#because who the fuck is going to question skull when he tells u she needs better water quality

[llamagoddessofficial]

I wonder… Zoo Siren AU but reversed? MC is the siren stuck in the zoo and the skeletons are the workers? How would that work out? 🤔

owHOOPS tripped and fell in love with the pretty local siren girl

Sans: He's a researcher studying siren communications. When the local aquarium offers for him to interact regularly with their resident siren for his research, he's delighted, and jumps at the chance. She's initially very hostile toward him but nothing can cool his absolute fascination with such a beautiful apex predator- he wears her down with his consistency, always visiting and giving her snacks and talking with her. He also wears her down with his obvious admiration and delight... it's hard to hate someone, when they think everything about you is perfect and worth its own individual peer-reviewed paper. She often finds herself blushing at his clear googoo eyes.

Over time, they do build a genuine connection. And Sans feels that. He's always visiting, and he's making great progress with his research. But... he starts to realise that he isn't even paying that much attention to his research anymore. A lot of his growing obsession with his field... well. It boils down to an obsession with her.

Red: He's her 'trainer' technically, but he dislikes the word. He's the one who spends the most time in the tank with her, his job description is pretty much just to make her do tricks for the crowd but he goes out of his way to try and keep her entertained and mentally stimulated, with tank games and complicated routines they can perform together underwater. If anyone else tried to get her to do 'tricks' she'd bite their hands off, but she allows it with Red, because he makes it really fun. She still does bite him every now and then- but it's much more playful. Much more flirty. Red seems chill... but secretly, he fucking hates the idea of anyone else being in the tank with her, because everyone else seems to treat her like a performing monkey.

She may have a little bit of a crush on him. He's always so confident, and he's always spending time with her. His teeth remind her of a big shark- a big predator, just like her. She trusts him.

Skull: He's in charge of her feeding schedule and health. Something of a vet and a chef, he makes sure she's healthy, stable, regularly eating nutritious food to keep her safe. She likes him a lot and not just because he's always bringing food- at first he was intimidating, but nobody can resist the Skull Rizz and she grew to consider him a close companion. She likes that he lets her gnaw on his hands... she also likes that if she offers to share some of her food with him he'll literally eat it on the spot. She admires the intense dedication- no one else will eat raw fish like him.

He'll sit on the edge of her pool, and she'll come spend time with him. Most siren doctors who try to give her checkups end up losing a few knuckles here and there, but Skull can simply hold out his hand and she'll let him examine wherever he needs to. He feels deeply responsible for her safety and health.

#llamagines #zoo siren mc au #siren mc has a much better time than the siren sanses #the sanses have 1 person who cares between the three of them #mc has 3 people who deeply care all to herself #better food... better entertainment... better overall treatment too #because who the fuck is going to question skull when he tells u she needs better water quality

[1kook]

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.  GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it. 

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out. 

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on. 

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend. 

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression. 

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?” 

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week. 

But also… 

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately. 

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.” 

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing? 

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction. 

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.” 

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?” 

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. 

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.” 

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway. 

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will. 

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground. 

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did. 

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #mine

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

I dunno if it's too late to make requests (and u can ignore this message if it is) but I have this idea that I'm completely incapable of writing, I was hoping for maybe..some kind of fantasy scenario where human reader meets fae or siren Taehyung once while they were both children and, maybe they kinda pinky promise to marry one another, only for her to have forgotten about the whole ordeal with time, maybe assuming it was all just her imagination, and years later into her adulthood he comes back, having never forgotten the reader? You can change this however you see fit in order to make it more your style, and smut isnt necessary of you don't want to add it in..😅 💕

You had heard about the stories. Heard about him. Perhaps that’s why you walked into the woods so late at night, with a full moon lighting your way. To see if they were true, or because you already believed them and wanted to see him. The woods, however, were empty and what an unsuspecting fellow would call normal. Undismayed, you sat by the big Oak tree until you felt your eyelids be weighed down from the weariness. For you were only eight and the night was growing older than you. From that point on, you were not sure if you dreamt of the boy or if he shook you awake, but you remembered the interaction like it was yesterday.

“You’re waiting for me.” Not a question but you still took it as one.

“No, I’m waiting for the fairy.”

The boy chuckled. He laid down next to you, eyes sparkling in the dark as if they were luminescent. “I like you. You’re pretty. It’s only why I appeared.”

You thought about all your classmates and your cousin’s friends. None looked like that boy. “I don’t know you.”

“Oh.” He shuffled closer until he could reach to extend a hand to you. “You can call me Taehyung.” You took his hand, introducing yourself as well. “I’m new here. Did I by any chance bother you or your folks? I apologize.”

You shrugged, looking away, still trying to catch a glimpse of the alleged creature that playfully appeared here and there to tease the townspeople. “You’re not bothering me. I don’t know about anyone else, though…”

“Haha.” The boy laughed in a forced way yet it felt genuine. Like he had indeed enjoyed your remark but laughter wasn’t a sound he could make by his nature. “I really like you. You’re very pretty,” he repeated. “Do you want to stay here with me forever?”

You eyed him from your peripheral vision. “You mean like… marry you?”

He frowned for a beat, analyzing your words. And then his face lit up— quite literally. “Yeah!” he chirped. “Yeah, something like that.”

You had never been proposed to before. Sure, you knew about all the boys that had a crush on you at school, and you knew about how cute you were because your parents and their friends always told you so. But Taehyung was better than all of them combined. “Okay,” you replied easily.

The young boy seemed so happy, reached out to grab a piece of your hair. And after a couple of sparks appeared, the strand had been cut off and was trapped between his fingers.

“Hey! What—”

Taehyung brought the strand to the side of his neck, pressing it against his skull, and with a couple more sparks, it was connected with his own hair. Standing out from his locks yet looking like he had grown it himself. “Now we’re married,” he said, speaking the word as if it was foreign to him.

“No,” you immediately interjected. “That’s not how people get married.”

“It’s not?”

You shook your head. “We need to walk down the aisle and have the pastor say I pronounce you husband and wife and kiss.”

“Kiss…” Taehyung gave it some thought. And then he snapped his fingers. “That’s right. We need to kiss.”

“And we can’t get married yet because we’re just children,” you continued to speak your wisdom to the confused boy.

“So when can we?”

“Hm…” You rubbed your chin because you had seen people do it on TV when they tried to think hard. “When we’re old. Like, old like my aunt! She is getting married next month.”

And the boy nodded obediently. “I can wait that long.” For your weird kind of ceremony. For his, you needn’t wait at all. All he needed was… a kiss. He leaned in, lips pursed and going straight for yours. And you gasped, getting up and running away, out of the woods, far from the boy you had just promised to marry.

You never saw him again. Which is why you were inclined to believe it was all just your childhood imagination going wild. Sometimes you got a very sudden urge to think about him, like he was mentally intruding on your life. But the older you got, the less you believed in fairies. And you got old… old like your aunt. And it was your turn to get married now.

