once upon a time, a sweet little bear hybrid on her own in the woods decides... fuck it! she'll teach that pesky thief goldilocks what it really means to share. with the help of friends, of course.

additional kinks. bear hybrids, double penetration, mutual masturbation, deep throating, brat taming, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, foursome, dub-con, coercion, marking, oral sex.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE + SMAU ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( seventh installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , masturbation , angst , profanity , descriptions of violence , toji being a pathetic little sicko :D

୨୧˚ an; sorry this part is on the shorter side😅😅 it’s more of a filler chapter but i still like it!

It’s well past midnight when Toji slips his way back into his motel room. It’s dingy and drab, the once-white walls twinged a sickly yellowish tint from chain smoking guests. Ugly bedspread details different flowers that Toji couldn’t name, the same aged pattern clinging to the drapes that were pulled shut over the front window, never to be opened. It smells of heady sweat and open wounds, though maybe that’s just him. No, it definitely is him. He’s hyper aware of the grimy layer of filth that acts as a second layer of skin. It’s gritty and uncomfortable.

The bathroom cubicle is claustrophobic; if Toji were to stand in the center of the room, he could easily touch all four walls that boxed him in. He sits on the closed toilet seat lid, staring at his hands. They’re huge, intimidating. Trembling, spattered in blood that’s long since crusted into a dark concretion, cracking at the hinges of his fingers. His hands that took the lives of two innocent men just hours prior. Toji didn’t want to kill them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Oh, how they shrieked and hollered for their lives as he dragged them into that alley. They just kept fucking screaming. 

“Fuck…” The man sighs grimly, letting his head dip forward to rest in the cups of his filthy palms. His bangs feel matted and crunchy with remnants of sweat. Disgusting self-pity blooms at the base of his hollow chest, and suddenly Toji has the urge to ram his skull into the drywall. Or dislocate his finger. Or do anything to punish himself for that feeling of defeatism. The nerve to possess such a shameful victim mentality, as if he deserved sympathy. He’s a killer; the best he deserves is a fucking electric chair.

Toji showers. A long, scalding shower that singes him to the bone. Water stained red cascades down the rippling wall of muscles that was his body and swirls down the rusty drain. These post-slaughter showers used to be blank canvases of his life. Ones where Toji’s brain would shut off and try to forget the atrocities committed by his hand. He would scrub his flesh raw, scrub scrub scrub mindlessly until he ached all over. But now, he only thinks of one thing.

You.

Maybe it’s some sick coping mechanism, turning to thoughts of you in times like these. In a pathetic form of self comfort, he reminisces. Your hands holding his face, your know-it-all smile, your way with words. God, your fucking way with words. 

“My sweet boy,” Toji whispers under his breath, touching himself. As if he could replicate the delicate way in which you spoke to him. His eyes shut, desperately clinging onto the mental image of you beneath him in his bed. Your arms outstretched, reaching for him like you want him. Like you love him. “My sweet…” Toji tries to fade into the warmth of the spray, imagining it to be your body heat encapsulating him instead. But the water is far too hot, it hurts; you wouldn’t hurt him like this. He tries so damn hard to disassociate into the pleasure, as if his hand would magically dissolve into yours. Yeah, right. His hand is too big to ever compete with yours. Too fucking rough and gritty and mean.

The flat of his palm finds the greasy tiles of the shower wall. Toji fucks himself with all the roughness he deserves, lower lip staked between two rows of teeth to cease its quivering. He’s going to cum. Your face appears in his psyche once more, but this time, it’s from the first time you visited him in the hospital all those months ago. He can see the picture so vividly, it scares him: you seated at his bedside, poking and prodding over his obliques, muttering a stream of concerned questions. But you were never upset or angry. No, despite the worries, you were still smiling. At him. 

Fuck, he’s really going to cum.

Toji grits his teeth, climaxing with a harsh shudder and a broken gasp of your name on his lips. Small jolts force him into a twitchy state, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against the tiles beside his hand. Semen paints the wall below, too far to the left for the shower spray to rinse it off. He doesn’t bother to clean it off. He’s too repulsed by himself to do much of anything. 

The plasticky sheets stick to his skin. Sleeping in just a pair of boxers was probably a stupid idea, bed mites were a real cause for concern, or so Shiu had told him. But it’s hot. He’s hot. And restless. And uncomfortable. He always had trouble falling asleep in foreign beds. Lidded eyes peek over to the alarm clock perched on the side table, its cherry digits splaying 2:47am. You were asleep. 

He reaches for his phone anyway, wracked with guilt all the while. The tension in his thighs still persisted, still succumbed to the aftershocks of his orgasm he fucked himself to with your face in his mind. He’s fucking gross. This is gross.

She’s sleeping, jackass. Don’t wake her up because you’re lonely.

Be a fucking man and lick your own wounds. That’s what his father would say.

He texts you anyway.

He presses the call button. It only gets through half a ring before the line cuts on and he hears a groggy “hey” filter through the receiver. How long has it been since he’s heard your voice? Not that long, only three days and yet it feels like it's been three lifetimes. And that’s truly the moment when Toji knows you’ve fucked him for life, because when did he start thinking such sappy shit like that?

“Hi,” he answers, melting back into the stiff mattress. His gaze wanders along the waterlogged ceiling, tracing the abstract damp stains that have settled in its popcorn surface. He thinks offhandedly that one of them vaguely resembles a rabbit. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You already apologized, silly. I told you it’s okay.” There’s a pause. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

It’s nice to hear yours, too. “Go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, okay.” The sound of sheets stirring crackles, Toji assumes you’re tossing in bed. “You’re sleeping now, too, right?”

He paws at his stomach, the pads of his rough fingertips tracing the gutters of his abdominal plates before he sinks his blunt nails into his own flesh. “In a bit.”

“Soon. It’s late, Toji.” You order him to bed like a mother would her child.

He nods as if you could see the gesture. “Soon, then.”

You bid him a good night, turning once more into bed before settling back into the depths of the slumber Toji had interrupted. He clasps his cell between his ear and shoulder, basking in your gentle breaths. It’s the same sounds you made the night you fucked him. He slept upon your chest, head over your heart, listening to its beats. You drooled on his pillow, he gave a quiet scoff at the memory. Are you drooling now?

Toji never sleeps.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You’ve been told by your mother since the moment you were born that you had the gift of prophecy. Convenient, since you managed to mysteriously transport back into time by one hundred years. What happens when you become wrapped up in the Shelby’s family business after the brothers return from the war? Will you ever get back to your own time or figure out how you got to Small Heath in 1918?

Rating: mature

ao3 Link

full author masterlist & credits/disclaimers here

Moodboard

Chapter One: Kashmir

Chapter Two: Magic Man

Chapter Three: Do I Wanna Know?

Chapter Four: Feeling This

Chapter Five: Broken Crown

Chapter Six: Dismantle. Repair.

Chapter Seven: Vagabond

Chapter Eight: Devil Inside Me

Chapter Nine: Dancing in the Moonlight

Chapter Ten: Curses

Chapter Eleven: Dazed & Confused

Chapter Twelve: Nobody Knows

Chapter Thirteen: Ghost

Chapter Fourteen: Raise Hell

Chapter Fifteen: Left Hand Free

Chapter Sixteen: Fear & Delight

Chapter Seventeen: Change on the Rise

Chapter Eighteen: Trouble

Chapter Nineteen: Coming Soon

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

pinch me

the wistful wyvern, chapter eight

a/n: i can’t believe this is the last chapter… this whole series is the thing that i’ve let myself go the most crazy with and not held back, so it’s kinda bittersweet when it comes to a close. it’s hard to say goodbye and let go of something you put so much work into, but it’s incredible to finally share the ending with you all so you can enjoy the story in its entirety.

summary: the wrestling was playful as you slowly shuffled further into the sparse cluster of trees. Giggling and shrieking, your back eventually collided with the trunk of a tree and Bucky pinned your hands above your head. 

warnings: knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, former fuckboy!bucky, tattooed!bucky, forced proximity, violence, injuries, kissing, oral, dirty talk, impact play, size kink, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, protected sex (a fantasy birth control tea commonly used by men), creampie, time jump

word count: 2562

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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“You know, it’s still not too late for you to apologise, we can both just go on our separate way,” you shrugged as you dodged the blow thrown by one of the bandits still on his feet before you. 

“Fuck you, you cunt!” he simply spat back. 

Blinking a moment, your head tilted slightly as you breathed out, “alright then,” and then clocked him in the face, making him stumble back, clutching his battered nose. 

One of the outlaws in the grass then lifted himself back up onto his feet behind where you stood and charged at you, raising the dull axe in his grasp up to attack. 

He only managed to nick your arm, and though a small cry did tumble out of your lungs, only a second passed before your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the weapon and you bashed the blunt side back against the bloke, knocking him back onto the ground. 

“You good?” Bucky’s voice found your ears and you glanced over to see him wrestling with his own half of the dubious group.

“Oh yeah,” you smiled and tossed the rusty axe further down into the field that unfolded on the side of the road, “I’m great,” before whacking your elbow over the dirty-mouthed man who stumbled back towards you, blood dribbling from his nose. 

Barely looking at his own opponents, the corners of your partner’s lips curled up as he purred, “that’s my girl.”

You had started by giving the highway robbers a generous out, stating that a fight between you two wardens and the eight of them just wouldn’t be fair. If they’d let one of you sit that one out and only fought either you or Bucky, then perhaps it would have evened the playing field just a bit more.

Yet, they didn’t heed your warnings and ended up losing in the blink of an eye. 

“You guys should really consider a career change,” you said as they all laid dazed and bruised on the ground, “or at the very least get better at this one.” 

As the pair of you went through and kicked their weapons far enough out of their reach, Bucky cast a glance at the boulder of a man curled up on the ground and clutching his arm. 

“Hey buddy,” your fellow warden called, “try and keep that elevated till you see a healer.” 

“Fuck you,” he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You were the one that fell on it,” his arms raised up before he looked to the other bandits, “guys, can you please make sure he gets that checked out?” and after they grumbled in agreement to help their stubborn friend, Bucky exhaled, “great,” and turned to grasp Echo’s reins, the black stallion only a few paces away from the aftermath, “well, have a nice life!”

“See,” you uttered as the pair of you began to walk off, tugging the horse along, “I told you we shouldn’t have taken this road. I was a criminal, I know what roads are hot for highway robbers.”

“Yeah, well, you were always smarter than me,” he chuckled, then smirked in your direction, “isn’t that what you used to say whenever I’d let you win during training? That I might be stronger, but you’re smarter?”

“You did not let me win,” you gasped, immediately defending your recollection, “I always won fair and square!”

“Hm,” he hummed as he let his gaze dance over the patchy cluster of trees that began to bloom on the right-hand side of the dirt road, “you sure about that?” 

“Oh really?” your head cocked as you smiled back at him, “you wanna fucking go, Barnes?” 

“Why not?” he reached out to tickle your waist, “just had a little warm-up, didn’t we?” 

As Bucky let go of the reins, Echo simply dipped his head down to graze on the long grass below. 

The wrestling was playful as you slowly shuffled further into the sparse cluster of trees. Giggling and shrieking, your back eventually collided with the trunk of a tree and Bucky pinned your hands above your head. 

As you gazed back into his blue stare, the laughter began to fade from you both as another instinct entirely took over. 

Tilting his head, Bucky captured your lips and kissed you fiercely. His fingers, enclosed around your wrists, flexed as your lips parted in a giddy groan and made way for his tongue to slip past and catch a taste of your own. 

When his grip eventually loosened around you, his fingers floated down to weave within your hair and tilt your face to deepen the hungry kiss. 

Then, as your hands had started scraping down the cool iron of the partial chainmail on his torso, the tiny loops grazing your skin gently, he pulled back just enough for you both to catch your breath.

“Drop your drawers, snow,” he commanded playfully, nuzzling his nose softly against your own. 

His head tilted slightly so that his forehead rested against your own, and he shared your breath, as your fingers desperately soared to fulfil his demand. Undoing your pants, you swiftly shimmied them down till they were kicked off into the wild grass. 

After stealing another kiss from you, a smile then spread across your face as you watched Bucky sink down to his knees before you. Planting pecks across your thighs, his gaze flickered up to capture yours as his lips danced up to your right hipbone. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you chuckled and ran a hand through his brown locks. 

“But you sound so pretty when you do,” he smirked. The closer his peppering pecks got to your centre, the sloppier they grew, “just as pretty as when I do this,” he then closed the distance and flicked his tongue teasingly through your folds, dragging a whimper out of your throat. 

Thankfully, he only kept his cruelly light licks to a minimum before he lapped at you properly, swapping your squirming jolts out with a trembling rocking as he savoured your slickness swiftly soaking his short beard. 

Throwing your head back against the tree trunk, your fingers tangled in his hair as he enclosed around your clit. As your gaze fluttered down for his stare to capture yours, a warm rumble vibrated against your pearl as his eyes crinkled up and he smiled against your pussy. 

“O-oh, just like that,” you uttered breathily as your fingers combed through his locks before finding purchase in them, “feels so fucking good.”

His broad palms curled around to your bottom and groped the curve a moment before one of his hands slid down your thigh and plucked it off of the ground, hooking it over his wide shoulder and thereby drawing you that much closer to his greedy tongue. 

Tilting your hips slightly, his sloppy efforts only managed to wander down to your other hole for one kiss before everything unravelled inside of you and you came all over his face. 

Standing back up to his full height, Bucky ducked down to steal a brief kiss from your breathless lips, letting you taste yourself still freshly lingering on his tongue, before fervently spinning you around. 

Bracing against the tree, you peeked over your shoulder as his fingers hastily undid his trousers, his heavy lids staying glued to your backside. 

Silky moans seeped out of the both of you in unison when he slowly buried himself in you. Melting down against your spine a moment, you felt the reassuring weight of his head against your shoulder, panting against your tunic, as his girth settled inside of you, your cunt dripping around him, begging for his movements to pick up.

“Fuck, I love you,” he hissed as he dragged his cock back out, just till the memory of him remained before slamming back inside, harshly enough for you to lose your breath. 

His presence dissipated from your spine as he straightened up. One of his hands trailed down your back, bending you over more, before it settled parallel to the other around your hips. 

Scratching against the dark bark, you whimpered every time his thrusts concluded with a teasing tap against your puffy pearl from his heavy sack. 

“Shit,” he groaned loudly, “your little pussy’s gripping onto me so tight,” in awe, he glanced down at how snugly your cunt was clinging onto his cock, “does it feel good, baby? Does your pussy like being stretched out by me?” he landed a few electric slaps to your ass, “because it sure fucking feels like it… gods, she’s creaming all over me, turning my dick all fucking milky…” 

“I–, I–,” your fluttering moans found their way out your throat as your fingers left the tree and reached back to blindly grab for him.

“What?” he swiftly captured your searching hand in his and slowed his efforts just enough for you to think, “what is it, snow?”

Your brain was all jumbled, so all you managed to mumble was, “…kiss…” 

Curling his burly arms around your form, your brows crinkled up as he then slipped out before guiding you back around to face him. 

Planting his lips to yours in a soft and slow peck, your molten arms slid up to wrap around his neck. 

“Is this better?” his nose ghosted against your own, “huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded lightly, your features nuzzling against his as you did. 

“You good?” his gentle exhale seeped into your bones. 

A soft smile then tipped up your lips as you uttered, “I’m phenomenal…” 

Mirroring your own grin, he captured your lips once more before he plucked your left leg up off the ground. Sweeping his tip through your glinting folds, he nudged at your clit long enough to make you wiggle in his grasp before he dipped down to your drooling entrance and slowly slid back in. 

“Ah,” you gasped and your head tilted away from his a moment as he split you back open for him, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you,” his grip dented your flesh as he settled back into a silky pace, pumping in and out of your creamy cunt, “o-oh, fuck!”

Picking your other leg up, he lifted you into his strong arms and your ankles swiftly hooked around his frame. 

Sloppy symphonies of your skin clapping against each other resonated every time he lifted you off his cock, dragging you over every detail of his fat girth before slamming you back down on it. The sounds echoed throughout the surroundings, dominating your attention rather than the wistful birdsongs that your lustful ears filtered out. 

It didn’t take very long of him carrying you close and fucking you nearly through the tree that scrapped at your spine, before your body went as tight as a bowstring taking aim, and shaky profanities leaked out past your panting breaths as you tumbled over the edge.

Bucky’s mouth was hot on the side of your neck as you clambered around him, your pussy completely choking his throbbing length, and a gravelly groan rumbled against your skin as he swiftly emptied himself in your haven. 

With his load dripping down onto the tall grass as he continued to cradle you in his arms, his softening girth stayed buried in you as you caught your breaths. 

“See?” his heavy exhale fanned across your cheek as the side of his head rested against yours, “told you I used to let you win.”

“Oh,” you playfully chuckled, tilting your chin enough to find his hazy gaze, “you think you won just now?” 

“Yeah, I clearly did.” 

“Did you though,” you cocked your head, “or did I just let you?” 

His eyes then narrowed to a squint as he sucked in a breath, “…rematch,” he declared, “as soon as we get home.”

“Really? You wanna wait–, what, a whole hour?” you guessed the time reminding till you arrived back to Borün. 

“Yes, I wanna wait a whole hour,” a sly smirk crept up on his face as he slowly inched in closer, “one hour and then I finally get to throw you around in my own bed…” 

FIVE YEARS LATER, ON THE THIRTIETH DAY OF SUMMER 863 PR

“Pinch me,” you murmured through your grin as Bucky’s kisses nipped down the column of your neck.     

“What,” he smirked against your skin, clearly assuming you wanted to heat up your impromptu make-out session, “right here?”

Your glance flickered to the rest of the topiary garden, that sprouted in the centre of the great castle that was Fort Borün, and hoped that the pair of you were tucked away well enough in the semi-secluded corner for the other guests, who were up at the palace to round off the annual summer solstice festival, not to notice your intimate activities. 

Not taking his lewd thought to heart, you went on and uttered, “it must be a dream, being here with you and in this beautiful place,” the smile on your lips grew wider as you reflected on the way your life looked now. Growing up you’d never dare to let yourself imagine anything like this, being so safe and at peace, living in a comfortable little cabin by the sea with the love of your life, “you my husband and I your wife…”

Tilting his head back up to be at your level, he caught your glinting eye and reassured you, “you’re not dreaming, snow,” one of his thumbs then swiped a few times at the hold he had on your waist. Leaning back in, his lips then tilted back up into a devilish smirk as he asked, “but can I still pinch you?” 

As his fingers tightened around you and he leaned back down to seize your lips again, a giggle bubbled out of you and your palms swept up to his chest to keep him at bay, “not here!”

And just then, as your husband’s kisses began to bloom across your skin once more, burning so hot you nearly gave in, a pair of tiny footsteps echoed throughout the courtyard. 

“Uncle Buck! Uncle Buck!” 

Turning around, both of your glances fell upon the little princess that appeared around the central fountain.

“Cora, isn’t it well past your bedtime?” Bucky cocked his head gently. 

“Papa promised I could dance one last time and you never gave me all of yours!” Cordelia demanded with a raised finger, “you still owe me one.”

Sucking in a breath, he nodded lightly, “I did promise you five, didn’t I?” and his gaze flickered up to spot the king as he caught up to his daughter.

Catching the tail end, Steve’s brows shot up, “she made you agree to five?” 

“Well, I don’t know how to say no to that face,” the fellow warden beside you shrugged and gestured down to the little girl, “I mean look at her!” 

Letting out a soft sigh, the king then tilted his head as a light plea flowed out past his gentle smile, “Bucky, please just dance with my daughter or she won’t let me tuck her into bed.”

Taking a step further away from you, Bucky then smiled down at the princess, “your highness,” and offered her his hand, “shall we?”

Snatching it up, a bright giggle then billowed out of the little girl as she dragged him back inside. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ Cleaning with Lee Know ‗ ❍

Pairing : Lee Know x f reader

Summary : chapter two of a cute standalone miniseries. It's what it says in the title

Genre/ Warnings : scenario/imagine/headcanon, drabble, it's fluff, minho runs the house like the mf military, but he's also best boyfriend #2 so it's okay, pet name 'kitten' used endearingly and not sexually (you're his fourth cat why lie), a lil suggestive but no smut

Word count : 780 words

A/n : none

ps: There could be grammar errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

masterlist

series masterpost

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Living with Lee Minho was mostly fine. It really was. More than fine, actually. He is a great cook, he takes care of the pets, he's clean, he's tidy. What more could you ask for in a partner? Especially when you shared an apartment.

The thing is that, when it came to cleaning specifically, he was strict with it. Not constantly, like he wouldn't yell because a couple of plates were still in the sink after dinner or because you forgot to clean the cat's litter.

But let's say, once every two-three weeks he would just wake up super early and just completely overthrow the house upside down. Seven am sharp, headphones in his ears, a pair of gloves and by eight the house would be already a mess.

The kind of mess that you have to create before eventually fixing everything back up, but a whole war zone nonetheless.

He would let you know that he planned on doing this a bit earlier, but he wouldn't force you to work with him. But yes, of course you were helping, otherwise what kind of shit girlfriend would you be?

You were lucky enough that you found a man who's basically the whole package, better treat him right. Besides, working with four hands is always going to get thing done faster than two.

He didn't wake you, so by the time you woke up at least an hour had already gone by. Which kinda bothered you, but it was also sunday so...it's gonna be fine.

You got up, preparing yourself for the absolute mess you were going to find, and sure enough, you were right. Suddenly you felt something against your leg, which made you look down quickly.

"Oh hi, my darling, good morning" you cooed at one of the red and white cats, and as soon as he meowed you knew it was Doongie. You smiled, bending down to pet him a bit as he purred.

"Poor baby, did your dad already disrupt your beloved beds? It's okay, I'll make sure to clean those first."

At that point you walked in the kitchen, seeing Mr. Clean himself scrubbing the sink while humming softly to himself. As if he felt your presence, he turned his head back giving you a small smile.

"Good morning kitten" the pet name always made you smile, so you walked up behind him, giving him a back hug and a kiss on the neck. Then backing up, coughing jokingly.

"Ew you're already all sweaty" you whined as you took off his headphones.

"Well it's hot as fuck outside and working does, generally, make you sweat." he replied, throwing the sponge in the sparkling clean sink and wiping his forehead with the back of his arm.

"I know, I know. I sweat twice as much, unfortunately. Except that you have the good genes so you basically don't smell. And look annoyingly attractive." he laughed as he walked to you, who were standing in front of the fridge taking out the stuff to make coffee.

"You don't smell bad either. I actually quite enjoy your scent" he jokingly sniffed your neck, tickling you, which made you giggle and push him a bit.

"You're such a cat. That, or the pheromones must be working overtime" you poured the water to make the coffe.

"Whatever, you smell good and only you could get me horny at-" he glanced at his wrist watch, "Eight twenty in the morning. Call it hormones, black magic, whatever" you laughed.

"Well it was you who decided to get the whole house upside down...so now you gotta wait for the reward." he whined jokingly as you smirked.

"Well then we better hurry up, just in time for a nice afternoon...nap"

---

As you usually would, you ended up splitting the chores or the parts of the house. Sometimes you'd have the task to clean the floors while was cleaning all the shelves and surfaces, so you'd go back and forth around the apartment, sharing a kiss or usually him a playful butt slap.

Other times while you cleaned the bedroom, he'd clean the bathroom so you would communicate through very loud and mostly-purposefully off key singing while the background playlist played from the tv in the living room.

Yes, he would run the list of chores like the military, but at the end you could both enjoy a fresh, clean and amazing scented house. And usually some good delivery to reward yourselves. And also because at that point you'd probably be too exhausted to cook or annoyed to already get the newly cleaned kitchen dirty.

So you'd save the energy for *other things*;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction Masterlist

Cover Art by @seochngbin 🤍❤️🖤

Ao3 Link - Latest Update (September 29th) - Chapter Forty-One

⚔️ Updates every other week ⚔️ Character Descriptions World Map ot8 x reader Stray Kids Fantasy!AU 18+ MDNI

WARNINGS: THIS STORY CONTAINS HEAVY THEMES OF VIOLENCE, GENOCIDE, SEXUAL ASSAULT, HATE CRIMES, AND OTHER SENSITIVE TOPICS.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Swordfighting, Magic, Eventual Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Romance, Adventure, Fighting, High Fantast, Slow Burn, Extremely Slow Burn, Plot Heavy

Summary:

“No.” Your voice was stern, your eyes didn’t even look up from the plate in front of you. A healthy helping of roasted potatoes being pushed around by the metal fork in your hand.

“I am offering you a hefty sum of gold,” the man’s voice pleaded with you.

“I am well aware of the amount you offer, but you must think me mad to go anywhere near Miroh.”

“Thrice the amount, then.”

You paused.

Swallowing your mouthful of food, you placed your fork back on the table; tonguing your cheek and shifting on your seat.

Individually, you cracked each knuckle on both hands, your mind reeling.

“Explain the job to me once more.”

Chapter One - Thrice The Amount Chapter Two - Stained Glass Window Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows Chapter Four - Sword Sparks Chapter Five - Careful, Merchant Chapter Six - Aye, My Lord Chapter Seven - Decree Chapter Eight - Twenty Laps Chapter Nine - Clear Your Plate Chapter Ten - By First Light Chapter Eleven - Permitted to Die Chapter Twelve - Rest Chapter Thirteen - Jump Chapter Fourteen - Quite Certain Chapter Fifteen - Serendipitously Chapter Sixteen - Make it in Three Chapter Seventeen - Hang in There Chapter Eighteen - Sunshine in the Night Chapter Nineteen - Dance Lessons Chapter Twenty - While Dancing Chapter Twenty One - Mend Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course Chapter Twenty Three - Tea With Sugar Chapter Twenty Four - Dagger Chapter Twenty Five - The Gracious Host Chapter Twenty Six - The Dove Waltz Chapter Twenty Seven - Imported Cigars Chapter Twenty Eight - Use Chapter Twenty-Nine - Between Two Walls Chapter Thirty - Missed You Chapter Thirty-One - Bonfire Chapter Thirty-Two - Music of the World Chapter Thirty-Three - Stay Here Chapter Thirty-Four - Ward Chapter Thirty-Five - Sunset Chapter Thirty-Six - Drums Chapter Thirty-Seven - The Horn of Miroh Chapter Thirty-Eight - Four Hundred and Thirteen Chapter Thirty-Nine - By The Six Chapter Forty - Mortal's Touch Chapter Forty-One - Rescue Mission

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [seven.five.]

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

— pairing; ot8 (general); 2.03k

— chapter warnings; death, death mentions, murder mentions

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

FIC WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping. this series is very dark, if you're uncomfortable with the subjects listed do not read. warnings will change but be listed in each chapter. there is no tag list for this series.

“Negotiating without your spark behind you is brave, Hongjoong. Many would rather have some semblance of power behind them when they speak,” the Seelie speaks, leaning against the stone pillar.

“Why would I be afraid of your kind in my land?” Hongjoong merely states, arms resting against the small of his back. His gaze flickers to the Seelie’s partner, a dry laugh escaping him. “I desired for a conversation alone, Yeonjun. How hard is that to follow?”

“I am not stupid. You have already killed Beomgyu, no? Why would I enter this putrid realm myself?” His words are filled with venom, eyes narrowing as he looks down at the Unseelie leader. Fearsome gazes do nothing to Hongjoong, only satiating his desire for negative emotions. So Hongjoong smiles, head tilted.

“We have yet to fortify our treaty. Deaths are increasing on both sides - my home territory needs to be moved soon. I cannot have Seelie interrupting while we enter another realm of rowan trees.”

“Afraid?"

“Merely bothered.”

“A bothersome act wouldn’t call for a meeting between us, Unseelie,” he glances back, waving off his partner. The man disappears, leaving the two leaders alone. “You have yet to atone for killing one of my own.”

“I will not allow you to take out any of my spark, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun laughs, his head thrown back to the skies. “I am not a buffoon, Hongjoong. My offer is a small price to pay for what you’ve done to my spark. Give up the human in exchange, and I vow to not interfere with Unseelie unless provoked.”

Hongjoong’s brows furrow, “You want the pet? Why?” His chest aches suddenly, but Hongjoong holds back his expression. What the hell was that?

Yeonjun’s smile only widens. “An Unseelie kills humans, Hongjoong. You wouldn’t have it around if it was not important to you.”

“If she is important to me, why do you think I’d give her up on a whim?”

“This discussion between us is not on a whim. It is either the human, or one of your spark’s lives. Make the decision. And soon, Hongjoong,” Yeonjun steps back, mist left in his wake.

He can feel that same ache again. He was not sure what exactly it was, the strange feeling scratching at his heart. He ignored it at first, pushing through the hallways, determined to finish his duties here so he could go back to his spark.

But then it grew painful.

Hongjoong stumbles as he crosses a threshold, gasping for breath. His fingernails grow, digging into the wooden slabs. Blood spills from his lips, splattering against the floor. The feeling is unlike anything he's experienced, but his body knows. He cannot tell who it is at first, his mind whirling. Until a part of him begins to tear at itself, ripping his heart from the inside out.

San.

“No.” He pushes past the pain, the phantom of a gaping hole in his chest. He hasn't been gone that long, how could this happen? Why isn't Hongjoong there now? His speech is stuttered as he stands, the air swirling in front of him. His incantation is slurred but he manages after a few seconds of struggle. The cloud flickers in and out of existence. He steps through just as it appears, body shifting into the garden of his home.

He does not see much at first.

His eyes flick up to the porch, a massive gap presenting itself to him. Glass shards are scattered across the wood. He thinks for a moment that he arrived in the aftermath, until shouting surrounds him. His steps are quick, hand out in front of him as he rips the doors from its hinges with quick incantations. The first thing he sees is Yunho and Yeosang in the midst of a fight with witchlings.

Little time passes between him watching the fight and tearing the witchlings apart, limbs dropping to the floor violently, blood splattering against his cheeks. The remaining creatures disappear from sight, leaving the solemn echoes of the hallway. Yeosang struggles to his feet, pushing past Hongjoong and falling to his knees in front of San. The wound on his body has not healed in the slightest, limp in Yeosang's arms. Hongjoong can barely stand as he looks at the sight, but he must. He looks around, entering your room.

Glass is scattered across the floor. The same scene he saw from the ground, the hold the size of the creatures, looking back at him. Wind rushes into the room as he makes his way forward. You're nowhere to be found and after a brief headcount, neither is Wooyoung. He cannot feel the loss of him, so he presumes that he is taken along with you. He runs his bloodied fingers through his hair, thoughts elsewhere.

Grief is not something he can let himself process now. He has to save Wooyoung. He has lost one, he cannot lose him too. Hands dig into his shoulder and turn him around. His eyes move up. Mingi's cold gaze on him. His eyes are vacant, mind elsewhere. Waiting for a command from his leader. Hongjoong’s lip trembles as he tries to speak, lids shutting. He cannot grieve for him right now. They rely on him, rely on his strength to pull them through. To save who he has left. He takes only a couple of seconds to pull himself together, sadness swallowed momentarily.

“Do you know where they came from? If the kumiho had something to do with it?” He asks Mingi.

“I–”

“Is that all you can say?” Seonghwa enters the room. Tears stain his cheeks, moist, tired eyes meeting his. He can feel the exhaustion through their spark’s connection, the feeling forcing Hongjoong to stagger ever so slightly. “San is dead, and that's all you can say?”

“I cannot afford to let myself grieve, Seonghwa. I have to save Wooyoung –”

“San… he…” Seonghwa rubs his face. “He sacrificed everything, everything to be with us. He turned against his own kind, forced himself to feast on tortured souls. He gave us his all, his life, and all you can say now is that you cannot grieve? Not even for a moment? Yeosang can barely hold himself together in there, your spark is hurt, and you cannot afford mere seconds to acknowledge the dead body?”

Hongjoong cannot respond. He cannot let himself wallow in sorrow. Not when there is so much to do. He dismisses Mingi with a small nod, letting him leave the room. Seonghwa's anger only grows at the silence, stepping forward. His fist grips Hongjoong’s shirt, knuckles digging into his chest.

“You are selfish, and you are pitiful. I am amazed that San even wanted to be with us when he saw you.”

Hongjoong reaches up, his fingers brushing against Seonghwa's chin. Seonghwa allows him to cup his cheek, grip loosening on his shirt. “You can say what you need to say to me after, Seonghwa. Would you like me to sink into my grief or help find Wooyoung?”

Seonghwa pushes his hand away, his anger only rises. “All you’ve ever done is care for Wooyoung and no one else. Even in death we are not enough for you, never the first thing on your mind.”

“Enough,” Yunho enters the room, glancing between them. His clothing is soaked in gore and blood, footwear sliding against the wooden slacks barely holding the floor together. Wounds cover his body, slowly healing. Mingi shadows him, gaze turned back to Yeosang’s grieving, hunched over figure only a few strides away. Jongho sits next to him, hand resting on his trembling shoulder. “We’ve lost so much already, we cannot lose each other and ourselves too.”

Hongjoong could have stopped the conversation long ago and demanded that Seonghwa stand down. Any other Unseelie leader would have barely acknowledged the death at all – likely twisting their face in disgust and burning the remains without thinking twice. It is what he has been taught, what has been passed down to him. But right now he cannot. He cannot just send San away without giving the others some time to accept what has happened. Give himself time to accept the cold, empty look in his eyes.

“How did this happen?” Hongjoong asks again, this time to no one in particular.

Seonghwa leaves with a flicker, Yunho and Mingi left alone with their leader. “We cannot say. Jongho mentioned something about pixies watching on the edge of the forest, but they wouldn’t summon these creatures. Seelie are incapable of controlling these beasts, especially when we just manifested the shield when we came back. No other majik should be able to penetrate the barrier. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“You think they attacked because I was not here?” Hongjoong looks behind Yunho, blood staining the floor in pools. “Would they have attacked even if I were?”

“It’s doubtful. A spark without its leader is greatly weakened in comparison to when they are here. They might have noticed you were absent and took that chance to attack. Taking y/n away makes sense since she is valuable, removing San–”

They can see how it pains Yunho, his lids tightening as he closes them. He takes a breath, before continuing.

“Removing San makes sense since he is powerful, but I just cannot wrap my head around taking Wooyoung. What purpose does it have – he is not even your second or third. He means much to us, sure, but in retrospect, his position in our spark is not as important.”

“Cruel words,” Mingi mumbles.

“Wooyoung knows how much he is cared for, he’d likely laugh,” Yunho says. “Still, my point remains.”

“Wooyoung is cared for,” Mingi speaks again. “He is important to us. The kumiho cares for him, and Hongjoong cares for him. The leader of all Unseelie favors one in particular. He is a weakness. They, whomever it is that has taken them, must know what they mean to us. They know what we’d do to have them back. It is strategic, Yunho.”

“Can you two give me a moment?” Hongjoong interrupts their speaking. “I agree with everything you are saying, but I need time. Not much, but just...”

“Understood,” Yunho nods. His fingers seek Mingi’s, theirs wrapping easily around each other. Before they leave, though, Yunho turns around. “Shall we do something with San?”

Hongjoong takes a slow breath. “Place him in our memorial chambers once Yeosang is … Do not light the flame yet and do not allow anyone else to. I need a moment to think.”

“Alright.”

They leave him in the room. Hongjoong whispers a spell into his palms, misting himself into his chambers. He locks the door behind him, taking slow steps into the room. It’s as he has left it, papers skewed about, books piled upon one another. The sinking feeling lets itself manifest in his chest, slowly rising up his torso. He slumps into his bed, the smell of rotting flesh enveloping him as he trembles.

He lost San.

It should not have been possible for any being, including Lilith's creatures, to break the barrier. It is what he has set up and has worked for centuries. Nothing should have been able to come in. To kill. Hongjoong could barely look at San’s body, the cold shell of what he once was. You would think that him being an Unseelie would have him used to seeing the dead. He killed his own spark leader, and that affected him less than seeing his mated gone. His teeth dig into his lips, breaking skin as he holds back his own wretched sobs. He lifts himself up from his sheets, gripping the wooden desk as he stands, looking over his work.

His eyes move to the side, caged spellbooks behind metal bars. His finger drags across his bloodied lip before pressing into the rounded button. Wooyoung would be able to protect the both of you himself momentarily. Losing this chance now would only make him lose San. The rusted bars creak open. He reaches for the one book he swore that he’d never use, flipping through the crusted pages until he lands on the spell he needs.

Necromancy.