Waiting in the dressing room alone to stare at your reflection in that mirror and take a few last, deep breaths before walking out for the nuptial rite, you didn’t expect to be disturbed by a strange and deep voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Upon turning around, you saw a man. A novel man. Handsome and somewhat scary as he glared at you and charged towards your spot. “What?” you choked out before clearing your throat. “I- I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here.”

“You’re about to walk down that aisle and have the pastor say I pronounce you husband and wife and kiss that man?” he spoke in a breath, pointing to the door.

You were frozen, looking into his shiny eyes as if you were entranced. Not sure how to react in this odd situation, yet something about the man intriguing you. “Um… yeah?”

“You can’t!” he gasped. Eyes so wide and pleading you silently. “We were supposed to do that.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m your husband.” It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, not in the slightest, but he seemed so confident of it he almost convinced you. “You’re mine, you can’t marry another man,” he insisted.

And right when you were about to open your mouth to tell him he was being insane, tell him you had no idea who he was and that he needed to get out, he called your name. Called your name in a way that was so fitting for it, like he was the only one who ever should be saying it. You paused, and you frowned. And you looked at him better. The man reached behind his neck and brought forward a strand of hair that didn’t match his own. Didn’t match because that was your hair. That dream… that dream hadn’t been a dream at all.

“I waited for you,” the boy-turned-man whispered, voice sounding as sad as his eyes looked. “I waited for as long as you needed. How can you do this to me?”

Your face was numb. And you shivered, shaking harder the more you let the realization sink in. “Tae- Taehyung?” you gulped. “You’re real?”

The man rushed to you, grabbed your face with both hands gently, fingers stroking your cheeks as if he knew tears were about to fall. “Of course. Who ever told you otherwise?”

You were lost for words, just staring into his eyes that were communicating more than you ever could. The boy from the woods had returned for you, just as promised. And now that he had you, he felt ready to finish what you two had started. This time, when he leaned in with his eyes closed and his lips on a straight line towards yours, you didn’t flinch, you didn’t pull or run away. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was just what was meant to happen. He kissed you and everything instantly changed. The bond completed. A bond unlike the mortal rituals you try to parody— that was a bond connecting your souls instead of a verbal agreement that could easily be broken by the human instability. And when he pulled away, you knew it, you felt it; you were indeed his and he was yours. Forever.

“Oh my God,” you mouthed. The feeling crushing you and making your mind race faster and faster. “Oh my— Fuck!” You were his and he was yours now. Forever. What would you do now? There was another man still waiting outside to marry you. “Fuck, fuck!”

“It’s alright,” Taehyung whispered, holding you tighter. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking about or could feel exactly what you felt. Perhaps he could. “Don’t worry. None of that will matter in a bit.”

He scooped your legs, lifting you up with ease you were certain no human being could possess. And he jumped out of the window and landed perfectly, even though that window was so high up. And you were in the woods within a blink of an eye, even though those woods were miles away. By that big, old Oak tree, where it all started. He was right, your meaningless mortal problems already appeared like so; you were with Taehyung now and it all seemed to make more sense than anything ever did in your life.

“You look so pretty,” the man spoke, drawing you back from your thoughts. “Like a fairy.” He chuckled, this time his laughter sounding better than the last. And then he kissed your cheek, and your neck, and it felt like each peck was gifting you whole years of life. “I’ve missed you. You never came to visit.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, flustered.

“It’s okay.” He was calm, looking at your eyes that you didn’t even know yet that they shined like his. “We have eternity ahead of us to be together.”

“Eternity?”

He chuckled again, music to your ears. And he leaned in to bite your bottom lip playfully. “Don’t you know, honey? Time flows strangely when you’re married to a fae.”

Masterlist

#bts #bangtan #kim taehyung #request #taehyung #v #drabble #fluff #fantasy #taehyung drabble #taehyung fluff #bts drabble #bts fluff #fae taehyung

[dekus-afro-pic]

Spoiled Brat

Pairings: Y/N x Tomura Shigaraki

Warning::: tiny tiny mangs spoiler

“I’m done with your shit, Tenko” You spat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. It was the last straw. You were sick of your partner blowing you off for some video game or to torment high school kids. What’s up with that? Who does shit like that? You didn’t choose this lifestyle to scar teenagers. You chose it to get back at the heroes who were good for nothing.

“Where the fuck are you going?” The 20 year old grabbed at your bag only for you to shrug him off. You ignored his constant call of your name, walking to your own room in the hideout to get the rest of your things.

“Hey. Answer me when I’m talking to you” With a grab to your wrist he spun you around to face him.

“Eat. Shit.” You shook free from his hold and walked out of the door.

Dabi and Compress just stood in shock at the way you talked to Tomura. You guys fought all the time but never did you call him by his childhood name. That caused Shigaraki’s blood to boil.

How dare she talk to me that way? Did she forget who I am? Shigaraki fucking Tomura. Mentored by All for One. I’ll have her killed.

The thoughts came faster than he could scratch. In the back of his mind he knew that he wouldn’t be able to kill you. Not after everything the two of you have been through. Ever since the two of you were kids you’d never had a fight like this.

Blood covered his finger tips as he slammed the door to what was your room. He faced Dabi and Compress with wide eyes.

“Go find her” his voiced rasped. “GO FIND HER NOW”!

You know that he sent the two most skilled members of the league after you. But did you care? Hell no. Your not a “Pick-me” or a push over. Whatever you want you take with no questions asked.

You know all the spots where they don’t bother to look or dare to go. So of course your going to hideout there.

You think back at the words that were exchanged between the two of you. “Did you actually mean what you said?” You whispered to yourself “Well of course I meant it at the time. And I still feel like he’s a spoiled brat. I mean yea his childhood was shit but after he was taken in by All for One he’s had everything handed to him”

“Y/n stop talking to yourself. You sound like Toga” A voice said from beside you.

“I’m not going back Dabi. Go away. You too Compress I know you’re in his pocket”

With a pop of his quirk, Compress appeared in front of you. “That’s no fun if you spoil the trick Y/n”

“Yea whatever”

“Listen” Dabi started, “We won’t force you to go back. We can always say that we couldn’t find you”

“And lose your life in the process? Yea right” you scoff, turning down another alleyway “I’m not that dumb. Compress is going to use his quirk, stick me in his pocket, and the two of u get tv privileges. I’ve seen it before”

You were pushed to the brick wall of the ally by rough hands. A pinky came into your line of vision and you groaned in realization. You glare at the two villains behind him “Y’all set me up. Nice plan Shigi”

“Shut up” he growled from behind Father, “You dare disrespect me as if I won’t dust you like you mean nothing to me?”

“I didn’t disrespect you. I spoke the truth. You lost sight at what you originally planned on doing” you spat back, “You’re going to kill me Shigi? Then do it. Kill me knowing that it was I who stayed by your side since we were kids. It was I who helped you practice your quirk. It’s AFO who’s manipulating you. Using your fucking emotions against you. I bet it was him who told you to kill me. Always need somebody to instruct you on what to do. Grow some damn balls for once.”

For the second time tonight, Dabi and Compress were lost for words.

Gigantic balls.

You and Tomura stayed quiet for a while, the two of you never breaking eye contact. Tearing Father from off his face, He kisses you. Groans from the other two villains are ignored as he slipped his tongue past your lips.

What they failed to realize is that Shigaraki had his whole hand wrapped around your neck. The man pulled away with a smirk on his face at the thought of your dusted body. But once he opened his eyes his smirk fell.

No no no, this can’t be. You’re supposed to be dead. You’re quirk less how could you possibly still be standing there.

“Well I’ll be dammed” Dabi snickered.

“Seems like Madam L/n has a quirk repelling quirk” Compressed smiled.

“Well shit” You laughed, “Looks like your plan failed. Once again”

Shigaraki’s scowl returned as the grip around your throat tightened. “Why can’t you just die”

“Try harder...Bitch” you pushed the man away with newfound strength. “Can’t believe you tried to kill me while kissing me. If that doesn’t scream ‘Toxic’”

“Come on,” Shigaraki replaced Father on his face and grabbed your hand “We’re going back to the hideout”

“Like hell I am” You pull away from his grasp “You need to get your shit together Tomura”

“Compress”

And with that you were enclosed in a blue marble.

“Stupid Magician always trapping me in this damn marble. SCREW YOU MR. ABRA KADABRA. YOU TO YOU BURNT CHICKEN NUGGET. CANT STAND YOU THREE IDIOTS. I HOPE TO-“

“Dearest Y/N please stop rambling. We’re almost there.” Compress groaned.

Now that you think about it...how the hell are you in here in the first place? Why didn’t you repel this quirk? Did you even try? No you did not.

So you relaxed, putting all your concentration towards getting out of that small blue ball. Compress felt the marble shake in his pocket. Just after he stepped foot into the hideout he pulled out the marble and watched you emerge.

“Some timing” you strain. While stretching your limbs, you walked towards your room. But you weren’t alone. You felt him push you through the threshold and slammed the door behind him.

“Give me your hand” He demanded.

You rolled your eyes and placed your hand in his. “Normal people would’ve just stabbed the person that they wanted to kill”

“Stop talking.”

Shigaraki moved backwards towards your bed. Falling on his back when he felt the frame hit his knees, he pulled you on top of him. “Now, tell me why we’re fighting”

“Because you’re an abused emotional man-child” You respond, pushing light blue hair away from his face. “You need help”

“Don’t we all” he scoffs.

Your eyes would’ve rolled to the depths of your skull if they could. You took a handful of his hair and yanked it. “You know what the fuck I mean. You need to stop being the puppet that belongs to AFO and be Tomura. Get revenge for Tenko”

“He’s my mentor, not my puppet master” He bites back, leaving crescent shaped marks on your hips.

“So you’d rather torment highschool kids rather than the heroes that actually failed you”

That statement shut him up. Tomura closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “You know you’re going to get me in a whole lot of trouble talking that way”

You place a kiss to his forehead and smile, “And I’ll fight by your side every time”

#mha #mha bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha x y/n #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader smut #kirishima x reader #boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero academia tomura #tomura smut #tomurashigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki angst #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fluff #bnha shigaraki

[kirschteinsj]

Pinky Promises

Nanami x fem! reader

Warnings: nothing too much! maybe language but overall just a bunch of fluff and lovey dovey stuff 

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Domestic Nanami and reader, just thinking about how much they love each other. sappy and cute stuff.

A/N: Hi! ^_^ Second time posting, I’ve had this one shot saved for a bit now! finally posting it lolz. I've noticed a lot of people have written domestic Nanami pics or drawn art, very glad society as a whole has this perception of him. it truly heals the soul I think. anyway, I hope u like this and sorry if there’s any grammar errors I wasnt able to catch U_U im thinking of doing a hc post next.... unsure hm, we’ll see ^_^!!

“I’m hooooome.” He says loudly as he steps through the apartment door, setting his briefcase down and taking off his beige coat. Putting down the grand kitchen knife she was using to chop up spinach, she rushed to the door with a smile and engulfed the tall blonde into a tight hug, saying hello. She took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of his cologne, the smell of something sour and musty soon taking over. Her face scrunched up and she let out a giggle.

“Oh god, Nanami, you stink, what did you go against today?”

“Nothing too bad. Just a grade 3,” He sighed “A smelly grade 3.” He sounded disappointed, probably because he knew he stunk too. Though the smell was horrendous, she still remained in his arms and he still held on just as tight.

“Are you tired? I was thinking of making dinner with you tonight but if you’re too tired I can-”

“No no. I’m fine. Just let me wash up and I’ll help out.”

“You sure?” She asked looking up towards him, questioning once more to reassure. He looked down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m sure, dear.”

While he showers upstairs, she gets back to readying the ingredients so they could begin cooking their masterpiece as soon as possible. Tonight she had chosen chicken alfredo with a tossed salad; One could say it was her favourite, but saying that would imply that she would eat it when cooked and served by whomever. But to her, she would only eat it when it was him who had made it for her.

Y/n adored him. He adored her. To her, he was her light. She could simply not imagine life without him, not after he had come in and changed her in such a way. She never in a million years would have thought to be so in love with someone. To have known someone who cared enough to hear all about her day or listen to all her tangents, whether they made sense or not. Who listened to her talk forever about anything just so he could see the faint glow of passion in her eyes. Someone who remembered the small details in regards to the things she loved and the things she despised; Like how she hated the feeling of peanut butter on her fingers and how she absolutely admired the scent of fresh pages in a new book. Sometimes, she felt undeserving of him.

He admired her like no other. Never did he believe he’d be capable of opening up to anyone in such a way, at least not until she walked into his life. He could write a million lists, all full of everything he loved about her. The way she smiled cheekily at him after a witty remark, how she'd give every hug as if it was the last, the way she was oh so patient with him. It took him time to become vulnerable in the slightest, he just didn’t know how to do so without burdening her. She knew his job was hard, he’d told her. But rather than running away like he expected, she stayed with him right by his side. She refused to leave him over that. If anything, it made her want to stay more since she felt the need to be there for him. It felt like a punch to the gut but a good one. “So, is this love?” He had asked himself then. Nanami had someone who brought out the much more joyful side to him. At the end of the day, he knew he’d walk through the front door only to see her, arms wide open and with a big smile offering a cozy hug. She was his home. Sometimes, he felt undeserving of her.