[storiesbyrhi]

Complete series Total word count: 92,965 words Witch!reader x bat/vampire!Eddie Munson

No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople's wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, horror genre typical violence/infrequent gore, death/dying, animal death, suicide, abusive parents, death in childbirth (mentioned - not described), spiders/bug, no beta, grief/mourning; light smut; blood; murder

Extras: From 1586 to 1986 - our story's timeline The Grimoire - all the magical references Book cover art Eddie art

Chapters:

one: Eptesicus fuscus 2809 words A voice calls to you.

two: From sickness a reprieve 3443 words There are many different ways to heal.

three: A drop of witch's blood 2755 words When is a man, not a man?

four: Deserving of hex or death 3371 words An ye harm none, do what ye will.

five: A gateway to the woods 2562 words In honour and love.

six: To symbolise atonement and reconciliation 2714 words Death and transformation, or: how to unhex.

seven: I wasn't your burden to bear 2740 words Bury a candle and give allegiance.

eight: Lux solis urere hic malum 3051 words Death is here.

nine: That's the real monster 2962 words What is expected of us?

ten: This is holy work 2909 words Violence comes twofold.

eleven: A carnal fight of bodies 3046 words A witch will not fight alone.

twelve: I remember destruction 2777 words The timeline narrows and questions begin to find answers. 

thirteen: A question of morality 2882 words Warning... answers may lead to endings.

fourteen: The natural laws of magic and earth 3294 words We are our memories.

fifteen: Fade to black 3170 words Before death.

sixteen: Everything all at once 3515 words Liminal spaces.

seventeen: Where there is death 3668 words We speak to those beyond.

eighteen: A ghost in the memory 2552 words Magic for magic.

nineteen: Love and be loved 2292 words It's time to wake up.

twenty: Slit the throat of fear 3635 words A non-linear and incomplete series of vignettes.

twenty one: Your defense is me 2590 words Looming doom.

twenty two: I will not survive you 2918 words It's time for a family reunion.

twenty three: Our mutineer fate 3390 words In coven we trust.

twenty four: Come pleading for absolution 3124 words Pulling strings and aura reading. 

twenty five: Continue to delight me 2738 words Homeward bound.

twenty six: No new monsters 2994 words Life goes on.

twenty seven: Deep, dark catacombs of my soul 2888 words To build a home. (bonus: Little Witch's Moody Midnight Mix Tape)

twenty eight: A monument to witchcraft and love 2340 words You are wide awake. (bonus: Little Witch and Eddie's Home inspo board)

twenty nine: Seven witches and a vampire 3676 words Seven witches and a vampire walk into a human Halloween party in Hawkins, Indiana.

thirty: Echo through time forever more 2172 words The promise of snow in the shadow of a falling curtain.

thirty one: Night Bloom 4047 words The end.

[mint-yooxgi]

{12} - Paradise Gardens - Yandere!Demonic Entities!Ateez X Reader

Yandere AU & Demon AU - Book Two to Hotel California

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humour

Pairing: Ateez X Reader (Focus on Seonghwa, and slight Wooyoung)

Words: 9,104

Warnings: Clingy Wooyoung. I honestly think that's it lmao This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, I know it's been forever since I updated this, or at least, it feels like it lmaoo I really hope this chapter makes up for the wait! I think it's really cute and fun. I've got a lot of stuff planned going forward, and quite a spicy scene next chapter hehehe As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven

If you thought Yeosang had been clingy after the first time the two of you had had sex, Wooyoung is ten times worse. You can hardly go anywhere in the house without him following you around, or showing up beside you suddenly in order to practically cling off of your side. He even goes so far as to appear beside you in the tub, a cheeky grin pulling at his features as he holds a rubber ducky in his one hand.

The first time he had done that, you had let out a shriek in surprise. One minute you had been alone, sliding into the warm water with your eyes falling shut in bliss. The next, you had opened them to see him sitting across from you, smiling like a mad man in love.

“Hi, Angel.” He had waved that rubber ducky held in his hand so casually before giving it a small squeeze. 

The squeak it let out almost served to mock the irritation you had been feeling. Of course, Yunho and Yeosang were quick to appear in the bathroom after that, having heard you shriek and all.

“Don’t you, ‘Hi, Angel’ me! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” You had smacked his arm, chest rising and falling dramatically as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Oh, no! My Angel is suddenly having breathing issues!” Wooyoung all too eagerly leapt at the opportunity to wrap you in his arms

A blink, and you have him in a headlock, clear irritation on your face.

“Can I not be alone? For five minutes?” You shake him lightly, feeling how his one hand rests almost lovingly against your arm wrapped around his throat.

“Well, I see you two are figuring things out.” Yunho chuckles.

“I just want to take a bath in peace.” You sigh.

You can practically feel the way Wooyoung deflates in your arms, and you just know that that all too familiar pout of his is pulling at his features. 

“I just want to spend time with you, Angel.”

“And you can’t do so wearing pants?” Yeosang gives his brother a once over, clear distaste on his features.

“Like you did any differently!” Wooyoung counters, still being held in that headlock by you.

That’s when you realize: oh, yeah, you’re naked, too.

That rubber ducky gets thrown in the direction of both Yunho’s and Yeosang’s heads. “Get out!”

“It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, Petal.” Yunho chuckles, easily catching the rubber ducky in his hand.

“I don’t care!” You begin tossing more small items in their direction while shoving Wooyoung out of the tub. “Privacy is privacy, and I value mine!”

“Alright, Dearest.” Yeosang smiles, his shoulders shaking lightly as he grabs Wooyoung by his ear before the younger male can hop back into the tub with you. “We’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you, Yeosangie.” You return his smile with a relieved one of your own. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shoot them all a look. “No weird demon magic, or spying through the mirrors thingy, either.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Yunho hums, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Not even a moment later, the three males disappear from the room, leaving you to your thoughts once again.

At least you managed to get some time alone after that. However, Wooyoung was insistent of spending almost every waking moment he could with you. For two solid weeks, he would always be the one sitting beside you when you were eating, and somehow, he would manage to worm his way into your lap while you were reading in the library. He’d follow you around the house like a lost puppy, and nearly fight his brothers every night to be the one to sleep in your bed with you.

Finally, one night, you managed to convince him to give you some space. You dragged both Mingi and Seonghwa into your room before Wooyoung could appear and kick one of them out. Comfortably, you rested in bed, a male on either side of you, and just as you were drifting off to sleep, a weight suddenly laying on your chest had your eyes flinging open.

“Really?” Your bloodshot eyes bored a hole into the top of Wooyoung’s head as he clung onto you from overtop of your blankets.

“Wooyoung, you’re being too much.” Mingi sighs.

“If My Angel had a problem with it, she would say something.” Wooyoung replies, matter of factly.

“I have been begging you all week to let me breathe, Wooyoung.” You manage to bring a hand up to rub at the bridge of your nose. “We can’t always be attached at the hip.”

“Why not?” He pouts, staring up at you with those big, brown eyes of his.

“Wooyoung,” It’s Seonghwa who speaks this time, and at one look from him, the younger is shrinking in his spot. “Don’t make me call Joong.”

“Fine.” Wooyoung sighs, dejectedly slinking off of you, and off of the end of the bed.

Wooyoung slowly begins to make his way to your door, purposely dragging his feet. He glances over his shoulder, the look of a wounded animal resting on his features as he pleads with you silently to ask him to say.

“Goodnight, Wooyoung.” You say, somewhat pointedly as you turn to curl yourself into Mingi’s side.

The sound of your door clicking shut is the only response you get, and for some reason, even you can sense the way Wooyoung is surely trudging down the hallway defeatedly.

Now, as you rest on your bed the very next day, you find yourself alone at last. The only person in the room with you is Kuroo, and he rests curled up in a little ball on top of your Snorlax beanbag chair. You swear you can almost hear soft little snores coming from that little ball of black fluff as you turn the page of your book. 

Finally, you have some peace and quiet.

Most of the other guys have been pretty good with you lately. Reluctantly, they’ve allowed Wooyoung the pleasure of clinging to you for the first few days after you had entered the dance studio of your own free will. Luckily, though, they’ve had your back more often than not. It seems last night might have been the final straw, for you haven’t heard anything from Wooyoung today.

A first in over two weeks.

Of course, you opt to hide out in your room, just in case. As much as you love spending time with him, he has been a little overbearing lately. You just want a breather. Plus, it’s not fair to the others that he gets to monopolize all of your time. You still have yet to see Seonghwa’s tailor shop since the incident, and if all goes well, you plan on visiting him there later today. For now, you just want to enjoy the peace and quiet solitude can bring.

About another hour passes by like this, with you simply reading alone in your room. That is, until you see a little black fluff jump onto the bed with you.

“Oh, hello, Kuroo,” you coo, immediately bookmarking your page and smiling down at the little cat crawling up from the end of your bed. The instant you place your book beside you, he’s nuzzling against your hand, blinking up at you with wide eyes. “How’s my little handsome fella today?”

A coo is all you receive back, Kuroo pushing his head harder against your hand.

“Oh, come here, you.” You chuckle, picking him up from beneath his front arms, and pulling him on top of your lap. “Aren’t you just the cutest!”

A happy chirp greets you this time, Kuroo practically climbing up your body to begin rubbing his face all over your neck and jawline.

That’s when you notice another pair of golden eyes still staring at you from on top of your Snorlax beanbag.

Your grip tightens around the black cat in your arms.

“Alright, Stinky,” you begin to move off of the bed with ‘Kuroo’ held tightly in your grip. “You have impeccable timing, Little One, because it’s time for your bath.”

The cat freezes in your arms, but only for a moment. A loud complaint is soon filed by Not Kuroo pretending to be the real one.

“Ah-ah, don’t be a little stinker,” you shake your head, managing to scruff him. You pull him off of you, shifting your arm to the side as you hold him tightly in your grip. “And don’t you dare try and claw me like the last time.”

There’s a false cheeriness to your tone as you glance down to see Not Kuroo almost curling in on himself while being held by the scruff of his neck. He glances up at you with pleading eyes, only to meet your overtly tight, albeit friendly, smile.

The two Kuroo’s lock gazes, and the one in your hand shrinks even further in on himself.

Entering the bathroom, you march right over to the tub. The instant you turn the faucet on, Not Kuroo begins wiggling in your hold to escape.

“Come on, Stinky, none of that.” You lift him so you’re eye level. “Don’t you want to be a good boy for Your Queen?”

At the way you quirk a brow, Not Kuroo immediately stops squirming.

“I think the water should be the perfect temperature by now,” you smile, somewhat maliciously.

If this doesn’t teach him a lesson, you don’t know what will.

You don’t even bother to check the temperature as you dunk Not Kuroo beneath the rushing stream. You can feel the icy chill on the tips of your fingers, but you hold tight, submerging him for a good thirty seconds to ensure he’s soaked by the time you pull him out.

Turning off the faucet, you don’t even bother to grab a towel as you exit the bathroom. All the while, you continue to hold Not Kuroo by the scruff of the neck, water dripping in a trail behind you as you head towards the game room.

The moment San notices you enter the room, his attention is on you. His gaze darts from your overtly cheery expression to the soaking wet cat held in your hand.

Both Jongho and Mingi burst out laughing.

“Where’s Hongjoong?” You ask, tone dripping nothing but sweetness.

The cat in your hand tenses.

“He went out to feed with Yunho and Yeosang.” Jongho informs you, a knowing grin pulling at his lips as he stares directly at the cat in your hand.

A long sigh escapes you.

“What happened?” Mingi quirks a brow, looking between you and the cat.

“Stinky boy needed a bath,” you reply, lifting the cat so you can stare directly into his eyes. “Isn’t that right, Wooyoung?”

The cat’s mouth falls open, and in the blink of an eye, you’ve tossed him in the direction of his brothers. Wooyoung takes the liberty to shift mid-air, water droplets flinging off of him and onto the surrounding males.

“Hey! Watch it, Woo!” San flicks some of the water droplets off of his arm.

San gets completely ignored in favour of Wooyoung attempting to stand back to his feet and go after you. Only, he doesn’t get very far, as he sees you practically looming over him while he rests on his knees.

“I just wanted a day.” You sigh, rubbing at your tired eyes. “A day without you trying to magic your way into monopolizing all of my time.”

“Angel-“

“It’s been two weeks Wooyoung.” Your sharp gaze meets his own, his eyebrows drooping dramatically. “Two weeks.”

“You have been a bit much recently, Woo.” San chimes in.

“Like you’d be any different!” Wooyoung rounds on San.

The elder simply raises his hands in his own defence.

“I have asked you repeatedly to give me space, and you have not.” There is nothing but irritated disappointment on your features as you sigh. “Do you think posing as Kuroo works in your favour right now?”

A pointed coo from the real Kuroo as he walks into the room has Wooyoung’s eyebrow twitching.

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” his voice is but a whisper as he looks down at his hands.

“I understand that, Woo.” You crouch in front of him in order to get him to meet your gaze. “But you have to understand that I also value my downtime. We’ve been spending almost twenty-four hours with each other every day for a little over two weeks. That’s not fair to me when I’ve asked you for a little breathing room, nor your brothers. Do you not think that they also want to spend some time with me, too?”

“They haven’t said anything…” he mutters.

“We’ve tried.” Mingi grumbles out a response, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You have to understand that there are eight of you, and only one of me. I cannot be in multiple places at once, and you can’t always hog me to yourself.” You go on to say. “I don’t mind a day here or there where it’s just us, but you’ve got to learn that me saying that I need some time to myself, or me asking you to give me space does not mean that I don’t want you anymore, or that I don’t love you, or that I never want to see you again.”

The whole room is silent for the moment, save for the slow, consistent drip of droplets that continue to fall from the ends of Wooyoung’s damp hair.

“Okay.” His voice is small as he continues to kneel before you.

A blink, and you’re pointing at the other three. “I count you all in this, too.”

“We know, Baby.” San smiles faintly, a certain reminiscent gleam in his eyes.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you nod once at them, moving to exit the room.

“So, which was worse?” Jongho moves beside his brother kneeling on the floor, purposely speaking loud enough so that you can still hear. “Being a drowned rat, or a dead fly?”

Your eyebrow twitches and you freeze halfway through the door.

A loud shushing sounds behind you, followed by the sound of frantic movement.

Slowly, you turn to look over your shoulder. Both of your eyebrows are currently raised in disbelief as you see Wooyoung half moving to put Jongho into a headlock.

“Do I even want to know what that’s supposed to imply?” You look between the two youngest, one of which is wearing a shit eating grin.

“Don’t you worry, Angel-“

“Remember that time you thought a fly got into your room?” Jongho’s eyes gleam with a twisted sense of amusement.

Your brow furrows, body fully turned back towards them for a moment. You notice how the two others opt to remain silent, watching on with a sense of glee shining on their features.

“A fly?” You tilt your head slightly, resting your hands on your hips as you try and recall the memory. “Oh, yeah! That was-“ your breath hitches in your throat as you turn your suddenly sharp gaze towards Wooyoung. “That was you?”

It had been during the second week at the start of this whole fiasco. You had just gotten out of the shower and had finished changing back into your moping attire for the evening when you had heard a fly buzzing around your room. You didn’t even clue in that it could have been Wooyoung after learning of his powers, considering it happened so long ago. Besides, you had other things on your mind, like how you were going to escape this ‘hotel’ you had seemingly been held captive in.

Of course, you weren’t having any sort of fly in your room, and instead of calling one of the guys for help, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Besides, it’s not like you were really on speaking terms with them at that point.

So, rolling up the closest thing you could find, which just so happened to be a magazine Jongho had left for you that day, you decided to go fly hunting. A lucky smack, and the fly was upside down, legs twitching in the air before being scooped up and dropped outside onto the balcony.

Oddly enough, Jongho was the one who came to check on you after hearing the noise you had made by smacking the fly. Now that you think about it, of course.

“I can explain.” Wooyoung immediately lifts his hands in his own defence.

“So, you shifting into animals to spy on me isn’t a new thing?” You sigh.

“It’s not like I’m the only one who did it!” Wooyoung attempts to counter, only for Jongho to casually start walking away from him, an innocent look pulling at the younger male’s features.

“Why does this not surprise me?” You shake your head, moving to exit the room in the next moment.

“Wait! Angel!” Wooyoung scurries after you, managing to catch you halfway through the foyer. “I’m sorry!”

“Wooyoung-“

“It was stupid of me to do those things,” he continues, practically clinging off of you as you attempt to continue to make your way to the opposite side of the house.

“Wooyoung-“

“I promise I’ll never do them again,“ he slides down your body, practically clinging onto your one leg with every step you take.

You sigh, half dragging him across the floor as he desperately holds onto your ankle. Your clothes begin to become damp from the water still dripping off of him. “Sunshine-“

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Wooyoung!” You stop just outside of Seonghwa’s tailor shop, noticing the elder male look up from whatever he’s working on from within.

Only, from the way Wooyoung continues to babble at your feet, grovelling with every word, you let out another sigh. Pleadingly, you turn to look at Seonghwa through the glass of the door, begging him silently to help you.

A blink, and Seonghwa is staring down at Wooyoung from the open door with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Wooyoung.” The elder says the younger’s name, quite pointedly at that.

“I just wanted to spend time with you, Angel.” He pleads for you to understand, his eyes wide as he looks up at you.

“I know, Woo.” You sigh. “I’m not mad. In fact, I’m more upset at Jongho right now for essentially pulling a San.”

“Hey!” A loud complaint sounds from down the hallway from the elder male.

“Marshmallows.” You call back, which immediately shuts him up. Then, you’re turning your attention back to the soaked male clinging to your leg. “Besides, we just agreed that you were going to give me space.”

“But-“

“Should I tell Joong to come back early?” Seonghwa mentions casually. “We all know the consequences of not respecting Our Queen’s boundaries.”

This has Wooyoung immediately back on his feet, straightening out your shirt for good measure.

“I’m not disappearing, Woo. I can promise you that.” You pat his arm lightly. “Now, go apologize to Kuroo for impersonating him while he was in the room.”

“Fine.” He sighs, trudging back down the hallway.

“And go wrestle your younger brother for being a shit disturber, or something.”

This has him immediately perking up, a sly grin tugging at his features. A quick turn from him, and he’s shifted to place a kiss onto your cheek before racing back down the hallway once more.

A shriek in the distance is all you hear that Wooyoung is most certainly doing something to get back at Jongho right now.

Turning back to face Seonghwa, an amused grin pulls at your lips. You notice he already wears one of his own, you shaking your head lightly while smiling to yourself. At least that seems to be dealt with now.

“May I come in?” Your inquiry is nothing short of sweet as you step towards Seonghwa.

“Of course, My Divine.” His answer is instant as he holds the door open for you. “Join me any time you’d like. You never have to ask.”

Gently, you place a kiss onto his cheek as you walk passed, letting that serve as your answer. Briefly, your eyes take in the familiar sight of his tailor shop, many different memories flooding your mind.

“What are you working on?” Your gaze catches on a bust in the centre of the room, different than what you’re used to.

“Well,” the soft sound of the door closing echoes throughout the room as he walks over to you. A blink, and he’s wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as he stands behind you. “My Divine requested corsets for all of us, so I thought I should work on those today.”

Your hands come up to rest over his arms, leaning further into his touch as you relax into him. “Whose are you working on right now?”

“Yeosang’s.” He replies, and you both shift your eyes to look at the bust before you.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you fully take in the detail of the corset before you. It’s a light cream in colour, with golden detailing along the seams. The style is over the shoulders, the placement of the fabric appearing as if the corset is layered. The light colour, combined with the almost intricate detailing of such a simple design has your heart fluttering at the mental image of Yeosang wearing such a thing for you.

“It’s beautiful, Hwa.” You breathe, eyes continuously taking in every minute detail

“I’m glad you like it.” He chuckles, burying his face into the side of your neck.

“Have you made any others, yet?” You turn slightly in his arms, subconsciously tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

Seonghwa hums in response, “I’ve made yours.” A pause. “And mine.”

Subtly, your fingers press a little firmer against his arms.

“Would you like to see?” There’s an undertone of excitement to his inquiry, along with a hint of nervousness.

“I would love to.” You smile, managing to turn your head to place a kiss against his temple.

Parting from you somewhat reluctantly, Hwa disappears off to the side, pulling out two separate busts. He places the first one beside Yeosang’s, but the other, he purposely hides behind his back for now.