Putting the final piece of broccoli into the container, she tidies any clutter and went back to their shared bedroom. Sinking into the bed and falling on it with a plush thump, she lets out a deep sigh mixed with some sort of a groan. She herself was exhausted from work too to say the least. She didn’t deal with curses or anything like that, but she did teach a class of 9 year olds which one could consider just as frustrating. Yawning, she checks her phone to read the time: 6:15 PM. Nanami hadn’t been in the shower for too long, a small nap wouldn’t hurt. Quickly, she settled for a little 30 minute nap. That way, she could get up soon enough to help him out in the kitchen and not abandon him to do everything on his own. She turns her phone off and slowly, her eyes shut.

…

Y/n slowly opens her eyes and notices a grey throw blanket placed on her, something that she doesn’t recall going to bed with earlier. “Must’ve been Nanami.” Grabbing her phone, she turns the screen on, wincing at the incredible blue light piercing into her skull. “Fuck.” she mumbles. Once her eyes adjust, she glances back at the screen for the time: 7:30.

“FUCK,” she says, voice croaking “I overslept.” With the speed of light, she leaves bed and runs down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up. She soon makes her way over to the kitchen silently, slightly ashamed and guilty. Y/n mumbles a whine with a frown, “He’s probably done making things now. I could have helped.”

The kitchen is filled with the delicate scents of sauces, cheese and herbs. She watches him from the door frame, admiring her boyfriend. He stood in front of the stove mixing at the sauce for the alfredo, which scent alone made her mouth water. Nanami seems to be in his own world, as he stands humming to himself softly, stirring the pot of sauce and adding in the broccoli and spinach, not seeming to notice y/n. With a final stir, he carefully sets the lid and turns to rinse his hands. Her gaze sits upon his figure, how his grey oversized shirt slightly clings to his shoulders and loosens as it goes down his body. Looking down, she noticed the bright red christmas pyjamas he had on, the ones with adorable little reindeers all over them. Grinning, she remembers how she had bought those for him. She purchased a matching set for the two of them and insisted on wearing them all day on Christmas last year. Nanami had responded to the idea with a stern “No” which left y/n in shambles. She didn’t expect him to agree, but hey, a girl can dream. However, on Christmas day, lo and behold, she had woken up to find Nanami sitting on the couch, watching the news with his reindeer PJs on. Immediately, she had attacked him with hugs and kisses and all Nanami did was sit there and accept them, secretly loving it the whole time.

A deep voice throws her out of her thoughts. “You know, it’s rude to stare, right?”

Y/n chuckles quietly and makes her way over, wrapping her arms around him from behind, snuggling into his back.

“I like to stare at you, you’re cute,” she breathes in his scent once again, “ah, you smell so much better now. Like the nami I know.”

“I am not cute. I am a grown man.”

“C’mon, you can’t possibly be saying that right now. Not while you’re wearing these pants.” She coos, gently patting his butt. He goes silent, refusing to rebuttal knowing that he’s lost. He leans against the counter, his front facing her. Though he didn’t say anything, y/n sees this as an open invite to his arms. The rope of his arms finds her waist this time, her arms in an embrace around his neck.

“Whatever, tell me, how was your day, hm?” He posed, changing the subject.

“Same old, yenno. The kids and I had a discussion today about drugs and safety. It was cute, hearing them rat out their neighbours for smoking cigs and talk about how yucky they thought alcohol is. It was… sweet. How was work for you, hon?”

“Shit.” He retorts, closing his eyes, “Work is shit.”

“Oh come ON, I’m sure it’s not always that bad, right? Say, how’s your friend doing, you know, the one who kinda looks like one of my makeup brushes! Isn’t he good company?”

“Yeah, if good company means having to deal with a nuisance to society on a daily basis then by all means, yes, Gojo is wonderful company.” He joked, loosening his grip on her and making his way over to the stove to check on his sauce. She follows, opening the first drawer and pulling out a silver spoon, “You’re so mean sometimes. I think he’s a great guy to be around! I met him once, such a flirt.”

He teases calmly, “If you love him so much, why don’t you get with him?”

Taking her spoon, she lowers it into the pot and brings it back up to her face, blowing on it carefully before she puts it to her lips to taste. “Hmm, I would. But I don’t think he’s as big as you. I’ll have to pass.” She smirked, putting the spoon into her mouth as he watched and sighed in disappointment.

He glares,“God, you’re something else.”

“I’m just kidding, babe.” Bringing her spoon down for another taste. He swats at her hand and she retreats it with a whine. “Don’t do that. You’ve tried it already, and will again when we get to eat.” He scolded tenderly, “Plus, you shouldn’t be given these privileges anyway. It’s not like you helped out or anything.” He smiled, teasing her.

“Nanamiiii, I’m sorry,” she whines, half laughing, “I promise, I was going to help! I just got a little bit sleepy and sort of lost track of time…” He turned over to her and lifted her face with a finger under her chin. Laughing, he delicately caresses her cheek, tapping it admirably with a curled finger. The blonde chuckles and looks her in the eyes, “I’m just joking with you, love. I know you’ve been tired lately, I can tell. Why haven’t you been resting?”

Her smile falls and she sighs. Y/n wrapped her arms around his waist and brought him into her, hiding her face into his chest. It was true, she was exhausted but she didn’t deem it to be anything so serious. Work was just heavy this past week from having to grade her students’ work in time for report cards. All she wanted was the best for her kids and was finding ways to get the kids out of their comfort zones enough to do well in class. That reminded her, Nanami also mentioned having a student of his own.

She takes her face out of his chest and glances upwards. “It’s just this week of work, I promise I’ll be back to normal soon. I’ve just been busy with lesson plans and activities, yenno. Anyway, speaking of students, how’s the one you’ve been assigned to?” She posed in a soft tone. Half smiling, he turned around to add the strained pasta to the sauce, scattering it into the pot.

“He’s special. Quite lively. And cheerful. He reminds me of you sometimes,” his voice strains as he stretches to grab the bowl of cooked chicken to finally add into the pot, finishing the meal, “He’s got potential.” Y/n beamed with happiness. Nanami really seemed to like this kid and if he thought you had potential, then it sure as hell meant you had it.

She lets out a squeal, “EEEEEEK!!! That sounds amazing! I’m so happy for you!” Nanami suppressed a laugh and rolled his eyes, “It’s not that-”

“This calls for a drink, don’t you think?” She babbled with excitement, “We should have some wine! Right?”

Grabbing her wrist as she skipped her way over to the bottle, he reminded her, “You have school tomorrow. You always end up having more than needed and struggle to wake up in the morning.” Y/n frowned at his words, to which he noticed and tried to fix, “Tomorrow’s Friday, you can drink plenty tomorrow, hm? I’ll drink with you.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re right. But you have to promise.”

“I promise you ca-”

“No! You have to pinky-promise.” She demanded, pouting as he stuck out her pinky finger.