“This one is mine.” He says, motioning to the newly placed corset resting beside Yeosang’s own.

A look of complete wonder rests on your features as you take in the detailing of the corset before you. It’s a bit simplistic in design, but still beautiful. The black material only serves to cover his lower torso, appearing to rest just below his bust. Intricate silver leaves are embroidered on the fabric, silver stitching lining the seams.

For a full minute, you do not speak. Instead, you cannot tear your vision away from the corset before you, your mind swirling with images of what Seonghwa will look like wearing such a piece of clothing for you.

You swallow thickly, you lips parting, “It’s beautiful.”

It’s hardly noticeable, but his shoulders seemingly sink in relief at your words. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“I can’t wait to see you in it.” Comes your earnest reply, shifting your gaze over to meet his own.

“Well, if you like those, then I’m now certain you’ll love your own.” The corner of his lips quirks upwards as he steps aside to reveal your own corset to you.

A gasp escapes you as your hands come up to cover your mouth. You can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as your eyes go wide, nothing but excitement and love flooding your veins.

Before you rests one of the most intricate corsets you have ever seen in your entire life. The base is pure white, golden threads running throughout the fabric. Embroidered florals and leaves rest along the bodice, while the seams are lined with more of that striking gold. It’s strapless, with a slight sweetheart neckline at the top.

The exact inverse to his own corset’s design, but almost the exact same colouring to Yeosang’s.

“Seonghwa,” you manage to lower your hands as you meet his somewhat nervous gaze. “I love it!”

A radiant smile is immediately taking over his features. “You do?”

“Of course I do!” You take a step towards him to inspect the detailing of the corsets closer. “These are all incredible! Did you hand stitch these?”

“It took me some time, but I finally found a pattern I thought could suit us.” He shrugs off your words casually.

“You mean to tell me that you embroidered these yourself?” You lips part in awe.

“If it’s for someone important to me, I make all of the patterns myself.” He nods, averting his gaze somewhat shyly.

A few more steps, and you’re in front of him, cupping his cheeks gingerly in your hands.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” You gently guide his gaze to your own.

His lips twitch upwards in the corners, a warmth beginning to bloom beneath your hands and upon his cheeks.

“My Divine asked, and I am more than happy to deliver.” He whispers.

Again, you place a kiss upon his cheek.

“They’re all going to be matching, aren’t they?” You smile, turning to face the corsets once more.

“In one way or another, ours will all bear some resemblance to your own.” Seonghwa confirms, wrapping his arms around you from behind for the second time this day.

“Something tells me you have some idea when we’ll be wearing these.” You tease, poking his arm lightly.

“I do.” He hums. “Your coronation ceremony.”

Your body goes still in his arms, “Uh…”

“Don’t worry, My Divine,” he chuckles. “That’s still quite some time away.”

“But there will be one at some point.” You respond.

“At some point, yes.” He confirms, and you can hear the amusement in his voice. “We still have to officially crown you as our Queen, you know.”

“Right,” You nod a few times slowly. “I guess with all that’s going on lately, I forgot about that little detail.”

“Well, it’s not quite a little detail to us.” He grins. “We’ve been thinking about it far longer than you could ever imagine.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” You tease, leaning further back into his chest.

“I was hoping for that dress to be what you wore for the ceremony, but unfortunately it seems that fate had other plans.” Seonghwa’s words are low as he exhales disappointedly.

This time, you tense.

“Seonghwa, I-“

“Wasn’t it you who told me to stop apologizing for the things that we can’t control?” He’s quick to cut you off, turning you around so that you’re facing him. Gently, he grasps your chin in his one hand, holding your gaze with his own. “All that incident told me was that I could make something better. Something truly worthy for you, and I think I already have.”

Your eyes dart beside you, almost searching for that corset that you know is just resting behind you for the moment.

“Yes, I decided to approach things from a new angle. Starting with those corsets have breathed new life into my designs.” He smiles, shifting his hand over to cup your cheek. “I know we have discussed it before, but it is important for me to say it again now: I do not, and I will never blame you for what she did. Inside of these walls, out there,” his eyes dart to the hallway, “Anywhere, or for anything for that matter. I don’t want you thinking that I do. We’ve had our disagreements in the past, but please, My Divine, never believe I would ever think for a single second that you are at fault for what she has done. I am simply glad you are safe, and most importantly, still alive.”

Your expression softens, and you find yourself lifting a hand up to rest on top of his own over your cheek. Leaning into his touch, your eyes flutter closed.

“I appreciate that, Hwa,” you breathe. “Know that I don’t blame you, either. What she did to me, to us, does not rest on your shoulders. I know you tend to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, and if you’re still having doubts, I will be here to ease them all from your mind.”

For a moment, nothing more is said between the both of you. Instead, you opt to revel in this silence, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, and as you both cradle each other so gently in each other’s hands, you both know that everything will be okay.

“So,” a mischievous glint begins shining within your gaze as your eyes dart beside you once again, “Can I try it on?”

Ten minutes later, and you find yourself standing directly in front of that same three way panelled mirror as the very first time you entered his tailor shop. Seonghwa rests behind you, tying off the last string to the corset before fluffing out the skirt of the dress he’s temporarily paired with it.

Finally, he takes a step back to admire you.

You hear the hitch in his breath before you even lift your head to meet his gaze in the mirror. Though, this time when he steps up behind you to gently place his hands onto your hips, you don’t tense.

“How you become more beautiful every time I look at you escapes all sense of logic and reason.” He breathes out, the ghost of his breath tickling the side of your neck.

The giggle you give him in response is music to his ears.

“You never seem to hold onto logic whenever you’re around me.” You tease, smoothing out the front of the skirt you’re wearing.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” He places a tender kiss against your neck, right above your racing pulse. “You look breathtaking, My Divine.”

A bashful smile pulls at your lips, your heart racing in your chest. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Hwa makes his way to your front, trailing his hand delicately along your side as he does so. You can feel his gaze roaming every inch of your bodice as he comes to stand before you, his eyes dark, yet calculating.

“Are you comfortable? I didn’t do it too tight to begin with, but I can still make adjustments if need be.” He comments, glancing upwards briefly into your eyes.

“Everything feels fine, Hwa.” You assure him. “I am quite comfortable right now, and I mean that in more than one way.”

His eyes flash black, hands smoothing down your sides in a tender caress. He smiles. “I’m glad.”

“I mean it, Seonghwa.” Gently, you take his hands into your own, stepping down from that little platform in order to be closer to him. “I know you’ve been cautious this whole time since I entered here today of overstepping boundaries again.” The way you can feel his hands tense the slightest bit in your hold from your words says it all. “You don’t have to worry about that, anymore. You can touch me, Hwa. I promise I won’t run away this time.”

There is nothing but absolute adoration shining behind Seonghwa’s eyes as he meets your own. A love that you can feel in the way he gently squeezes your hands in his own. Even more so when he leans forward to place a tender kiss onto your forehead.

“Believe me, My Divine,” he keeps his voice low as he pulls away only to lean his forehead against your own. “You don’t realize how often my thoughts swirl with my desires for you. I’d just rather wait until after your coronation to rip this corset off of your body and take you in every and any way that you desire me to.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, “Oh.”

Seonghwa smirks. “Yes, ‘oh’.”

“Well, I might request that the corsets don’t get torn to shreds if we can help it.” You giggle. “Seems a waste to do so to such beautiful pieces of clothing.”

“I can always make more.” He quirks a brow.

“But none of them would be the first.” You rest your hands upon his shoulders. “They wouldn’t hold the same meaning.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he sighs, taking a small step away to admire you once more. “One of these days, I’m tearing one of my designs right off of you, though.”

“Something tells me you already have something in mind.” You grin knowingly.

“I’ve got a few things.” He hums, grinning right back.

Your eyebrows raise in amusement as you close the distance between the both of you once more. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers delicately lacing through the hair at the back of his neck.

“I’ll model for you anytime, Mars,” The words are but a sultry whisper on your lips, eyes hooding over as you stare deeply into his. “You just let me know the time and place.”

“Don’t give me even more ideas, My Divine,” His voice is but a low rumble as he pulls you flush against his chest. “You already know how hard it is for me to control myself around you.”

You lean into him closer, lips nearly ghosting his own.

His breathing deepens, hands tightening around your waist.

“Then, how delectable it will be when I finally let you indulge.”

A shudder caresses his spine, nothing but a low growl escaping his lips. 

Again, you giggle, pulling away from him with a vibrant smile on your lips. Turning slightly, you face the mirror beside you.

“I do like the style of this dress, though.” You say, acting completely oblivious to the raging storm of desire you’ve just ignited within Seonghwa who is barely controlling his breathing while standing right beside you. “You just had this laying around?”

“Believe it or not,” his voice is a little strained as he attempts to calm himself down, “I’ve had quite a few things already made for you for some time now.”

This piques your interest. “Oh?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time making things for you, My Divine.” He clears his throat lightly, straightening himself. “Yunho isn’t the only one with you as his muse.”

Your heart warms, a loving smile tugging at your features. “I am glad to be able to inspire you so.”

A tender smile in response is all that you get.

“Does this mean you still have all of those dresses from that first dinner?” You tilt your head, nothing but curiosity reflected in your eyes.

“I do.” He nods once in confirmation.

A moment later, Seonghwa has moved off to the side, pulling a curtain back to reveal a row of dresses hanging delicately along a rack. Familiar dresses. The only one that’s missing is his.

Realization crosses your features, those all too familiar mental strings flashing in your mind. 

“You made all of them. Not just for me, but for them, too.”

His lips twitch upwards in the corners, “They told me what they wanted, and I did my best to bring their visions to life.”

You step towards the rack, gazing at the dresses akin to how you looked at them the very first time you saw them. Delicately, you pull each one out to take in the full detail.

“Of course Wooyoung would make his a wedding dress,” you chuckle, looking over the beadwork of the princess style ballgown.

“You can’t blame the man,” Seonghwa chuckles along with you. “We were all eager for you to finally come to us.”

“Believe me,” you meet his gaze, moving on to the lavender gown next. “I know.”

Again, you pull out the satin material, noticing how the thin straps give way to a very low back. The triangle cups on the front before the bodice begin also leave no room to the imagination.

“I do love the style of this dress, but there was no way I was going to wear it back then.” You gently rub the smooth material between your thumb and forefinger. At the mildly confused look Seonghwa gives you, you’re quick to continue, “Open invitation to stare at my chest; my boobs would have been practically falling out.”

Seonghwa nearly tumbles over while standing upright.

“I’m not about to go to dinner with men that I don’t know with my chest on full display.” You joke.

“We would have been respectful!” Seonghwa immediately attempts to defend both himself and his brothers.

“Right.” You snort out a laugh. “And Yeosangie isn’t a boob’s guy.”

The tips of Seonghwa’s ears being to burn bright red.

“In his favourite colour, no less.” You hum, clearly amused. “Granted, he’s much more subtle than some of your brothers. Mingi isn’t very good at hiding when he’s staring at my ass, his gaze can be quite intense. Thinks he being subtle, too.”

“I’ll let him know.” Seonghwa clears his throat.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” you turn to meet Seonghwa’s gaze briefly, a smile tugging at your lips. “It’s nice to know I’m wanted.” You turn back to the row of dresses. “Though, maybe keep the eye-fucking for when we’re not in public, yeah?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Seonghwa grins, a small chuckle escaping him. “Though, I can’t promise you much.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you shoot a playful wink in his direction before pulling out the emerald green dress next. “Speaking of dear Mingles.”

“If anyone but you called him that, they’d be decapitated by now.” Seonghwa jokes, shifting to pull out his chair before taking a seat to continue watching you go through all of the dresses he made for you for that one night.

“Good thing I’m not just anybody.” You grin, observing the way the material of the strapless goddess wrap falls from the hanger. 

The material pinches in one place on the left side, allowing for a sort of angled hemline which ends just above your knees. The wrap of the dress is meticulous, silver gems serving to pin the wrap in place, glittering beneath the lights of the tailor shop around you.

“No,” he agrees with a hum, leaning back in his seat as he observes you with a loving gaze, “you’re not.”

Moving on to the next gown, you pull out what had been your second choice for that evening all those months ago. 

The red dress is just as beautiful as you remember, the capped sleeves giving way to the sweetheart neckline. Tulle flows from the waistline and all the way to the floor in a seamless line, accentuating the length of the gown. Though, as you pull the skit, you realize that there seems to be a slit running all the way up the side, hidden beneath the layers of fabric.

Your eyebrows raise in amusement.

“Do you think it would have been easier or harder for me to stab him wearing his dress?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone as you turn to face Seonghwa once more.

“My Divine, I think you underestimate the power you hold when we see you wear something of our own design.” He remarks. At the way you quirk a brow, he continues, “If you wore that dress for him… hell, if you wore anything red for him, you could get him to do anything that you want. No questions asked.”

Your eyes widen significantly, pure mirth dancing within. “Good to know.”

“The same goes for every single one of us.” He sighs, somewhat dreamily as he rests his elbow on the arm of his chair. His head is in his hand, and you can just tell by that fond look in his eyes that he’s vividly reminiscing you wearing his own gown for him all those long months ago.

The next dress you pull out to look at is a beautiful bright yellow. It’s strapless, and the skirt falls like a waterfall - short in the front before it lengthens in the back. The material is chiffon, wrapping around the bodice in a sort of layered pattern.

“Simple, yet elegant.” You comment. “It’s fitting for Yunho.”

“He has always been a simple man, in that sense.” Seonghwa agrees.

That soft smile rests on your features as you delicately place Yunho’s dress back onto the rack. Almost lovingly, you trace your hands over the fabric one last time before moving on to the soft pink dress right beside it. Pulling it off of the rack, you hum.

The lightness of the fabric falls delicately against your one hand as you see the over the shoulder straps. There seem to be two sets: one the would hang just over your collarbones, while the other falls just past your shoulders, both thin yet sturdy. The style reminds you of old fantasy games, where fairies would wear pastels, their wings fluttering behind them. The ruffled seam along the top leads into the straps that fall just over your shoulders, bodice form fitting while the skirt falls delicately in a solid piece of soft fabric to rest just below your knees.

“Sometimes, I forget how soft you all can be.” You hum pleasantly, heart swelling as you place San’s dress back onto the rack.

When you first met San, you interpreted him to be all sharp angles and brute strength. At least, that’s how he appeared to you.

A vision of him purposely flaunting himself off beside the pool flashes through your mind briefly. 

Now, of course, you know differently, and this dress only serves to prove what you already know.

You smile.

Last, but certainly not least, you pull out the final dress in the row.

The youngest’s dress is probably the shortest of the bunch, the deep maroon accenting the black velvet pattern of roses found throughout. It’s quite simple in design, small slits on either side along the edges of the skit to make moving in the dress easier. The top is strapless, body formfitting.

“Something tells me Jongho was hoping a little too hard for this one.” You quirk a brow, turning to look at Seonghwa who suddenly avoids your gaze. “Ohoho, so he wasn’t the only one hoping for this one.”

“If we’re being honest, it was my second choice.” Seonghwa mumbles, still not being able to meet your eyes.

“Do I want to know?” You tease, nothing but amusement shining in your eyes.

“I wasn’t the only one!” Seonghwa attempts to defend himself, raising his hands in front of his chest.

“Yes, Mars, we’ve established that.” You chuckle. “It’s a wonder the shortest dress is the most popular.”

“Nothing to do with it being the tightest, either…” He mumbles, clearing his throat quite loudly afterwards.

You laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides as you begin teasing them about being your ‘damn horny Kings’ yet again.

“How you managed to get my measurements right is beyond me.” You shake your head, tutting lightly.

“It took me some time, but I do have almost perfect spacial reasoning.” He replies, somewhat nonchalantly.

You raise a hand, shaking your head lightly, “I don’t even want to know.”

“You seemed curious.” He shrugs.

“Wait, how long did it take you to make these?” Your brow furrows slightly as you shift your gaze back to the dresses on the rack beside you.

Seonghwa takes a moment to think about his answer, humming lightly to himself. “Probably about three months. Give or take a week.”

“Three months?” Your eyes nearly bug right out of your head.

“Yeah, I worked on them practically non-stop.” He recalls. “I mean, my own design took me the longest with all of the lace, but if I set my mind to something, it normally doesn’t take me very long to do. Or, well, create.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times before his words are truly sinking in.

“Seonghwa,” you turn to him, “How long did it take you to make your dress for me?”

He pauses, looking upwards as he mentally tallies the days. “About a month.”

You mouth falls open. “You spent a month working on a single dress? For me?”

“I had to make sure it was perfect.” He shrugs.

Your expression softens as you move to kneel before him as he rests in his chair. Ever so gently, you clasp his hands in your own, his words from earlier echoing throughout your head.

“You weaved the lace by hand, didn’t you?” Your inquiry is a bit airy, warmth swelling in your chest as you stare deeply into his eyes. “Just like you embroidered this by hand, too.”

The way he glances down at the corset you wear is answer enough, but he still nods softly along with your words.

A tender smile graces your lips. “You are incredible, you know that?”

Again, he averts his gaze somewhat bashfully. “It’s not much.”

“Seonghwa, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You glance up at him through your lashes.

“To be fair, you said it yourself, we’ve had quite a few rough patches already.” He once again shrugs your praise off. “It never felt like the right time, and I didn’t want it to appear like I was boasting.”

You’re silent for a moment, pursing your lips slightly as you appear deep in thought.

“What’s on your mind, My Divine?” His hand gently cupping your face has you meeting his gaze once more.

“I wish I had known.” There’s a slight downturn of your lips, a hint of guilt shining behind your eyes. “I had an inkling you had made it for me, but I didn’t realize the extent you went to.”

“It’s alright, My Divine,” Seonghwa chuckles fondly. “You don’t need to feel bad for this.”

“But I almost threw it off my balcony.” Nothing but pure regret pulls at your features.

“But you didn’t.” He reminds you.

“As scared, confused, and upset I was, I couldn’t do that to such a beautiful dress.” You admit lowly. “Especially not to one that actually made me feel beautiful after so long of believe I wasn’t.”

“I’m just happy to know you liked my design enough to choose it first.” He cups your face gently, placing a tender kiss onto your forehead.

“I should wear it again.” A casual admittance from you has him freezing right in his spot. “A dress like that shouldn’t be worn only once, Mars. It’s wasted sitting on a hanger, and not worn for its intended purpose.”

“You would wear it again?” He pulls away to meet your gaze, eyes shining with his barely contained awe and happiness. “For me?”

“I plan to wear everything you’ve ever made for me at some point, Hwa.” You admit lowly. “Everything you will make for me.”

His brow quirks teasingly, “Even the wedding dress?”

You grin right along with him, “Even the wedding dress.”

“I know for a fact that Wooyoung won’t be the only one who wants to see you in that.” His gaze drifts to the row of dresses behind you.

“I think your brothers have long since earned seeing me in their own dress designs.” You hum, turning your head to glance back at the aforementioned gowns. “As a treat.”

“You might want to time Jongho’s for when none of us are home, except him.” Seonghwa warns, helping you back to your feet as he stands from his chair. “You may not get to him if one of us sees you in that first.”

“Is that a promise?” You quirk a brow playfully.

“A Divine Temptress, that’s what you are.” Seonghwa shakes his head, stroking his thumb lovingly against your cheek.

“Only for My Kings.” You giggle, shooting him a playful wink as you walk back over to the stand.

Seonghwa follows behind, a fond smile on his features as he watches you step back onto that little pedestal. Again, you turn to face the mirrors, smoothing out the front of the dress as you examine your reflection closely.

All is silent for the moment as he looks you over carefully, noting the somewhat subtle twitch of your fingers over the material of the gown.

“You know you can tell me whatever is on your mind.” He voices softly. “If you don’t like something, I won’t be upset.”

You take a moment to straighten your spine before clearing your throat, “You said you haven’t started on the new dress to match this yet, right?”

“That is correct.” He confirms with a nod, a sort of amused gleam shining behind his eyes.

“I- uh-“ you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat, averting your gaze so sweetly to the side.

“Do you have something in mind?” Seonghwa is a little too eager when he asks this.

Softly, you nod your head. “But if you already have an idea, I don’t want to-“

“My Divine,” he cuts you off with a lighthearted chuckle, moving to stand in front of you. A second later, he gently grasps your hands in his own. “Never be afraid to ask me to make you something. I would be more than happy to create for you whatever vision you have in that beautiful mind of yours.”

A reassuring squeeze is felt against your hands.

“What if…” you trail off lightly before finally meeting his gaze. “What if we designed it together?”

Seonghwa goes so still, you swear he might pass out. That is, until he’s blinking rapidly, almost as if to clear tears from his vision.

“You want to design a dress with me?” His voice is a bit airy, coming out a bit choked from his overwhelming emotions.

At your eager nod, a brilliant smile stretches across his features. 

Again, he squeezes your hands, shaking them back and forth lightly in his excitement. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, you already have the corset,” you begin, an eager grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

He nods.

“So, I was thinking…”

A moment later, and you’re opening up your void to him, the mental image of you in a very specific dress filling his thoughts.

You can hear his sudden intake of breath, his eyes widening slightly as his heart stutters in his chest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer, his lips parting in awe at the vision that paints his mind.

Seonghwa clears his throat, swallowing the sudden dryness there. “I can do that.”

You smile, placing a kiss onto his cheek. “We can do that.”

Seonghwa laughs, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he wraps you into his arms. A moment later, and he lifts you into the air, spinning you around once as a joyous shriek of surprise escapes your lips.

“Hwa, put me down!” Your laughter strongly contradicts your statement as you hold onto his shoulders for support.

Gently, he settles you back onto your feet on that little pedestal. Still, he holds you to him, gazing at you with nothing but love and affection in his dark eyes.

“I love you, My Divine,” he squeezes you the slightest bit tighter as he says this. “So much.”

You smile tenderly at him, cupping his face softly in your hands. “I love you, Seonghwa.”

Briefly, his eyes dart down to your lips.

He swallows. “May I?”

You decide to tease him a little longer.

“May you, what?” You quirk a brow.

“May I kiss-“

He doesn’t even get a chance to finish his inquiry before your lips are on his own. 

A pleased hum reverberates in his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, one hand settling on the back of your head while the other rests between your shoulder blades. 

Kissing you is a feeling unlike any other to Seonghwa, and he revels in it each time. He can never get enough - your touch, your laugh, your smile - anything and everything about you, he adores, and he’s sure to pour all that he is into the movement of his lips against your own. You are all that he needs.

All too soon, you’re parting from him to rest your forehead against his own.

“You make me so incredibly happy, My Divine.” He breathes out, his eyes still closed as he absolutely revels in this moment here in time with you. “It means the world to me that you wish to design something together.”

“It’s like I told San before,” you reply lowly. “I want to spend more time with each of you doing what you love to do. You’ve all done so much for me, I think it’s time I return the favour.”

“My Queen.” The way his eyes shine with unshed tears says it all.

“I’m just sorry I can’t make anything like this for you, yet.” You briefly motion to the corset you’re still wearing.

“Well,” he laughs, “I do have a few thousand years on you.”

“Just a few.” You grin right along with him. “Maybe I’ll make you a scarf, or something.”

“A scarf?” He quirks a brow.

“I do know how to crochet, Mars.” You chuckle. “Though, you wouldn’t really have a use for it.”

“If you made me a scarf, I would never take it off.” He says, matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know how durable it would be constantly getting wet in the shower,” you hum, almost absentmindedly to yourself.

“You’ve never asked us for yarn before,” he mumbles, brow furrowing in thought.

“To be fair, there have been quite a few other things on my mind.” You poke his cheek lightly.

“I suppose you’re right.” He nods in agreement.

“You ‘suppose’?” You quirk a brow playfully.

“I, uh-“

“I’m just teasing you.” You hum, burying your face into the side of his neck as you hug him close to you. “Besides, I’m surprised my grandmother hasn’t told you that yet. I also know how to knit.”

“Surprisingly, I haven’t seen her around much, lately.” He replies, helping you straighten out the dress again once you part from him.

“I wonder why,” you mumble, somewhat absentmindedly to yourself.

“Baby!” 

Just then, the bell above the door to the shop jingles, and both you and Seonghwa are turning to see a frantic San rushing through the door. Both Mingi and Wooyoung are behind him, excitement shining within their eyes.

That’s when you notice, San seems to be holding onto your phone.

“It’s Vasco.” He says, holding out the phone to you with a large smile tugging at his features. “Crystal’s gone into labour.”

[bamboozledbird]

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.

[pandorasprongs]

EPILOGUE | you and me, always and forever.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

SUMMARY: jamie and reader go to liv's wedding and after, jamie has a magical moment of his own prepared.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: and welcome to the final chapter and epilogue of inthaf! i can't thank you all enough for reading and enjoying this story, and joining me on this ride. from the title and summary, i think you can tell what's going to happen and i hope you enjoy their happy ending!

"Marry me today, so you can get double the gifts!" Jamie proposed enthusiastically, but you shook your head profusely. Not because you thought it was a bad idea — you two were always trying to come up with ways to get more presents, — but because you knew you were both too young to get married.

Jamie, both disappointed by you turning down his proposal and the idea of more gifts, stands up from where the two of you were seated in the backyard and starts marching back inside the house with purpose. "I'll ask Auntie then if she'll let me marry you!"

"Jamie, you're such a dork! Hold on!" You chased after him.

"Oh, honey it was so sweet and so cute! He was so shy about it, too, you know. And I know you didn't like it when I mentioned it, and you were blushing so much even if you said you didn't want to marry Jamie! Oh, if they could see you two now, on the way to a real proposal this time..." 

Your mom trails off at the end, after going on a whole recap of the first time Jamie proposed to you (four more instances followed, each one getting less and less serious as you two got older).

"Mom, I'm glad you're happy that Jamie and I are together and I know you've been wanting grandkids, but please slow down. It hasn't even been a year!" You remind her, plopping down on your couch in exasperation. 

You're not really sure either how you and your mom got to the topic of marriage. You called her to ask about their travel details since they were coming to visit in a few weeks and you mentioned brownies once, which led your mom down a slippery train of thought.

Your mom sighs into the phone, "Oh sweetheart, you know you and Jamie's relationship has been a long time coming. That boy has loved you since you were kids! I'm surprised he's even waited eight months at this point before popping the question. I mean, don't you want to marry him?"

"Of course, I do!" You answer a lot faster than you intended, so you take a moment before continuing. "It's just that I don't want you to get in my head so much that I end up pressuring Jamie to propose when he isn't ready." Which really was the truth. You and Jamie had never been happier than you were now after you two started dating. 

After he recovered from the injury after the Man City game, Jamie took you on a proper first date. You went to a formal restaurant and had a great time, but the two of you were already hanging out since that morning. The "date" was just the end of an already great day spent with him, and that's usually what most of the days you were together would be like.

Today was just like that, though you would be a little busier compared to your usual days since you'd also be a maid of honor for Liv the whole time.

You glance at the clock and suddenly realize you have to start getting ready to leave. "Mom, I have to go now, but remember to send me your schedule, okay? See you soon, love you," you hang up the phone and head to your bedroom to get your dress ready to pack.

Liv had already organized that the bridal party would be getting ready together and you were now running late. You start bolting for the door when it opens wide and you're greeted by your boyfriend with an identical surprised expression on his face.

"Jamie!" You exclaim, before noticing how he's already in his wedding attire, minus the coat which he had hanging on his arm. He looked incredibly handsome and you almost let yourself get distracted by it, but focus back on the wedding. You can let yourself be distracted later tonight. "You didn't have to be this early. We could've just met up at the venue."

"I know, but I wanted to see my beautiful girlfriend before she got too busy to kiss me," Jamie wraps his arms around you and gently kisses you. You appreciated the gesture and deepened the kiss, but pulled back after recalling the time.

"Well then, since you're here, help me carry my bags to the car." You hand him your duffle bag and grab your purse before you two head out. 

Jamie left his car running, which was amazingly still there when you reached it, and you two headed to the venue together. He had brought you to the place enough times when Liv would call while you two were together so that you didn't have to direct him there.

As you two usually did when you were together, you spent the whole time talking about the events that happened when you weren't. On the way, Jamie narrated the new bizarre training sessions with Roy as their new coach and how he always happened to be the main target of the painful ones, to no one's surprise. You then talked about how one of your students nearly caused a biohazard after knocking over multiple trays of cultured bacteria.

You weren't sure how many stories you exchanged till you finally reached the venue and started heading to where the bridesmaids were getting ready. 

"What're you going to do till the wedding starts then?" You ask Jamie as you reach the room, who simply shrugs.

"Eh, I'll find something. Go on, I'll see you later, love," he kisses you on the cheek and smiles before heading back to the car.

You smile to yourself, before heading into the already hectic dressing room. There were already several people there getting ready, so you silently make your way to Liv to cater to her every need. She was never one to be a bridezilla, but any person would be stressed out on their wedding day, so you wanted to try your best to soothe her worries.

By the start of the wedding ceremony, you were standing in front of a fan to stop all the sweating. You were glad you had already mastered running around in heels with how much you did it that morning alone.

"Okay, we're starting soon," the wedding organizer reminded the party. "Get into positions, please."

You move in line with the other bridesmaids and take the arm of your partner, who you think is one of Freddie's college friends but never really took it upon yourself to get to know him better. He was quite nice, in your limited interactions.

Once the doors open and you start walking, you try and focus on the actual procession, but your eyes immediately start looking for Jamie. You try and be subtle with it, not even moving your head, and you manage to spot him on the left side. When he catches you looking, he gives you a quick wink and you have to hold back a smile as you reach the end of the aisle.

The wedding went smoothly, much to your relief. You had spent most of the vows portion trying not to cry or not to protest when Liv stated that Freddie was her best friend. But it was a beautiful ceremony, so it was worth it.

You were now at the reception and after a quick scare with one of the entrees, you were now relaxing at your table next to Jamie, who had not let go of your left hand since you found him. He had been caressing your fingers and weirdly, it was soothing you.

Because of it, it was easy for him to invite you to dance. Neither of you were much dancers as kids — you discovered as much when you went to most of your school dances together, — but Jamie seemed to have improved enough that he could lead you through the movements.

"Christ, maybe I should take you to some beginner dancing lessons together sometime." Jamie teased, and you faked offense. All he could do was laugh at your reaction before adding, "Learning proper footwork wouldn't hurt."

"You truly are a charmer, babe," You roll your eyes, but still allow him to pull you closer as you continue to slow dance.

As the song ended, you pulled away but kept your hands in his. You smile and he mirrors the expression, but there is something else in Jamie's eyes as he looks at you. You had already seen the look of love from him, but this was different like it was something stronger.

Without thinking, you immediately tell him, "I love you, Jamie." It didn't matter how many times you said it, Jamie still felt the giddy feeling in his chest when the words left your mouth. He'd never felt like that with anyone else, and he hoped it never went away.

"I love you too, (Y/N)," Jamie replied and now you were the one with the warm feeling in your heart. You look away from him for a second and realize that it's almost time for your surprise.

You turn back to him, "I gotta get on stage. I'll see you in a bit."  Jamie looks confused, but you wink at him and start heading towards the microphone.

"Hello everyone, I hope you're enjoying the night so far." You start, drawing everyone's attention to you. Christ, you can't believe you agreed to this, but it beat making a whole speech instead.

"For those who don't know me, I'm (Y/N), Liv's maid of honor! You may now be asking yourself why I'm standing in front of you today. Well, for some backstory, Liv and Freddie had been scrambling for a performance for their wedding a few weeks ago. They then just so happened to pull up some of my old videos from university and decided, hey, why not get a close friend to perform for free, then? So, I've decided to honor their wishes and perform the song that was playing the night they met, becoming the soundtrack to their relationship. This is 'Kiss Me,'"

You spent the entire performance making sure you didn't mess up and finally, luck was on your side. Liv and Freddie never looked happier to be in the middle of the dance floor, as if they were reliving the first time they saw each other. That was enough motivation to continue the show, making sure you hit every note.

After everyone claps for you, you make your way down the side of the stage, where Jamie had been waiting for you. Without another word, Jamie takes you in his arms and kisses you deeply. You're lucky you were in the corner of the room, otherwise you'd have to deal with everyone's whistles and 'oohs and aahs.'

"What was that for?" You say breathlessly after pulling away and Jamie just smirks.

"You've been singing it for the past three minutes. Didn't you want someone to kiss you?" He points out and you can't help but laugh.

"Yes, very much so." You affirm.

You two head back to your seats and for the first time, you can just sit back and enjoy the wedding, while also promising yourself that you won't be a bridesmaid again till you get married. 

"Okay, it's time for the bouquet toss!" Liv announces and the women at the wedding start crowding in the middle of the room. 

You sigh and look at Jamie, who simply smirks and nods toward the group. "Go on, love. You have to be one with the team, right?" You stick your tongue out at him, before getting up from your chair and standing at the back of the group. Lessens the chances of catching it.

But they're never zero. As Liv tosses it up, it seems like it was aimed towards you and before you knew it, the bouquet was in your hands. It takes a second to sink in before Liv starts squealing at the sight and you're brought back to your senses.

The girls start circling around you and you can hear some of the guys start teasing Jamie, who seemed unfazed by it all. Once the crowds disperse, you walk back over to your boyfriend with an amused look on your face.

"Well then, Jamie. Guess you have to start getting ready then." You tease, simply just to mess with your boyfriend. You laugh before he pulls you in and wraps an arm around you.

Little did you know, he's been ready all night. And truthfully, Jamie had been ready all his life. In the past, he never understood what people meant by marrying your best friend, but now he did. He understood it clearer than ever.

As the party starts to die down and people start to depart, you decide it's time to get some rest too. You walk over to Liv and Freddie to bid them goodbye and both newlyweds hug you tightly as a show of gratitude.

"Really, thank you so much," Liv repeats and you just smile at her. Your best friend looks right past you, but before you can follow her line of sight, she asks, "But before you go, could you get my purse in the dressing room?"

You agree, thinking nothing of it since you had seen Liv leave a bit earlier, but the moment you leave the reception hall, Liv and Freddie move closer to Jamie. "Is everything ready?" Liv asks and Jamie nods confidently.

Some of his teammates as well as Roy and Keeley had been working all day to decorate his house. Like he always was, Jamie was stubborn about how he wanted it to be designed, which is why so many of them had to come over and why he made them update him with pictures every hour.

But weirdly enough, the whole day, he's felt relatively calm. There were nerves, sure, but being with you was already enough to relax him. Jamie had no doubt in his mind that he wanted to marry you and was sure you wanted the same.

"Okay, make sure to keep your back straight when you kneel. It looks weird in the pictures when you're hunched over," Freddie reminded him and Jamie nodded in acknowledgment. 

There weren't going to be any pictures though, since Jamie knew you wanted it to be private. And frankly, with how much of his life was open to the public, he wanted something like this to be just for the two of you.

But of course, the carefree feeling didn't last long. As you were on the way home, the anxiety started to rise up in Jamie and he decided to keep one hand in yours to try and calm him down. You had started to notice him getting fidgety, so you started caressing his hand with your own like he did earlier.

"Hey, let's just stay at my place tonight. It's nearer to the venue and it's pretty late, anyway." Jamie had pointed out before you got in the car and you didn't see any reason to argue. 

You spent half your time there anyway and have been victim to Roy Kent waking you up at ungodly hours for Jamie's training, where many times you've stopped yourself from pulling Jamie closer to stay with you because you knew he'd give in and the knocking would never stop. You loved Jamie, but you loved your peaceful sleep more.

Maybe it was the stress of the day getting to you, but you truly didn't notice anything too out of the ordinary from Jamie. When you pulled up to his house and got out of the car, you still hadn't suspected anything. Jamie rushed ahead to the front door though, which you did find interesting considering he never cared how his house looked before.

As you reach the door, he comes back out carrying a blindfold and you're alarmed. "Jamie! We're still outside, oh my god!"

He stifles a laugh, "It's not that! Christ, when did you become so dirty? I just have a surprise for you. Come on," he slowly wraps it over your eyes and you keep a hand on him as he guides you through the house by your waist.

"Okay, one more step... and there," By the feeling of blades of grass making it into your heels, you know you're in the backyard though it feels a bit warmer than it should be in October.

Jamie finally takes the blindfold off and reveals his backyard, though it's decorated with candles all over and a string of fairy lights hanging above you. There are other strings too, and as you look closer, it's photos of the two of you with some writing from Jamie in the corner of them. He gives you time to look around and you pick out some of the pictures. 

One was from the first football match of his that you ever attended, with your mismatched gloves and hot chocolate. We had such small hands then.

I knew I loved you in the dairy aisle of the grocery, was written in the corner of a photo Jamie took of you after your failed first date when you two were 15. You had wiped off your make-up but were still in your dress as you sat in the cart.

Annoying bloke, but thank Dani for taking this photo. A more recent one from when you first agreed to be Jamie's girlfriend on the way home from the Man City game. Despite the celebrations, you happened to fall asleep, so the photo has you sleeping and resting your head on Jamie's shoulder with your boyfriend scowling at the camera and cradling your head.

Did you see this coming, love? The photo was taken recently you suspect because it's you with your back to the camera while seated on the couch and Jamie showing off the ring box and sticking his tongue out.

You turn back at Jamie, who looks incredibly pleased with himself but even then, you can still detect the small traces of nerves on his face. You run back to him and plant your lips on his, and he happily reciprocates the kiss.

He pulls back and steadies you, before starting, "Look, you've always been so much smarter than me, so I'm sure you know where this is leading. But please, let me have my big speech, yeah?" You laugh but nod and allow him to go ahead.