His heart skips a beat. Was she always this cute? Her angelic eyes stare into his tired ones. Bottom lip poking out, awaiting Nanami’s pinky to interlock with her own. He knew she took pinky-promises very seriously despite her grown age. It was among one of the many petty details that he cherished. Something about this pinky-promise was enough for her to ensure trust onto someone, it made him laugh. Her naivety is what made her so kind hearted, what allowed her to see the best in people. He felt that this naivety is why they’re together to begin with. He didn’t ever think she’d give him a chance. He reminisced of their first few encounters. The way she did her hair back then, the way she dressed, her shy smile and how she’d look at the floor whenever she’d blush. Maybe it was her timid nature that made him fall head over heels for her. Or maybe it was her generosity. Perhaps her beauty. He was unable to simply confine the reasoning for his infatuation with just a few traits. She grew overtime, more comfortable and less shy, she was more confident around him but he knew he could still make her blush so badly that she’d have to hide her face from him. He enjoyed their banter, her company. He felt it was luck. Or maybe it was fate. Who knows. He didn’t want to think so much about it. He wanted to live in the moment, adore her in this present time. In that instance, he felt the strong urge to kiss her. And so he did.

The kiss was short and sweet, yet full of an unfathomable amount of love. It took her aback, she didn’t quite see it coming. She too stood in the present moment, then and there, cherishing the man she loved.

His lips leave hers and he extends the smallest finger on his hand, declaring, “I pinky-promise.” And a ginormous grin washes over her face. In a whisper, she squeals and scoops her arms around his torso, resting her head onto his chest. They stay like this for a while, not too long really, but to them it felt like an eternity being in each other’s affectionate embrace. He goes to speak and she feels the vibrating boom of his voice make his way up from his chest.

“I love you.”

She sighs, “I love you too.”

Turning her head, y/n smoothly gets on her tip toes and clasps her arms around his neck, giving it a tender kiss and attempting to make a trail leading up to his sharp jaw. Catching onto her tactics he laughs, putting his big hand against her face and pushing her back.

“Seriously?” He chuckles, “You couldn’t wait till after dinner? Come on, take out the plates.”

“Wait for what? I was just kissing you! You’re so dramatic, Nami.” She lies, playing innocent. She knew damn well what she was trying to do. She wasn’t going to admit to it though. Taking out the plates and utensils, she readied the table.

…

After dinner and meaningless conversation, the two lovers tidied and headed towards their room. “Do yo wana wah a mohee tomowwow nie?” Y/n proposed from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. He perks his head up, confused, “Do I want to what?” She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth, repeating her question.

“I said, do you wanna watch a movie tomorrow night? Like at home? There’s this documentary I saw on Netflix, it looks really good! It’s crime related.”

“That sounds fine with me. Though, that’s only possible if you don’t end up drinking too much. I always have to get you to sleep early when you drink.” He states nonchalantly, nose poked into a thick book. She rolls her eyes and smiles, “I promise I won’t drink all that much.” Shifting his book to the opposing hand, Nanami silently takes his pinky finger and holds it out to y/n. She snickers and reciprocates.

“You’ve now pinky-promised. Don’t break it, y/n.”

“I never do.”

The nightstand lamp illuminates the room with a soft yellow glow. Shadows of objects on the nightstand hang on the walls. Laying in bed on her phone, y/n turns over to Nanami, who was still reading his book. “Nami, come lay next to me, I wanna cuddle. Please?” Her voice faint. He looks down at her and puts his book away immediately. He could use a cuddle too. Bringing himself down, he lays on his back, y/n closing the gap between the two. Their legs intertwine, her arm and head resting on his chest while one of his hands rested on her bum, the other dotingly playing with her hair. Neither of them spoke a word for a while. Until y/n broke the silence.

“So, were there no other pairs of pants you had left to wear or-”

“Please, be quiet.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk hcs #jjk oneshot #jjk x y/n #nanami smut #nanami hcs #nanami oneshot #nanami kento #jjk gojo #gojo #gojo satoru #writing #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen hcs #hcs #nanami fluff #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #nanami x reader

[vennilavee]

salt & the sea

pairing: levi x reader (perp universe)

summary: kuchel has passed away, and levi makes a visit to the sea.

warnings: descriptions of death

word count: 1.4k

a/n: hello it has been 3 months good day all, missed u<33

Levi has always had bittersweet memories of the beach. He can remember many, many weekends in his childhood with his mother and with Kenny. He can vividly recall the feeling of comforting sea water and a salty, sea breeze fluttering in his hair.

But the sight of nebulous, grey storm clouds over the sea has always made him nervous. His mother always told them that there was nothing that compared to an angry sky and an upset sea.

Even as a child, he would cling to the skirt of his mother’s dress even if he saw a single storm cloud. But Kuchel always loved the sea, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, when Levi was safe inside with Kenny in the little cottage she had rented for a weekend getaway, she would stay outside on the beach. She would sway with the gentle breeze as if she could fall over with even the slightest push.

She has always loved the sea, the openness and the unknown. The thought of the sea sets Levi on edge- after all, the idea that the ocean was vastly unexplored was enough to set anyone on edge.

But not Kuchel. She loved everything about the sea.

Which is why she had asked that when she passes away, her ashes be scattered into the sea, at her favorite beach. Levi had stilled at the request, his entire body going rigid.

But here he is. Standing at the nearly empty beach with his mother’s ashes in an urn. It’s the middle of the summer, but this beach is tucked away from anyone who doesn’t know that it already exists.

He’s alone on this beach. Except for him and his dead mother’s ashes, he’s alone.

But then there’s you. You, who had held him in the early hours of the morning last week, when the doctors had called him to tell him that Kuchel had passed. After so many months and years of suffering, she was dead.

Some part of him feels relief that she is no longer in pain. No longer feeling the absurd weight of life sucking her dry.

But still. His mother is gone and his heart is torn into insignificant little pieces.

Levi had operated on autopilot the day he found out. To the point that it worried you. The only inclination he gave you that he was struggling was the way he squeezed your hand tightly as you drove to the hospital together. Or the way he would uncharacteristically lose focus.

He insists he’s fine, ignoring your soft, concerned questions to focus on the logistics that come with a loved one passing away. You wish he would stop for just ten minutes. He’s hurting, you know he is.

His steely eyes are still and stormy, and he hardly meets your gaze. Whether on purpose, or because if he meets your eyes, he’ll break apart thread by barren thread… you don’t know.

Levi has always had a level head. This time, you worry that he’s too collected. This is uncharted territory for you, too. You don’t want to push him before he’s ready.

You watch him with careful eyes as the sand beneath your bare toes softens. Levi stares out into the open, neverending sea. His eyes are narrowed, lips pursed into a thin line. You don’t know what he’s thinking.

It makes you nervous. You don’t know how to approach him, how to talk to him. But you think not saying anything at all is worse.