"I love you. I'll never get tired of telling you. I never told you how much I wanted to be your friend when you first moved in next door. I thought, this girl seemed so smart and pretty, and she would be a good person to play football with. I was right, but you were so much more, too. You were what anchored me in the world, one of the only people that I was never afraid to be myself with. In the best and worst moments, you were always the first person I wanted to be with."

"Looking back on those memories made me realize there wasn't just a moment where I fell for you because I just always have. You owned my heart before either of us knew it. Even in the hard times when we struggled, when I became a different man and broke your heart, you were still the one in mine. And for all that I put you through, I don't think a million sorry's will ever be enough. But you forgave me anyway and now, I have a chance to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I love you wholeheartedly. I know it's only been a few months, but I can't imagine my life anymore without you. Everyone knew it since we were kids, but the moment I saw you in Nelson Road again, I knew it too. It was always going to be us, (Y/N)."

Jamie lets go of your hands and gets something from his jacket pocket. He kneels down and shows you the ring box. "Now, before I open this, I picked out two rings. You get to pick which one you'll wear, okay?"

You're surprised at this, but you decide to nod anyway. Jamie reveals the first ring, which was inside the box, and it's the first plastic ring he gave all those years ago. You burst out laughing and simply can't believe what he'd done. Only Jamie would pull something like this while proposing.

"So, what do you think?" He pulls it out of its position and holds it up to you.

"I think... this one might be a bit too small for me, Jamie." You point out and Jamie fakes disappointment, before tucking it in his pocket.

"Well then, good thing I'm always prepared." He then pulls out the actual ring. A silver one, with small petals engraved as if to replicate a plant, with the bud of the flower being substituted with the diamond in the middle. It was a small but beautiful cut, and you were always one for the simpler things. It was the perfect ring.

The sound of your full name moves your attention back to Jamie as he prepares himself to say the words he's been practicing in the mirror for the past three months, to you now. "Will you marry me?"

You kneel down in front of him to look him straight in the eye. You cradle his face with your hands before saying, "Jamie Tartt, you are the biggest dork in this world for this. And yes, I will marry you."

Jamie lets out a sigh of relief and smiles, before slipping the ring onto your finger. He immediately kisses you after, cradling your face this time. You two get up again without separating before Jamie separates just to carry you in his arms, bridal style.

He kisses you once again, and says, "I knew I was irresistible to you."

You laugh and roll your eyes, "You were the one on your knees for me."

You lean in to kiss him this time, and after, Jamie rushes back inside the house for you two to celebrate the start of the rest of your life together.

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchicrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @loveforaugust @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully @dickgraysonspersonalwhore @jess4rush @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eight

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Fluff, A smidgen of angst, Truths revealed, Kind of smut (heavy petting and making out), Magic, Supernatural elements.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: It's been a hot minute since we've heard from Skipper and Jake! I hope you all enjoy this chapter because it was actually a real struggle to finish for some reason. As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

You had always loved mermaids. You had always wondered what it must be like to live as half human and half fish, swimming beneath the blue waves of the sea and singing beautiful songs for everyone to hear. You wondered what it would be like to coast your fingers across the rocks and corals, interacting with the creatures below. Were there cities like Atlantica down there that only the merpeople knew about? Or did they migrate like whales?

“You know mermaids aren’t real, honey, right?” Your mother had asked you one day, brow furrowed in concern. You had let out a sigh that only a thirteen-year-old beginning their journey into the reality of life could give.

“Yeah, Mom,” you had frowned, looking out the window and onto the waters of the lake below. “I know.”

“Have you thought about maybe redecorating your room?” She continued, picking up your porcelain mermaid and eyeing it with vague distaste. You glanced over at her, turning to face her slightly.

“I like my things,” you grumbled, pressing your lips into a thin line. “They’re my treasures. And what’s wrong with liking mermaids and the ocean?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” she had sighed, setting it down. “Maybe it’s just time for you to start thinking about more serious things, is all.”

She gave you one last smile before walking out of the room, leaving you to ponder over her words.

Weeks later, her words still floated in your head, and you had relayed the conversation to your grandmother, your mother’s mother, one day as you sat in her living room. She had scowled, shaking her head and fixing you with a fierce look.

“Now you listen to me, young lady,” she groused. “Your mother means well, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There’s magic in this world, believe you me, and it’s a rare person who continues to believe and see it. You just keep doing what you’re doing, and one day you’ll see the truth.”

And one day had finally come.

The waves crashed against the shore with a deafening sound, the wind whipping your hair about your face where it rested atop your knees, and the rock beneath you was vaguely damp, causing goosebumps to run up and down your skin. You had been out there for hours, needing time to come to reconcile what you thought you knew with what you now knew.

The scene on the beach earlier that morning replayed in your mind. The song, falling into the water, Mandy. It was a wonder you hadn’t run for the hills.

You had stood on the beach, soaked to the bone as the rest of the group stared at you like some kind of wild animal, like you might lash out at them at the most sudden of movements.

“Skip,” Bradley had started slowly, taking a small step towards where you stood, feet planted as firmly as they could be in the shifting sand. Your shoulders were drawn back, attempting to make yourself seem more confident than you actually were. In truth, you were still terrified, the adrenaline from your near death experience still running through your veins as your eyes darted the small group gathered around. The sun had barely risen above the horizon, and it was an oddly cold, summer morning, and you fought the shiver that threatened to run up your spine. “Honey, it’s not that we don’t think you’re ready to know…”

He trailed off as you narrowed your eyes at him, anger starting to course through you. Bob cleared his throat, drawing your attention to him.

“It’s just that you’ve been through a lot in the past hour,” he explained with a grimace. “We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Yeah!” Chirped Mickey. “Besides, you’re still wet, and we wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything.”

“Mickey is right,” Nat smiled gently, “you should get changed out of these clothes.”

She moved to grab your arm, but you shifted away, fixing her with a glare before your eyes once again shifted towards the other members.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” you hissed, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Stop treating me like I’m some child.”

Your eyes connected with familiar green ones, and your anger instantly dissipated into a sense of pleading. Jake stared back at you, face unreadable as he took you in. After a moment, he walked towards you, and you didn’t even think about stopping him as he stopped in front of you. He raised a hand, running his thumb lightly over the apple of your cheek, and you felt yourself relax into his touch.

“They’re right,” he said softly. You immediately stiffened, opening your mouth to say something, but he cut you off.

“I promise you, that we will tell you what you want to know. But for now,” he pauses, running his eyes up and down your form, grimacing at the sight of you. “For now, you need to go change into some dry clothes. We can talk more after, okay?”

You stared up at him for a moment, studying him. His eyes bore into yours, not a hint of deceit resting in them. Slowly, you nodded, and he let out a relieved sigh, squeezing your shoulders slightly.

“There’s my good girl,” he smiled, running his hands down your arms before releasing you. You preened at his words, feeling your cheeks warm as you glanced away.

“Okay,” Nat sighed, a relieved smile on her own face. “Now that that’s decided, let’s all head home to change and then we can regroup later.”

Bob had escorted you back home, leaving before you had finished your shower. So, you had walked, and you found yourself where you sat now, on the rocks just past Jake and Bradley’s house on the beach, the sky a dismal grey as the seagulls cried. No one was answering your texts, and while it annoyed you to no end to know that they were probably trying to come up with a way to get out of telling you, you remained secure in the fact that Jake had promised you they would tell you the truth. You let out a long sigh, trying to ease some of the tension out of your shoulders.

“Wasn’t expecting to find you right here.”

You jumped, whirling around to see the familiar green of Jake’s eyes as he gave you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, moving to sit next to you. His shoulder brushed yours in the process, and you inhaled a gasp, hoping he hadn’t heard you.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I was just lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“Care to share?”

“As if you don’t already know what they were about,” you scoffed, a smile tugging on the corner of your lips. He chuckled, nodding slowly.

“You’re right.”

“What are you doing out here, Jake?” You asked. He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders back before answering.

“The others are still debating on what we should tell you, or what you can handle knowing right now. I snuck out to come and find you.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, listening to the different sounds around you. You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating whether or not to break the calm between the two of you.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” you breathed, peering over at him. “Was I?”

Jake let out a sigh, leaning back against his arms as he continued to stare out into the ocean.

“You’ve heard the stories the older folks tell, right?” He asked finally, meeting your gaze. You nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“Well,” he started, looking back out at the water. “They’re all true.”

A beat passed.

“All of them?” You questioned, looking down and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You thought back to all of the things Mrs. Cambroni had told you. “Even the frenzy?”

Jake’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks turned a brilliant red. He cleared his throat, looking away as he muttered, “Yes, even the frenzy.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?” He blinked, eyes still wide but holding confusion instead of shock.

“What’s the frenzy like,” you pressed, leaning in closer to him. He stared at you for another second before answering.

“It feels like a constant itch underneath my skin. A heat that I can’t dampen no matter what I do. It drives me crazier the older I get.”

“Is it dangerous?” You whisper.

“It can be,” he admitted slowly. “If we don’t take a mate before a certain time, then the magic becomes stronger because there’s nothing to siphon it in to. Mates help with controlling the magic, and our magic grows the older we get. If we don’t take a mate, then the magic will drive us crazy.”

“When does that happen?”

“There’s no real set number of frenzies you go through before it happens. For some, they can’t make it through their third one before they go crazy. For others, it could be their fourth or fifth one.”

“What about you?”

The question hung in the air, and for a second you were worried that you had upset him with how still he was sitting.

“Me?” He chuckled humorlessly, drawing patterns on the rock beneath the two of you. “I can already feel my control slipping sometimes this go around, especially when I’m around you. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned, brow furrowing. “I cause your control to slip? Why?”

Jake stared at you, eyes widening once again when he realized what he had said. He shook his head.

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” you snapped, glaring up at him. “You promised me that you would be honest and tell me what I wanted to know.”

He looked a little taken aback, but let out another sigh as he relented.

“Sea people have what they call ‘true mates,’” he began, “and they’re different from regular mates. True mates are an ideal pair, one the powers that be have ordained as a perfect match. Everyone can take a mate, sure, but very few ever find their true mate. They’re so rare, in fact, that some people think it’s just a myth.”

“Do you?” You asked. “Think it’s a myth, I mean.”

He stared at you for a beat.

“I used to,” he admitted. “I used to think that true mates were just some sappy fairytale that people clung to to make themselves feel better. I used to laugh at the idea, actually. It wasn’t until-”

He stopped, clamping his mouth closed as his cheeks tinged red once again. You furrowed your brow at him.

“Until what?” You pressed. He swallowed thickly, turning to look out at the water.

“Until I met you,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. You let out a small gasp, but waited for him to continue.

“The first night I saw you in that bar, Skipper, I knew. I knew with everything in me that you were the one that I had been looking and waiting for my entire life. You were the one in my dreams growing up. You were the one I could feel in my chest, pulling me towards you. You were the one that made me realize that I could be happy, that I didn’t have to settle for a life that other people had decided for me.”

You stared at him, registering the look of vulnerability on his face, and you sucked in a deep breath.

“I dreamed about you too,” you admitted, causing him to look back at you. “Or, at least I think I did. And I always felt like something was incomplete, like a piece of me was always missing. But when I sit here with you, things just feel…right.”

“Right?” He pressed, leaning in so that your noses were practically brushing each other.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your heartbeat picking up at the close proximity. “Like things aren’t so hard when you’re around. Like I don’t even have to try. Things just feel easy around you, and if I’m being honest, that kind of scares me.”

He hummed, resting his forehead against yours, warm breath running over your face as he breathed out.

“It scares me too,” he said, closing his eyes, his hand reaching out to curl around yours where it rested atop the rock. “My whole life I thought I knew what would happen. I would marry Mandy, I would go work with my father at his business, we’d pop out a couple of kids, and then the rest of life would happen. I’d die in my bed of old age, surrounded by the people that I love having lived a life that anyone would be proud of.”

“And now?” You asked, squeezing his hand. He took a shuddering breath before opening his eyes. You were almost taken aback by how beautiful they were. Swirling shades of sea glass green mixed with darker emerald, a look of pure longing on his face as he stared at you.

“Now, I know that’s not what I want,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be with Mandy. I don’t want to have the pristine, picture perfect family you find in commercials or magazines. I just want you, Skipper. I want you in any way that you’ll have me.”

His eyes were glowing now, the mossy green standing out against the growing darkness of the storm clouds that were rolling in from the sea.

“Your eyes,” you breathed, raising your unoccupied hand to run your fingers across his cheek. “They’re glowing. I knew I wasn’t imagining it.”

Jake nuzzled into the palm of your hand, humming low in his throat as he breathed you in. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a chaste kiss in the center of your palm, and your breath hitched. You shifted, leaning in close enough that your lips hovered just over his. His eyes once again connected with yours, boring into you as if he could see every single part that you kept hidden. Your gaze dropped down to his lips for a brief second before darting back up. Eyes hooded, you leaned in, lips barely grazing his before jumping back as the rain started.

The drops came in a downpour, instantly soaking the two of you as you let out a startled laugh.

“Come on!” Jake grinned, gripping your hand and helping you off the rocks before the two of you sprinted towards his house. You trotted up the steps after him, letting out another peel of breathless laughter as the two of you caught your breath. You looked out at the beach as it continued to pour, a peel of thunder cracking through the roar of the rain. You turned back to look at Jake with a smile, shaking your head.

“The rain didn’t even build up to-”

Jake’s lips were soft on yours, pressing firmly as he cupped your cheek in his hand. You froze, taken by surprise. He pulled back after a second, eyes uncertain as they watched you.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, eyes growing wide with panic. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought after the rocks and you were standing there looking so pretty, I just-”

You cut him off with a kiss of your own, and he stiffened for a second before returning it. His hands landed on your waist, backing you up against the pillar by the stairs as his lips moved against yours in a heated bid to feel every part of you. Your own hands moved to tangle in his hair, pulling on the still wet strands gently and earning a groan from him. His tongue traced your lower lip, and you instantly opened up to him, relishing in the feeling of the muscle against your own.

Jake’s grip tightened on your waist before moving his right hand up to grope at your breast, squeezing it with a low groan. You moaned into his mouth, one hand releasing his hair to slide down and grip at his shoulder as you pressed against him. He continued to lick languidly into your mouth, savoring the taste of you and every little sound you made. He pulled away to allow you to breathe, nipping at your bottom lip gently. As you sucked in a lungful of air, he busied himself with pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, and you felt him smirk against you as his left hand grabbed your thigh to wrap your leg around him. You could feel the hard bulge press against you, and a tingle ran up your spine.

“Jake,” you breathed out, head thrown back as he nipped at your skin, running his tongue over the same spot to soothe the sting. His lips worked lower and lower as you began to roll your hips against his. You let out a strangled cry as his lips connected with the intention mark on your neck, pleasure rippling through your veins as you gripped onto him and ground down harder onto him. Jake nipped at the mark, causing you to let out another cry as your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders through his shirt. You could feel your arousal dripping from you as your mind grew heavy with lust.

Suddenly, Jake pushed away from you, practically throwing himself across the porch. You whined at the loss, brow furrowed in confusion as you took in the state of him. He was panting hard, almost crouched as he gripped the porch railing to steady himself. His eyes were still glowing, brighter than they were previously, but fading in and out as he calmed down.

“Jake,” you murmured, “are you okay?”

“Not like this,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

“What are you talking about? Jake, you’re worrying me.”

He looked at you then, taking in your disheveled state as he righted himself. A mixture of regret and longing adorned his face as he spoke.

“I gave that mark to you during a moment of frenzy,” he admitted, gesturing to the bite in question. “I was so scared that you weren’t going to make it, and the frenzy magic was already in overdrive. I gave it to you without thinking, and I’m sorry.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, taking small steps towards him as if you might scare him off otherwise. “I’m not mad about that at all, but why are you suddenly acting this way?”

“Because,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “because I already told you. I want you, Skipper, and I want you to want me back. I want to know that you want me for me and not because of some damn magic that tells us we’re supposed to be together.”

You stared at him for a moment, processing what he was telling you. It was true that you felt a pull towards him that could only be explained by the magic, but it felt so much more than that. Jake was sweet and kind, and he cared for you. He made sure that you were taken care of when you were vulnerable, and he wanted to hear your opinions on things. You did want Jake beyond the magic, but you were more than willing to take the time to prove that to him.

“Okay,” you agreed, nodding slowly. “So what do you suggest?”

“Can we,” he swallowed thickly, eyes hopeful as they searched you. “Can we take it a little slow? Maybe spend some time alone together?”

“You mean like on dates?” You smiled, standing in front of him now and batting your lashes at him. A grin tugged on the corner of his lips as he looked down at you, giving you a nod.

“Yeah. I want to take you out on a date.”

“Just the one?” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, a full-blown grin on his face now.

“Well, I was hoping you’d give me more than just that,” he teased back, leaning into you again. You tapped a finger on your chin thoughtfully.

“I dunno,” you hummed, fighting back the smile that threatened to overtake you. “I guess we’ll just have to see how the first one goes, won’t we?”

“I have full confidence in myself that I’ll be able to convince you of that second date.”

“Come on, Crooner,” you laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the front door. “Let’s get changed before we catch a cold or something.”

About a half hour later, you were dressed in a pair of oversized sweats and an old t-shirt - both belonging to Jake. The two of you were huddled up on the couch underneath a blanket, some random movie thrown on to fill the silence. Your legs were curled under you as you rested against Jake’s side, his arms wrapped around you as you played with his fingers.

“You bit him?” You huffed out a laugh as Jake chuckled. “Why?”

“Because Bradley gets a little big for his britches sometimes,” Jake defended. “He knew I had an interest in you and what we were, and he still pressed his luck. Even with the mark on your neck. ”

“Boys,” you exclaimed with a roll of your eyes. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as the movie continued to drone on in the background.

“Jake,” you hummed thoughtfully, “do you regret giving me this mark?”

He stiffened against you, and you chanced a glance up at him. His lips were pressed into a firm line, brow furrowed as he looked at you.

“Absolutely not,” he bit out. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just,” you hesitated, still fidgeting with his fingers as you looked down, “it’s just been one thing after the other since you gave it to me. Am I really worth the trouble?”

“Skipper,” he said firmly, cupping your jaw and making you look at him. “I will never regret you, okay? Even if you decide that this isn’t something you want, I will live the rest of my life knowing that I had the privilege of having you even for a moment.”

His eyes were sincere as they held your gaze, and you suddenly felt silly for doubting him. You nodded, willing the tears that prickled behind your eyes to go away. You sniffed before settling back down against him, basking in the feeling of him stroking a hand through your hair.

“Jake! We can’t find Skipper anywh-”

You jumped as the front door burst open to reveal your friends, Bob at the front of the pack. All of you stared at one another before you raised an eyebrow at them.

“Are you coming in or not?” You snapped, fixing them all with a glare. Jake turned the TV off as the squad filed in, taking seats wherever there was one available. Once everyone was settled, you continued.

“Finally decide on how you’re going to lie to me some more? Whatever you came up with, I sure hope it’s better than the ones you were telling me before.”

The group had the decency to look ashamed. Bob gave you an apologetic look as he faced you from where he sat in one of the recliners.

“We never wanted to lie to you, Y/n,” he explained. “But would you have believed the truth?”

“I might have,” you countered. “You could have at least tried.”

“Would you trust an outsider that you barely knew with a secret like this?” Javy chimed in. He made a good point, and your silence answered for you.

“I wanted to tell you, Skipper,” Bob continued, “but it wasn’t my secret to tell. And with all the stuff between you and Jake, it just seemed like it would be so much to throw at you.”

“I get that,” you conceded, nodding slowly. “But Jake’s already told me most of everything, so no more lying to me, okay? I need to know and be kept in the loop moving forward okay?”

Everyone looked at each other before nodding at you. You gave them a small smile before letting out a relieved breath.

“Good,” you chirped. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starved.”

[thebrookesnook]

okay call me crazy and I know the newest chapter of Wind Breaker just released like over an hour ago, but hear me out: I think I know the deity Nii Satoru used to represent Takiishi.

Part 2: Umemiya Hajime and Fudō Myō-ō

So let's talk about it. Spoilers for Chapter 150!

I believe Takiishi is being represented by a Karura (迦楼羅, かるら). Here's my evidence to this theory:

[Karura (Left) & Karura (Right) were sourced from the same page on Japanese Buddhist Statuary: A to Z Photo Dictionary]

According to my research, karura are said to be a race of mythical fire-breathing bird-men (demigods) originating from Hindu mythology and was later adopted by the Buddhist into their pantheon as a protector deity or in accord. to legends were converted into Buddhism by Buddha and are considered one of the Eight Legions.

While going through my research, I found some interesting connections that may or may not apply to what we know of Takiishi and the imagery of the deity depicted:

Bird-like figure = appearance wise, the deity's depiction looks very similar to that of the karura.

"In Japan, Garuda is an enormous fire-breathing eagle-man with golden feathers and magic gems crowning its head."

- Schumacher, M., Karura

"They are humanoid in appearance, with the heads and wings of eagles. They have red skin, and red and gold feathers. Karura are fearsome. They breath fire from their beaks. The flapping of their wings sounds like thunder, and creates gusts of wind so strong they can dry up lakes, knock down houses, and cover entire cities in darkness. Their gigantic wingspans are 330 yojanas wide, and they can leap 3,360,000 li in a single bound. (The lengths of one yojana and one li vary greatly from country to country and era to era—a yojana can measure anywhere between 1.6 km to over 13 km long, and one li can measure anywhere between 400 m and 3.9 km.)"

- Yokai.com, Karura

Fire symbolism = Karura are said to be fire-breathing creatures. In Takiishi's lastname (焚石), it consists of the characters that roughly translates to "burning stone" (焚, taki = to burn; 石, ishi = stone). Also, his hair. (Note: Need I say more?)

The original Hindu deity's name is Garuda (sanskrit: The Devourer). The name comes from the fact that karura are known for feeding on dragons, more specifically naga or malicious serpents who have not been converted by Buddha, due to a fued between Garuda's mother (Skt. Vinata) and her sister, mother to the naga. Relating this to Takiishi's bloodlust and extremely violent tendencies during fights, perhaps Umemiya is the dragon he wants to "devour", 🤔. (Note: @yellow-gardenia-48 made a really interesting point in the replies about Endo's signature animal being a snake.)

Conclusion: While I'm not 100% certain that this deity is the exact one the mangaka used for the panel, I'm 95% sure that it is. If anyone would like to add anything more in terms of connections between Takiishi and Karura, feel free to do so! Or disagree with me, that's also cool too. I definitely would like to see more discussions on the symbolisms and cultural references Nii Satoru uses in the series so if I can be a jumping point to that, I'd be happy to do so.

(P.S. I am not Japanese but I have been deeply interested in the culture and history. I do my best to use credible sources (both in English and Japanese) and credit them accordingly. However, I am prone to slip ups so if there is anything that requires correction in my post, you may notify me directly through the post via reply/reblog.)

(P.S.S. I have a blog specifically made for wbk content for further post like this so feel free to visit me there @transient-winds )

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Master list

Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Part Four : Part Five : Part Six : Part Seven : Part Eight

Alastor x OFC/Reader (no use of Y/N)

Part Nine

(Or, Alastor realizes he’s in a heap of trouble and desperate to make up for lost time. Sex-sually. But seriously this chapter has 0 plot.)

Minors DNI, 18+ Below

A soft, circling sensation on your shoulder had you waking from a comforting sleep. Yawning and cracking your eyes open, you woke to a warm chest with your hand pressed to it, revelling in the soft fuzz that covered it entirely. Alastor was looking straight up to the skyline, not that there was much to see past the thick trees and hazy fog, but he seemed deep in thought.

Shifting your legs as your body woke from sleep, the evidence of what you and he did the night before was still settled between your thighs, now sticky and the cause of some discomfort. As you shifted, his embrace tightened slightly and he flipped his attention to you.

His face was placid, and there wasn’t a massive grin present on his face. Simply a note of almost…contentment was visible. The two of you stared at each other, and it seemed that you realised at the same time that your connection had become something greater overnight.

Before, it was just a rush of blood that reminded the two of you how you were interconnected. Now, whether it was from the deal Alastor had made or the sexual connection you shared - it was simply stronger now. It was as if you could feel each other's souls dancing around, folding within one another, mixing essences while the two of you lay on the ground.

Unfamiliar with the magic, you chose to ignore it in lieu of awkwardly getting up to make your way to the bathroom, desperate to pee and to attempt a cleanup of the fluids that remained from your previous actions. Generally unashamed of your figure you made no attempt to cover yourself as you rose from your position, but you could feel, like really feel his eyes on you as you could feel that familiar burn below your navel as you walked away from the man. You were not embarrassed to be in such a state since the night before Alastor had generally feasted on your figure anyway - what point was there to modesty now?

When you arrived in the bathroom you took a sharp inhale at your appearance. Teeth marks and love bites peppered your body, but it was your hair that really took a beating. You look well rested enough, but your hair had turned into a rather aggressive birds nest, in fact birds may have already landed, who could tell?

You quickly relieved yourself and tried your best to clean up between your legs, but there appeared to be nothing you could do for your hair. You inspected the rest of your person by catching all angles in the mirror. Dirt on your elbows, shoulders, there were clear grass streaks on your upper back and arms as well, and the heel that wasn’t propped against Alastors shoulder from the night before had really dug into the earth and left a reminder on how intense the night was.

A soft knock made Alastor known, as he had already started opening the door before you could invite him in. In a similar state, you each fed on one another in the light. He had similar grass burn marks on his knees, his hands were painted with dirt, however -

“How dare you, you bastard-“ You started, “How can you wake up and look that fucking dapper first thing in the morning?” You gestured to his perfect hair, each strand in its place, ears standing to attention, no kink like your own had suffered in the night. You sputtered a few more statements at your own expense, asking him straight up if he used magic. Your exclamation finally had him smile since you woke, and he let out a sharp laugh as you became slightly more unhinged as you compared your two states of being. He passed you as you pointed out a few key differences in the mirror, and turned on his rather large shower. There was no bathtub, Alastor seemed like a ‘a bathroom is a place for cleaning purposes only, no enjoyment or lingering,’ kind of guy. But he quickly had the room building with steam as he half stood in the open door of his shower.

You had long silenced your rambling at this point, in awe of his lithe naked figure moving around. He was quite slim, his regular suit hiding no secrets except what he hid below his belt, but each limb was covered in well toned muscle. Fully extended, he had one hand under the water, testing the temperature, and you awkwardly stood at the door to the living area, grasping onto the handle to open it and give him the privacy of a shower while you went to your own bathroom. But one of his shadows interfered, keeping you from opening the door. Confused, you looked over to the demon, and he had offered his hand to you, slightly flicking his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture.

You accepted his hand, allowing him to pull you into the shower with him. You welcomed the hot, hotter than usual, water onto your body, and your audible groan of pleasure made the two of you twitch as a ripple effect. Working in silence, you let Alastor move your body around the space to have the water hit every part of you.

Suddenly he had soapy hands in your hair, shampooing it vigorously, something you gladly let him do. This was almost as nice as the night you just shared. He lathered a cloth and in silence, started from your neck and shoulders, soaping your entire figure, paying close attention to your breasts, causing nipples to peak painfully. By the time he started to clean your lower back he drifted lower still, paying extra attention to the apex of your thighs, cloth slipping at every other pass so his fingers grazed your naked sex.

He bent down, on one knee, and continued to clean you. The steam was getting to you, and you had closed your eyes to revel in the ministrations of the man, wondering if his avoidance of sexual partners was merely because if everyone knew of the attention he gave would have people lined up at his door. As the water rinsed off your soapy bubbles, he trailed a finger up from your ankle, slowly raising it until it settled on your jawline, making you catch his eyes with your own.

You could tell your pupils were blown out, because your reflection was present in the man's large eyes. He leaned down and offered a slight peck upon your lips, one that quickly evolved into something stronger. Desperate for a taste, the two of you fought tongues, each grasping each other's hair to get closer, and for a moment, it was forgotten that you were in a shower.

As the kiss broke for air, you grabbed the cloth and lathered it up, determined to repay him for his attention. You started at his shoulders, to his chest, softly smiling as you noticed his fuzz caught the bubbles, lathering quickly into a thick layer of foam. You skipped over his cock, still somewhat hesitant to be so bold, and started from his ankles up, moving to the back of him. Once you saw it, you could barely hold in the sound of glee you made, resulting in his groaning chuckle at your reaction.

He did have a tail. It was slimmer than your own, and all black, pressed almost against his back from where it protruded from his tailbone. You grazed it with your fingers, and Alastor shivered, growled, and slammed his hands against the wall of the shower to brace himself. Completely overtaken by the sensation you felt from him and the reaction it caused, you paid closer attention to it, claws running up and down it. You spread the hair on it around, being sure to thoroughly clean it. His hips started to react, bucking into the air with every scratch. He uttered your name almost in a warning, and you eased up on it. It was less about threatening harm in his growl, and more letting you know what you could expect if you continued.

Choosing torture, you released his tail and moved on, rubbing the cloth over his behind, small but firm, and then running it up his back. The furry fuzz was denser here, long enough that your fingers could almost pinch it between them. The soap lathered thickly, and you took a moment to play with the soap lines. First an ‘A’ for his name, before flattening out the soap and putting the first letter of your own name on the entirety of his back before putting a circle around it, letting out a short bark of laughter at it.

“What, may I ask, is going on back there?” He said, struggling for control, his voice deep and timbered with pleasure.

”Mmm, branding you, good sir.” You announced, tracing the letter again so he could feel what you wrote. His smile could be seen from behind, and you heard a snort of air release from his nose. You wiped away the evidence before moving to his shoulders. He stepped into the water more, allowing the soap to rinse down his body. You had decided that you were, in fact, bold enough and reached around him, cloth in hand, and grabbed his cock, causing him to immediately rut into your grip with a gasp. He stuttered slightly, either trying to ask what you were doing, or say your name - who knew, the blood was pounding in your ears.

”Well Alastor, we’ve got to clean everywhere, I thought…” You said toward his ears, though a distance from your mouth, they still picked up your quiet voice.You waited for him to tell you to stop, which he did not, and you took that to continue. Blindly, you washed him, intermittently swapping firm and soft pressure as you ran up and down the length of him. When you reached the base you travelled below to grasp his balls, being sure to capture each one and give them attention. You could feel your cheeks on fire, this was very bold for you, but something made you keep going, be it the sounds he was making or your own pleasure that you received in return. He started to increase his rutting hips, and his dick became thicker, when you decided it was an appropriate time for some certain payback.

You released him and started back up his chest, cloth swirling around his pectorals, and began to wash one of his arms as he released a breath of air and started to shake with contained laughter. You smirked, understanding he figured out what you were doing, and kept up the innocent ministrations like that of a dutiful nurse, washing a patient without any ulterior motive. You dropped the cloth and let him stand in the shower, letting him feel the painful burn of being edged, and as he turned around to face you, eyes clouded with pleasure and cheeks flushed red, he hummed a sound of discontent.

“You must think you’re something funny, my dear.” He stated, hand grasping his cock, now weeping from the attention you had given it. You tried to mimic a look of confusion, innocently asking what he meant. He darted his eyes between his cock and your face and hmmphed loudly. You laughed.

”Are you…pouting?” You said in disbelief. “The mighty Radio Demon, pouting?” You mocked him lightly, knowing that his ego would only let you tread a fine line before he would lose his temper. “Well…I suppose I should fix that.” You smiled at him before grabbing both of his shoulders and turning the both of you around so the water was hitting your back and Alastor was almost against the opposite wall. You dropped to your knees, and his eyes widened at this action. Something courageous was running through your clouded mind at his moment, and you were set on repaying the favour of his actions in your bedroom the few nights before.

He choked out a couple of syllables before pressing his lips in a wry, twisted smile as you grasped him cloth free. Eye to eye with his cock, you traced the thickest vein with your forefinger, hitting the base and coming back to the weeping head. He twitched in your grasp, and suddenly you felt quite powerful. You held in your hand the Radio Demon, and the blazing look of lust that ran across his face made you feel wildly in control. You wrapped your hand around him, thumb and middle finger the only parts that could touch, and ran it back down to the base again. He shuddered, you licked your lips and reached your tongue out to taste the weeping fluid from the tip. You heard, rather than saw, his head hit the wall, and his body slumped against it, causing you to move closer on your knees, pinning him between you and the shower.

Circling the tip with your tongue, the taste was bitter, but not terrible. It was warm and salty, but you fed more on his response. Your eyes were open, curious about his reactions, but once you made eye contact with him, he covered his face with his hands and looked up to the ceiling.

You pushed your head forward and captured the tip within your warm mouth, trying to move your tongue around for extra stimulation. You could understand now why tongue rings were as popular as they were. You smiled at this thought, and it caused your teeth to graze him, getting a guttural moan from the man. You started slowly, trying to adjust your jawline to accommodate more of him, and began bobbing your head in a steady, smooth rhythm.

His hips started to roll towards you, and you took both hands and pushed against them to hold him against the wall. If it wasn’t clear who was in control at this moment you were making it so. He stopped his movement, and you made eye contact briefly, a surely demonic smile taking over your features as he flared up in a brighter blush. From his perspective, you looked like an otherworldly nymph, glowing and glorious in stature, his most sensitive part of him between your teeth.

He relinquished control to you, a displeasure that lingered momentarily as you started moving your head, your warm mouth pumping around him. As your mouth would focus around his tip, his shaft felt the cold burn of exposed air hitting where your saliva had lingered. This was nearly painful, and as he recalled your complaints many weeks ago when you expressed your disbelief at causing you revolving waves of pleasure while you were out with the group, he understood what he thought was misplaced rage was actually quite appropriate. You were a temptress at his time, and he was at your mercy.

Each movement towards his body had a bit more of him being welcomed into your hot mouth, and it only took a few strokes and bobs of your head to pick up the speed afterwards. He suddenly jerked his hips when you accepted another stretch of him, it was not on purpose but it certainly was unexpected, and you gagged violently, removing your mouth and coughing from the sensation. Your eyes were watering and, and a trail of drool had escaped your mouth and dribbled down your chin as you regained your breath. He didn’t apologise, it wasn’t a purposeful action, but as you stared at his cock you had a determined look, and just as he was about to tell you he was fine you aggressively took him in your mouth again, this time with renewed vigour. His words became strangled as he braced one hand against the wall and another reached out to your head, resting below the junction where your ear connected. As he massaged where your ear connected to your scalp and it gave you pleasurable chills in return.

You were pushing his limits, as every time you gagged on him the sound he made was addicting. He was becoming unravelled in your actions, and you had been criticised on your head skills overworld, but Alastor was not as experienced or open to these sorts of activities, so his judgement was essentially nonexistent.

Head bouncing, you could feel the build of tension of his cock in your mouth, and you were tasting more salty fluid escaping him as you continued. Somewhere you heard a broken version of your name as both of his hands grabbed your head and he suddenly began pumping furiously, fucking your mouth with a raging ferver. You relinquished control, keeping your mouth open and tongue moving as his instinct took over, and finally with a few jagged thrusts of his hips his orgasm shot out of him, filling your mouth with his seed, hot, salty and plentiful. You swallowed with each thrust, not enjoying the sensation of it running down your chin (plus you both JUST got clean). He removed himself from your mouth, and you coughed, trying to suck in air and you looked up at him, revelling in the disbelief present on his face.

You smiled widely, and opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show him proof you had swallowed his gift. He had covered his mouth with one hand, the other still settled on your head. He took in your watery eyes, a few tears had run down your cheeks but were quick to be washed away as you were still being hit by the water coming from the shower. You stood up, unfolding your tense body from kneeling for so long and laughed when you caught sight of your toes, eyes travelling to your hands, noticing how wrinkled they had become. You wiggled your fingers in front of you and lifted them to show Alastor, who was still mentally processing what had just occurred. You took advantage of his still figure and chose to re-wash his cock and your face before rinsing and turning off the shower, thoroughly wrinkled from the water.

He opened the shower and stepped out, wrapping you in a terry cloth house robe to block out the chill of the air, donning a similar one himself. Both were a dark red, and felt quite luxe. You pulled it close within yourself, and hummed at the pleasure of being wrapped in such a soft fabric.

The room was thickly filled with steam, the mirror fogged over, skin kissed with the damp air. As the steam escaped out of the room when Alastor opened the door, he quickly walked over to a small bar area and began fashioning a French press of coffee, starting a kettle with water and scooping out the grounds as you took your time to look around the room and absorb the details.

Two chairs were against the fireplace, and you were reminded of the first time you sat in them. Beside the fireplace was a bookshelf stacked with books - you didn’t think that Alastor had time to read but it made sense that he was an avid reader. A large American Alligator skeleton was mounted on the wall - clearly a reminder of his time alive, as Louisiana was heavily populated with it. Scrawled on many surfaces were runes similar to what you had read about and remembered from the little radio.

In fact that radio was present on the bookshelf, and without thought you reached out and traced the edge of it with your finger, having it emit a slight green glow at the action. When you lifted the finger the glow stopped, and suddenly the strong scent of coffee was near your head. Alastor was holding the cup in his hand, his own black coffee already on the sitting table by one of the chairs. You grabbed the cup and thanked him for it, noting that it was a wonderful light caramel colour and smelled sweet - the way you liked your coffee. As he sat in his own chair, crossing his legs and palming his own cup, he watched you settle into the opposite chair. Tucking your feet under yourself in an attempt to stay warm and bundled, despite him snapping his fingers and igniting the fireplace. You held the cup with both hands, sipping and smiling, yet avoiding any type of eye contact with the man. Once you left the haze of the bathroom you had realised the bold nature of your actions and suddenly were unable to face them.

Suddenly outside in the hall, you could hear what sounded like your door slamming open, and rapid footprints stomping around. Both of you could hear the panicked exclamations of Angel Dust and Charlie, who were apparently looking for you. You and Alastor made eye contact, but no move to go to the door to relieve their panic. Angel had yelled something about finding your phone, and Charlie shouted something about the library being empty. Hmm, who knew you were so cared for?