You wrap a steady arm around his bicep and squeeze lightly. “Levi,” you say gently, “It looks like it’s going to rain in a few hours. We should go inside.”

“I need to stay,” Levi says tonelessly, “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course, honey,” you murmur, squeezing his hand gently. He squeezes back. You stand with him in silence for a while, your thoughts straying to the funeral ceremony from only days ago-

Levi’s eyes were blank, his stare hollow. People came and went but he cannot recall who he spoke to. What was said.

All he can remember is his mother’s dead, gaunt face. She looked so peaceful. Like she was only asleep in the hospital bed that had become her home.

He wants her to wake up. He feels so tired.

Is he asleep? Is he awake?

Kenny is somber next to him, looking at the casket warily. He almost can’t bring himself to look at his sister, but he does. He has to.

The cremation is the worst part. Levi managed to hold himself together through it, mostly with his hand in yours.

His mother, his dead mother who was previously so warm and filled with life in the apples of her rosy cheeks, is now reduced to ashes. Levi holds onto the urn tightly.

What else is there to hold onto after all?

You. There’s you. He squeezes your hand, reminding himself that he’s not alone.

“Levi?” you ask quietly. The lines in his face are tense, eyes vulnerable and closed off at the same time.

He hums in acknowledgement, the gentle sea breeze rustling his hair. It’s familiar, the salty taste of the air melting on his tongue.

“What are you thinking?”

Silence rings heavy in the air for a moment, but it feels like much longer. His words struggle to scratch their way out from his throat, somehow still held inside in a tight knot of unspoken sadness.

“I used to hate it when it stormed here,” Levi muses, “Was always so fucking eerie. But… Ma loved it. For whatever reason.”

“Then let’s stay.”

Heavy winds whip through Levi’s hair (you think he needs a haircut, the ends are getting long these days) as it starts to rain. It’s a cold type of rain, the type of rain that you know you both will end up sick from.

A soft headache is already forming in the forefront of your skull, but you stick it out. For Levi.

Who hasn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

The urn containing Kuchel’s ashes sits half buried in the sand, as if Levi doesn’t know what to do with it.

And then somehow, the sky splits open once more with the crack of lightning and rain pours down you.

The glossy sheen of wetness in Levi’s eyes doesn’t surprise you.

Levi doesn’t say more than ten words to you as the onslaught of rain and wind only increases in the next few minutes. You shiver next to him and notice that the apples of his cheeks are reddened from the cold.

You sneeze. He looks at you, as if being ripped out of his trance.

“I’m ready,” he says softly, rubbing your thumb with a featherlight touch.

“Okay,” you nod.

He takes a hesitant step forward, the rain whipping in his face. He tries, he really does. He tries to loosen the lid of the urn off to drop the ashes of his mother into the cold, unforgiving sea.

But he can’t.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, “Let’s go inside. We’ll get sick if we stay out here any longer.”

“I have to do it now. She loved the sea, even when it was shitty like this,” Levi says forlornly.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. It doesn’t have to be today,” you say over the noise of the wind, “It can be tomorrow. Next week. In eight months. When you’re ready.”

Levi stares at you long and hard for a moment, only pulled away when the sharp crack of thunder startles you. He cradles your wet cheek and takes your hand, leading you into the small cottage.

Once you’re both warm and dry, wrapped in blankets and comfortable clothes, you stand by the window to watch the rain fall against the sea. It’s chaos all concentrated in one place, and you’re mesmerized by it.

You feel Levi’s presence behind you before you see him.

“Ma loved watching all of this,” Levi murmurs into your ear, pulling you into his arms.

“I can see why,” you reply, rubbing his hand, “It’s pretty to watch. When you’re not wet and cold, I mean.”

Levi exhales a laugh into your skin. He holds you close without saying a word, only wanting to feel the softness of your hips and the warmth of your skin against his.

He tilts your jaw towards him to drop a desperate kiss to your lips. He wonders if you know that your presence is a bright light in his life. While he’s always had a level head and had his feet on the ground, you bring comfort along with your light.

He never wants to see you dim yourself.

Levi doesn’t realize that tears are slipping out of his eyes and onto your cheeks until you thumb them away, pulling him in for a long, long hug with only the surrounding storm to keep you both company as evening turns into night.

tags: @simpingmaize @kentobean @captainchrisstan @alrightberries @celestidarling @regalillegal @castellandiangelo @bakuhoesworld

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman

[ill-skillsgard]

Faust x Faith - No Looking Back

Warning: 18+ smut, public sex, violence, blood, arson, implied death, mentions of non-consensual touching (nothing explicit and no r-words used,) mentions of stalking, unconsciousness, anti-religious themes, strong language.

Note: Hey, hey. I’ve wanted to write this for a while, but haven’t had much time. This isn’t based on any requests—just something I feel needs to happen to move the universe along. After this, I’ll be basing future FxF stuff off drabble requests instead of going story-heavy for a bit. Likes, comments and reblogs are suuuper ‘ppreciated!

Summary: - Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration - 3.6K words -

Faust makes good on his word to protect Faith, taking drastic measures to assure her assailant never bothers her again.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

Thin raindrops pattered the man's leather jacket as he walked through the streets with his hood drawn up and his eyes low. For two days, the drizzle persisted and melted the black snowbanks into slush. Though the dismal atmosphere kept most inside, Sven had good reason to travel across town on foot. The promise of a girl's company waited at the end of his route, and he put off his regular nightly routine of masturbating to fetish porn for—what he hoped was—the real thing.

He glanced at his cracked phone screen every few minutes to check in with her, making sure she hadn't changed her mind, that she was serious. From the earnestness of her messages and the speed at which she replied to his questions, he determined she meant what she said about wanting to meet. Finally, his luck was turning. He’d show that miserable bastard Faust who was the better man.

- What abt ur bf? Lol

- What about him? Not here, is he?

- Thought u were a good girl.

- Haha, not really. Are you close?

- Ya. Y r we meeting at this random place?

- I need you to promise you won't tell a soul. If you can prove that to me, maybe we can keep meeting up.

- Lol ok. I PROMISE I won't say a word😉

- Thank you. Hurry, please. It's cold out!

- Be there in 5. I'll let u wear my jacket altho idk might not need it😉

- Hehe omgosh. You're making me blush.

- I'll make u do way more then blush baby. Just wait.

Sven lengthened his strides and turned the corner onto a hill leading toward the industrial area of town. Down the slope, he walked past several warehouses and legions of trucks parked inside barbed-wire fencing. It was a peculiar site to meet up, but his rendezvous insisted on a place nobody would think to look.

Betting his night would take an erotic turn, Sven popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed away the cigarette taste. He was seconds away from the spot she chose to meet, and his chest constricted with excitement. His boots crunched over gravel and garbage as he walked down a narrow alley between two faceless buildings. There was an open lot at the end of the lane, where he assumed she was waiting. As he made his way through the dimly lit alley, he whistled to make his presence known. The shrill tune reverberated off an overflowing dumpster to his left, and as he stepped to clear the reeking trash receptacle, something hard and blunt swung out at eye-level and flattened him to the ground.