Finally a knock at Alastors door, though it was clearly a hesitant knock, like the person on the other side of the door was frightened Alastor might answer.

He gracefully walked towards the door, and opened it widely, grateful that the chairs were not visible from the threshold from where he was standing. Angeldust answered, inquiring if Alastor had seen you, the two beings stating no one had eyes on you since the early morning the night before. The cause of concern being the increased presence of cannibal town citizens in the hotel required constant check-ins from the usual tenants, something you had obviously missed in the debriefing.

Alastor brushed their concern off and announced that he, in fact, would be the largest concern in the hotel, as all patrons were his responsibility and Rosie ensured no friendly fire from her people. Thankful for his statement, Charlie had decided that surely you were definitely around - the hotel was pretty big after all. Alastor laughed at their panic, and stated with confidence that if anyone was going to eat you this morning, it would be him, as a deer-human hybrid eating another deer-human hybrid would scratch a certain part of his curious appetite. Angel made a sound of disgust, telling Alastor to not even try it as he stomped off, and Charlie to follow the spider demon down the hall while spouting locations you just might be.

As the door clicked, you heard Alastor lock it before settling down on the sofa chair again. Coffee long finished, you chuckled a bit at his displeased face after being interrupted, and he gave you a sharp smile. “You’re very cared for here, my dear.” He said, picking at his nails indifferently. You smiled into your empty cup, responding in a slightly self-deprecating manner, “Well, I wasn’t really overworld, it’s strange that I found this kind of family in hell of all places.” You mused, “It’s weird that I’m almost happier being dead. I don’t really know what I would be doing if I was still trying to survive.”

The last bit was more a statement to yourself, lost in the ‘what could have been’ nature of your life. Alastor hummed in acknowledgment, and the two of you fell back into silence at the fire crackled in the background. You could feel your slightly tangled hair drying and puffing up, though Alastor still looked perfect. The silence had you at unease, wondering if you had pushed a boundary in the shower and started to make apologies.

”Alastor what just happened in…i-in the shower, sorry if I…you-“ He had risen and walked over to place a finger over your lips as you tried to talk. He shook his head and kneeled down in front of you, resting his hands on the armrest as he looked up at you. You frowned at his closeness, confused at his actions as one hand came to toy with the tie closure of the housecoat.

“Never mind that dear, silence is not always a critical disaster.” He stated, eyes half lidded as he looked at you. “I was merely thinking about how I would fulfil my statement to our effeminate friend and concerned princess.” You frowned deeper, looking at him in confusion. What had he said? That you were his responsibility? But so was everyone else, wasn’t that what he said?

‘My dear, your face betrays you,” he announced with mirth, “you’re overthinking again.” He pulled at the tie on your robe, undoing it and starting to fluff it open, exposing your body to him. His hands were suddenly on your ribs, before lifting you to a standing position. He went back to a kneeling position in front of you, face to face with your burning cunt, which you knew was slick with desire already. Alastor took a deep sniff of the air, closing his eyes and enjoying the scent you were emitting.

“I believe I told them that if you were being eaten, I would be responsible.” He stated wickedly, a flash of black sclera visible. You flushed even harder, understanding the connotation now. He had your body exposed, the housecoat open and he rested his forehead on your lower stomach. He was either gaining nerve or control over himself, you were unsure. H

e asked you for permission, and remembering his statement from the night before you gave him verbal permission, though it wasn’t with the same confidence, as you followed up with a “-don’t feel obligated, it’s not something I enj-oooo-oi oh god!” At the first touch of his long, hot tongue to your clit, your knees gave out and your ass hit the floor, Alastor quickly following as he grabbed under your knees and pulled them beside either side of his head as he began to devour you.

Your fall had shoved the chair back, freeing up the space for you to lay flat against the ground, hands coming to your face to contain your shriek of pleasure that erupted from you.

It was clear that all previous attempts of being eaten out were by a selfish, bored partner, because if your previous experience was someone who was stuffed from dinner denying themselves dessert, Alastor was a man starved, craving more. He was desperately entering you with his slender tongue, the thick muscle thrusting within your wet cunt, lapping the proof of your desire.

The sensation was almost immediately too much, a type of pleasure that no one could have possibly described to you. This was something that only experience would enlighten you too. His tongue would dip in and out and swirl against your clit, but when his teeth took the tiny nub in their grip, you screamed a guttural cry of pleasure, sharp and powerful. Alastor hummed, sending the sensation overboard.

He sucked, grazed with his teeth, and tongued your clit with tortuous precision. As slow and steady you had taken him in the shower, nearly punishing him with gentleness, Alastor was the opposite. He was overstimulating you as you desperately raced towards your finish. Your hands fisted in his hair, accidentally pulling on one of his ears, resulting in a loud grunting moan from the demon, who repaid your actions with a devouring hunger for you. His twisting, diving tongue had been joined by a thumb, having released one of your legs to assist you in finding your release.

Your hips were almost vibrating, and very quickly you could feel your body tipping over that edge, and suddenly you felt your orgasm, clenching your insides and filling Alastors mouth with a little gift of desire from your core, which he eagerly consumed, not letting up on his actions. He was enjoying the unravelling you were facing, your breath coming through incoherent statements and praise to god (rude), and though swollen and the contractions of your pussy slowing down, he did not ease up on the attention he was giving you.

You protested slightly, saying it was too much, you couldn’t do it, you already came - but soon after the first one he raced you through a second orgasm in minutes. This one had you release a purely animalistic groan as your body took you through a second, far more intense, orgasm. Alastor was clearly sucking the soul out of you, and you were pretty sure if he asked you would have offered it to him. He held onto your jerking hips, lessening the chance of you smashing into his nose, and he lapped at you while you wound down, breathing deeply to try and contain the state that he put you in.

He nipped at each inner thigh, before suckling at choice spots on your upper legs, stomach and chest, leaving little love bruises as he made his way up to your face. He placed a kiss on your jawline and lifted his head up to your ears, before causing even more embarrassment to you,

”Delicious,” He purred. Your hands covered your red face, and he laughed darkly at your reaction. You peeked at him through your fingers and noted that hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and his lips and chin were coated in the slick of your orgasm. He was sucking at his thumb, resting on his knees in between your legs, and wiping his chin with the side of his hand, rubbing it on his housecoat.

“What was that about not enjoying that?” He mocked, questioning your last coherent statement. “You know I don’t like it when you lie, chere.” Nnngh, the French. Good god, you were an accent hoe. Your list of kinks kept growing the more you spent with this man. Praise, light bondage, hair pulling, voyeurism (you had been having multiple fantasies about that time in the club), accents - Alastor was constantly teaching you new things about yourself. Like oh boy, did you enjoy oral. Like a bunch. Giving and receiving, it was like Christmas, but better because the only returns you got would be shared pleasure.

As your hands came off your face as you got control over your breathing, he leaned over you -

“Liars deserve punishment, darling, and I am still hungry.” His shadows swarmed the two of you, and when they cleared, they had dropped you in your bed, both housecoat free. Would the day be just sex? You weren’t even aware of how many hours had passed already, or even what hour it was. Alastors face captured your attention so intensely you didn’t have the nerve to glance around your room and look for the time. It was clear that whatever beast you thought you saw in Alastors bayou last night had nothing on the beast he had become sexually. It was like he was making up for lost time, and you were his muse. A willing participant eager to meet your combined inexperience with enthusiasm.

Very quickly he flipped you over, and understanding his intention, you could feel yourself get slick again. Or perhaps it was a side effect of Alastors desire, regardless, your body was ready and eager for whatever was next. Walking on his knees in between your legs, he lifted your hips up slightly, and guided your head down to the mattress, manipulating your arms to circle your head and almost touch the headboard. He put one knee beside one of yours, the dent in the mattress making that known. He had placed himself right at your core, prodding slightly.

You were impressed with how hard he was already. Clearly his actions before this gave him some intense pleasure as well. His tip breached your cunt, thrusting into you and nearly bottoming out on the first motion. You dug your hands into the sheets, and the mattress caught your groan. Alastor was shifting your hips around, trying to find the most effective way to start a rhythm of movement. One of his hands held a leg and the other wrapped around the side of your waist to keep you in position.

You were almost sore from his earlier attention, but it was quickly forgotten as the two of you were in this embrace, and your body seemed ready for another round as it was quite responsive. Soon he found a motion that worked for the both of you, and you were meeting his thrusts eagerly, your own rolling up for impact. He seemed desperate, one hand firmly gripping your hip in place, another on your shoulder as if he was afraid you would try and wiggle away. His thrusts picked up pace, as if he were being timed. This session was not sensual and drawn out as the times before, you couldn't escape the feeling that he needed this moment of dominance to gain some control over himself.

With your current position, you could feel his cock press against your cervix with minor discomfort. You were unsure if it was the numerous orgasms that you had been given already or the pain, but the build to orgasm was taking longer for you. Quite possibly for Alastor as well, due to your particularly intimate connection. You moved an arm and reached down to your clit, hoping to put pressure on it to get you there just a touch quicker.

However, this was not an acceptable action for Alastor, and he quickly removed his hand from your hip and slapped your hand away. The hand holding your shoulder moved closer to your neck and he pulled you towards him. He brought you up from your bent status, and had your back against his chest. He had manoeuvred your positions around so now Alastor was thrusting up, and he filled even more of you than before due to the simple fact of gravity. But this position had him hitting that soft, delicate, over sensitive spot within your cunt. Suddenly every prod at your cervix was paired with a firm pressure against your g-spot, mixing the two sensations in harmonious balance.

Unable to move without considerate disruption of your current activity, you just brought your hands up and almost behind you to put your hands on the back of Alastors neck. He in turn had moved one hand to a breast, pinching the nipple, and the other went to your clit. Firmly and methodically he had his finger circling and pressing against it as he thrust up into you. This was easily your favourite position yet. With every movement of his hips, Alastor filled your ears with haggard breaths. Seemingly from a man overwhelmed with pleasure. Your bodies were hot, light perspiration causing a chill from the open air to hit you and making you shiver in conjunction with the pleasure you were enjoying.

“A—ah, Ah-Ah-las-tooor” you groaned out, getting a choked out gasp from behind you. He went harder, faster - he was relentless. He moved his head within your loose grasp and placed an open mouthed kiss above your clavicle, tongue lapping up the hot slick that covered your body. Suddenly he increased his finger movement on your clit while simultaneously slamming into your cunt, and when you started to release another broken melody of his name, he bit your shoulder rather hard and pinched your nipple hard. The deadly combination had you loudly cry out a sound of pleasure, Alastor expelled a low, shaky groan into your own ears right after an announcement of his own release..

As you came, your hips jerked back slightly, and your body was simply squeezing whatever remaining orgasm it could reach. You let your body take control and you slumped against Alastor, your arms now simply draped behind you loosely resting on the man's shoulders. You were spent, sore, and satisfied. You felt like you had swum a mile with how sore your muscles were. Thankfully he seemed to recognize this, and after the last minor thrust to ensure you were sufficiently filled, lifted you gently off his lap. He laid you down on your side and removed himself from the bed, walking to the bathroom. You could hear the sink run, and very soon after Alastor was back in between your legs, gently cleaning you up with a warm cloth. You could only quietly respond to his actions with a gentle thank you, which was given a very satisfied smile in return.

As he took care of the both of you, your eyelids were heavier with each blink. Finally, in silence, he crept up the bed to lay beside you, a finger aimlessly tracing lines into your side. You were slipping into sleep, though you wanted to just enjoy this quiet aftershock of your very strange day, it was simply too difficult to stay conscious. Pulling a sheet over your bodies, Alastor tucked you into his chest and put his chin at the top of your head, one arm wrapping around your upper shoulders and the other finding comfort at your midsection. Your own hands were folded into your own chest, with your hands coming up to rest under your chin. The two of you folded right into each other without discomfort. Each swell of your body settling into a sharp edge to his while the bends and grooves of his long, lithe body perfectly encompassed you like puzzle pieces.

The warmth emanating off him had you welcoming sleep without hesitation. Each of you settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern, Alastor snapped his fingers to shut the lights off, and you fell into a deep sleep. You weren’t certain, but you thought you heard a soft hum of contentment rumble from the demon who fell into slumber right after you.

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@queermaxwooo @drawings-by-meh @sirens-and-moonflowers @looking1016 @mo-0-o @blakeaha @mutifandomkid @ministarheaven @nightingale0603 @loadedwafflefries @rizzscary @bishiglomper @vividachromatic @fluffy-koalala @mkaella @readergirlstuff @xalygatorx @phisen @rukkshevahna @hazbin-hoetel @white-00-7 @iheartalastor @littlebluefishtail @little-slyvixen @bishiglomper @catticora @alastorssimp @midorichoco @garfieldthomas @spottypug @witchykitten @cryssyd @katzenwahnsinn @zzzykiek @hippurislonghorn

6+k of smut. A gift due to my delay in uploading.

[marauders-brain-rot]

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Wrote a really heavy and quite depressing chapter today and needed to fix my brain by writing something cute and fluffy. So, here is 1,468 words of pure Wolfstar fluff. (No Voldy/war, honestly could be with or without actual magic, I don’t make it clear either way so if you want it to be a muggle au then it can be or if you just want it to be a no Voldy au that works too)

Sirius was almost certain he’d wear a hole in the carpet long before Remus got home. He’d been pacing for hours now, his stomach tied in knots thinking about that night and what would come of it. 

It was their anniversary, eight years together as an official couple and tonight would change everything for them. They’d had nights like these before, the kind that would imprint themselves on their memories and brand themselves across their skin, tying them irrevocably together in a way that no one else would ever understand. 

The first was when they’d confessed their love for one another, never ones to do things by halves, that had been the night they’d first gotten together. They’d danced around their feelings for a while before that, their friendship always coming first, until one night where they couldn’t take the tension between them any longer. There’d been a screaming match that ended in a passionate kiss and finally a confession of their undying love for one another. They ended that night wrapped together in Remus’s bed in the boys dormitory, foreheads pressed together and bodies intertwined to the point where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. 

The next one had been when they decided to get a place of their own, another night full of tears and kisses. They’d gotten a place with James and Peter as soon as they’d left school, wanting to be out on their own but still with their closest friends, who had really become more like brothers. The years spent in that flat had been some of the best of their lives, the nights spent drunk on the floor and sprawled across the furniture would live in their minds forever, as spotty as those memories were. But, they needed their own space. It had been Remus who had said something first, though Sirius had thought it for a while. He loved their little flat with their two best mates, but sometimes he wanted to be alone with the man he loved, wanted to spend nights and days wrapped in one another’s arms without feeling like it was an intrusion on their friends' lives. And so, after a very long and very tear filled discussion, they agreed to start looking. 

Then, they bought their house together. A sanctuary for the two of them that they made entirely their own. Their first night there together was one that he hoped would never leave him, even on his last days on this planet. They’d spent the day unpacking, James and Peter had finally left and the house was quiet at last, something they hadn’t experienced possibly ever. They’d gotten their favourite mugs down from their new home in the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced in the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) together with the biggest smiles plastered on their faces.

Then came the night they’d gotten engaged, something that had been magical all on its own. Remus had asked him, because of course he had. Sirius had been planning on asking Remus, but of course he’d beaten him to it. It was private and intimate and unequivocally theirs. If Sirius closed his eyes he could see the rose petals strewn about, the lanterns that lit their home, could smell the undeniable scents of his favourite meal that Remus had spent all day cooking for him. Remus had said some beautiful, wonderful, magical words about how Sirius was his guiding light in the sea of darkness, how he’d have lost himself entirely without him and how he never wanted to bear the pain of living life without the man he’d loved since they were only boys. Sirius kissed him then, couldn’t stand to wait another moment where rings didn’t adorn their fingers claiming them for one another and as soon as Remus placed the one he’d gotten Sirius on his finger, Sirius had sprinted up the steps and practically flown into their room to get the ring he’d gotten for Remus. That night they’d fallen asleep together, their fingers interlocked and rings pressed against one another’s. 

Then, they’d gotten married. It was small, intimate and beautiful, another day with magic thick in the air. Their closest friends were there, and even Regulus came as he and Sirius had mended their relationship years prior, it was everything Sirius had ever wanted. To be able to look into the eyes of the man he loved and tell him how he was the physical embodiment of magic, how he’d loved him for over a decade and still found new reasons to love him every single day, how he had never really known what any kind of love looked like until he’d looked into his eyes. They danced to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) as their first dance and kissed under the stars in the company of those that loved them most, soaking in every moment of the night together and relishing in the complete togetherness they finally got to experience. 

All of that brought him to now, tonight, a night that would change the rest of their lives just like all the others had. He’d cooked Remus’s favourite meal, gotten his favourite cake from the bakery 45 minutes away and set the house perfectly for the mood. Everything was perfect, everything would be perfect. So why did he feel like something might go wrong? 

He heard the key turning in the lock and felt his breath leave him, there would be no turning back now. As soon as Remus opened the door and saw Sirius standing there a broad smile spread across his face, the confusion coming next as he saw the setting around him. 

“Sirius?” He hadn’t expected them to do anything tonight, Sirius had been planning this surprise for a week now and though their wedding anniversary wasn’t for another month, he felt tonight was the right night. 

“Welcome home, love,” he kissed Remus’s cheek before leading him to the table laden with candles. 

“What’s all this?” His smile was the brightest thing in the room and how Sirius longed for it to last a lifetime. 

“Eat first, we’ll talk after cake.” Was it a slightly cowardly move to put off this conversation? Possibly, but he didn’t want dinner or cake to go to waste if the conversation went how he thought it would. When they’d finally finished eating and the record had stopped for the second time, Remus finally turned expectantly to Sirius. 

“Want to tell me what this is about, love?”

“I want to start off by saying that I love our life here, I love you and I love our home and I love the life we’ve built for ourselves.” He paused, needing his words to sink in before he continued. “And I want you to know that this is because of how much I love you and how much I know you love me, I want us to share our love.”

“Okay?” 

“Do you remember my cousin, Tonks?”

“Of course I do.”

“Right, well, she’s pregnant and she can’t take care of a baby right now. She’s just getting started on her career and she has her whole life ahead of her, she’s in no place to be having a child. But, well, we are.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in and once they did he watched as Remus’s face transformed entirely. 

“You want to adopt her baby?” The smile on his face rivalled all others Sirius had seen, it practically lit up the world with how brilliant it was. All Sirius could do was nod and swallow nervously. “I would be honoured to have a baby with you.”

That night they laughed and cried, they held onto one another tighter than they ever had before. They got their favourite mugs down from the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, and put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced around the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You). 

And how sweet it was, really, to love and be loved in return. To have a lifetime of memories together already and a lifetime of them more to look forward to. To know that their love would live beyond them and would change the lives of not only themselves but also of this new little baby they would be adding into their perfect little world and any others they might end up with along the line. They’d chosen one another, chosen love, and chosen life, and how sweet a life it was turning out to be.