Dazed and blinded from the sudden strike, he tried moving his mouth, but only a bubble of blood popped from his lips. A piercing stream of sound filled his ears as the edges of his vision turned dark. A large black figure came into view above, haloed by the soggy grey sky in the deepening veil. The featureless shadow chuckled deeply before a heavy boot's tread put out his lights.

~*~

Several hours passed before Sven's eyelids shuddered. By then, his assailant had had plenty of time to tie him to a wooden chair and organize his instruments of punishment. A headache blistered through the man's skull, throbbing in his eye sockets until he gained enough consciousness to open them. When he saw the person who had knocked him out, his throat closed and the gasp ripping through came out high-pitched.

"Faust... Please... Don't—" Sven hiccoughed. "Don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY!"

Faust, who had been facing the doorway at the end of a long red runner, turned toward Sven, holding a hammer's handle in one hand while cradling the head in the other. A malicious smirk peeked out from a curtain of black hair. He took a step forward, the clomp of his leather boots echoing through the church. Each step made a menacing sound that bit down on Sven's nerves and rattled his sensitive skull.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I know you hate me, but please, don't hurt me. I swear I'll never talk to her again!"

Faust approached, flashing the obsidian hammerhead. He tossed the tool in his grip and stuck his hand into his pocket, producing several five-inch nails.

"No! God, no, please! Faust! Don't do this!"

The black-haired giant stopped to admire the curve of the hammer’s prongs. Sven looked around the empty church and saw a jerrycan taking up space in a nearby pew. He immediately started struggling against the jute rope binding his wrists and ankles to the chair as Faust drew nearer, smile uncoiling.

"I already gave you the chance to never talk to her again. Remember?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry means fuck all to me. You should know that. The only reason you left the campsite with your dick intact is because of the witnesses," Faust said, then spun around with his arms out, showcasing their solitude. "Now, it's just you and me."

"Please don't," Sven muttered through swollen lips. "Fuck, I'll do anything!"

"There's nothing you can do. Nothing a sorry sack of human waste can provide this world to make me change my mind."

"SHE LIED!"

Faust jingled the nails in his jacket, reminding Sven who held the weapon.

"Whatever she told you... It's not true! I was at the party, but I didn't do anything to her!" Sven's voice cracked.

"Oh... So you didn't follow her into my bedroom?"

"No! I talked to her for a minute, and that's all. That's all, I swear, Faust. Don't kill me."

The stomp of boots neared the altar where Sven struggled in the chair. He twisted to loosen the rope and slipped one hand out. Faust grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the arm of the chair, readying a nail between his lips as he gripped the hammer. Sven let out a scream, stifled instantly by the hammerhead. Faust wedged the metal between his teeth and hissed.

"Shut the fuck up, or I'll use this to smash your teeth out like a goddamn window. Understand me?"

Sven nodded and quaked as Faust placed the tip of the nail against the soft, flat part of his forearm.

"Stay still. If I fuck up and hit the Radial or Ulnar artery... You could bleed out before I'm done. Gotta get it right between the bones." Faust slapped the pale skin to reveal blue veins. He pressed the nail’s tip in place and rose the hammer above his head, bringing it down and stopping short of the head as Sven shrieked.

Faust cackled. "Jesus Christ, dude. Did you really think I was gonna nail you to a chair?"

Sven groaned, relieved and moist with cold sweat. "Faust, I'm serious. Please, man. You gotta believe me."

His dark laughter continued, bouncing off the high ceilings, the wooden pews and polished floors. As Sven let out his own nervous chuckle, Faust brought the hammer down in one swift pull, then slapped his hand over Sven's gaping mouth to stifle the screams. Howling, Sven rattled his head back and forth as a searing bolt of pain tore through his right arm, crackling in his shoulder where it burned and burned.

Faust tore his phone out of his back pocket and brought up a video, slamming the screen into Sven's face. The video of him grabbing Faith in his room while he was states away watching the live feed from the camera he'd set up on the desk.

"I knew these little cameras would come in handy. See? I know what you did, you stupid fuck. And you know what else? I would have just beat the shit out of you had I not stopped by your place before our little meeting."

Sven whined, tears pouring from his eyes in steady streams.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. I went into your room... Saw some interesting things on your computer. At first, I thought it was just standard fucking creep shit. Snuff porn, torture... Teen girls. None of that surprised me... Until I dug around and found your little stalker file buried in your folders. You didn't even encrypt it. How fucking stupid are you?"

"I'm sorry," Sven shook.

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"I'm sorry for touching her. I should have left her alone."

"What'd you think was gonna happen? That she wouldn't tell me? Or that I wouldn't believe her? And now I know you've been following Faith around, taking pictures of her, you fucking predator. And what about those other women, huh? You sorry about them, too?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I know I have problems! I'm trying to get help. Please, Faust. If you let me go, I promise I'll do it. I'll get better. I haven’t hurt anyone!"

Faust shook his head slowly, grunting in refusal. "No. I meant what I said when I told you I'd crucify you if you went near Faith again. I'm doing the world a favour."

Sven hung his head and bled from the grievous wound pinning him to the chair, shuddering weakly from his injuries. Faust would never relent. He'd witnessed the drummer's cold disdain, the malignant hatred living inside that made him turn to the dark with open arms. Faust wasn't an actor. He pledged himself to the darkness with unyielding conviction, never one to take such things lightly. This realization depleted Sven's will to reason with the man.

Faust gripped another thick nail and drove it through Sven's left arm, smiling as blood dripped from the wood onto the church altar. The violent yelps filled Faust with morbid delight as he pressed the bloodied hammer under his victim's chin and raised his face.

"You're gonna die tonight, Sven."

"What makes you better than me? You'll be a murderer," Sven stuttered. "You hurt people, too."

"You and I are not the same. Don't ever compare yourself to me. You're a coward, and I warned you. Tread on what's mine, and I'll destroy you. That's what I said."

"All this over a girl? Are you fucking crazy!?"

Faust stooped to one knee, looking up at Sven as though the insult had cut him. Faust's brows arched, bottom lip jutting outward as he studied Sven, who closed his eyes. Then, Faust rose to his feet, leather stretching from the motion. Faust tapped his chin, smiled, and leaned over to whisper, "yes... Totally fucking crazy."

With a powerful kick to the chest, Faust sent the chair and Sven toppling backward. He then unzipped his pants, pulled out his manhood and giggled as he emptied his bladder on the weeping man. While Sven cried and moaned, Faust closed his zipper, whistling merrily. He left Sven on his back and snatched the jerrycan from the pew, taking slow, calculated steps while twisting off the cap and dousing the altar in gasoline.

As the gas trickled, Sven's desperation mounted. He could not flail, so he screamed. Faust gently reminded him what he'd do to Sven's teeth if he carried on shouting. The pinned man blubbered and begged, but Faust ignored his pleas. Inside his head, all Faust heard was the sound of flames rushing into a circle around Sven, crackling over the carpet and up the old church's wooden beams. By the time the roof caught fire, Faust had planned on being long gone.

"Please, Faust... You'll regret this! I know you're a serious person, but this is too far. You won't be able to live with yourself!"

"Wrong. I couldn't live with myself knowing I let a vulture like you walk this planet freely." Faust poured a trail down the floor runner, far away from the altar. He tossed the can aside and looked up at the Catholic saints' stained-glass portrayals and Jesus at the center of it all, staring down with sad eyes. Faust took a book of matches from his pocket and ripped one from the bunch, running its tip across the ignitor strip until a small flame burst to life. Faust flicked the match to the ground without a second thought, and the flame ate up the gasoline trail swiftly. The church was illuminated, and the colourful glass windows came to life. Faust raised his eyes to the forlorn Jesus and leered while the fire spread.

He did not stay to admire his work or revel in the cries of a man burning alive. Faust fled before the fire consumed the church, not once looking back or wondering if his victim had somehow escaped. He trudged through puddles of slush, hair swinging in the wind, white shadows of breath leaving his mouth.

It was time to get back to finish the tour. But he had one more stop to make.

~*~

Faith left the mall after helping close the book store. She received small smiles and nods from the mall staff as they locked doors and unfolded security gates. Some of the people she had spoken to before, and some she had only seen in passing. Though she returned their pleasantries, inside Faith was fretting. She tried not to worry about her boyfriend or ask where he was under strict orders to go about her day as usual.

She stepped into the evening air as the sun sank, taking the blue from the sky along for the descent. Wisps of white cloud stretched across the pink and violet above. Faith took in a deep breath and walked to the bus stop situated between a movie theatre and a dollar store. She popped her earbuds in and turned on a song that reminded her of Faust; one he wouldn’t like. His music taste had no room for the upbeat indie rock she enjoyed. Still, she smiled when the lyrics reminded her of him.

The scent of cigarette smoke caught her attention, and she looked around, finding no culprit. She wondered where the smell came from if nobody was around but soon forgot when the city bus appeared in the distance. It had to make a long trek around the parking lot before it pulled up at the movie theatre. Faith readied her bus card to scan as another cloud of smoke enveloped her senses.

Faith whirled around, and there he was, all black and leather, white teeth clutching the filter of a cigarette. Faust smiled, his words bolting from his mouth as she clamped her arms around him and crushed her face into his chest. The leather and musk brought tears to her eyes. She ripped out her earbuds and tried not to weep.

He hushed her, lifted her off the ground and retreated into the shadowed alley between the theatre and the store. By the time the bus pulled up, Faust had pressed her against the brick wall behind the building.

"Faust. Oh my gosh, where have you been? I was so worried," Faith gasped.

"Sh, don't ask questions, baby." Faust smothered her mouth, holding her thighs around his waist.

"Mm—I love you. Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here! I love you so freaking much."

"I know you do," Faust breathed against her lips. "I love you, too, babe."

"Tell me where you've been!"

Faust shook his head and kissed her neck instead. She raked her fingers through his hair, knocking his hood down so she could see him unobstructed.

"Told you... Don't ask... Mmkay?... Stop asking... Just let me... Mm—fuck!"

Faith pulled his pelvis inward with her thighs, rubbing against his crotch and the heavy bullet belt wrapped around his hips. In their cloud of lust, Faust pushed his black jeans down just enough to free his erection.

"Fuck, I love your little skirts. Makes it so easy," Faust murmured.

The thought of Faust showing up disquieted her, but his lips on her skin and his desire thwarted these anxieties for a while. She set aside her questions, happy to have him in her arms again and overcome by arousal. When he stretched her panties aside and pushed into her, they both froze in expressions of excruciating ecstasy. Faust tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Faith clutched his shoulders, already writhing from the intense fulfillment between her legs.

Just as she thought Faust might drop her, he bent his knees and hoisted her higher up on the wall. In his arms, she weighed close to nothing. She missed feeling tiny against him.

"Miss my cock?" He growled in her ear.

"Yes, baby. Oh my gosh, of course, I missed it. I missed my big man."

"Yeah? Fuck, I miss my little pussy," Faust breathed. "Mm, show me those gorgeous tits."

Faith unbuttoned her work polo and stretched the collar down around her breasts for Faust to bury his face. Though there wasn't an abundance of flesh to lose himself in, Faust shivered from the first taste of her nipples. With muted groans of pleasure, he rammed into her until Faith could no longer contain her cries, unaccustomed to his girth. Faust absorbed her whimpers with his mouth, coaxing her tongue until she only hummed.

He felt ferocious from the last twenty-four hours. If he could make Faith scream without drawing attention, Faust would have slammed her into the wall and fucked her until she shredded her vocal cords. He had to keep a low profile. Even visiting Faith was a considerable risk, but one he relished taking as she clamped her thighs and rutted against him.

He supported her ass in both hands and shifted off the wall to fuck her standing up. While he took her this way, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered, whispering, "yes, fuck my pussy hard, big boy. Oh, I love that big cock inside me."

Faust unhooked and held her out so he could watch her breasts jiggle with every bounce. "You still taking your birth control? I'm gonna fucking bust so hard inside you, baby."

"Yeah. Yeah, baby, do it. Fill my pussy, please. I want your cum."

Her dirty talk and sweet sobs for his cock pushed him over the edge. He cradled her head as he pushed her against the wall and throbbed between her legs until empty. Faust pulled out and immediately turned her around and bent her over to watch globs of fresh cum dripping from her wet slit. He used one finger to push some of it back inside and had her suck off the rest. Afterward, he pulled up his pants and compressed her against the wall, one hand over her mouth while the other worked her clit in gentle circles. Faust didn't stop until she squealed and shuddered against him, muffled in his jacket and writhing from the manual orgasm.

When Faith calmed down, he released her and stepped away, pulling a cigarette from the squished pack in his jacket pocket. The lighter's flame created an orange halo around his face and promptly died. He smoked like nothing had happened while she fixed her skirt, buttoned her polo and zipped up her coat.

Faith smiled up at her lover, the night blotting out most of his features.

"I'm so glad you're home," she said.

"Not for long," Faust exhaled.

Her heart quivered. "Wait, what?"

"I gotta go back."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"What? No! But... You just got back," said Faith.

Faust shrugged, his leather jacket speaking for him. The evening matured, consuming the details of her hurt expression until the streetlamps along the road came to life.

"Why did you come here?"

Faust took one last long haul off his cigarette and flicked it down the alleyway. "Listen to me, Faith... You need to quit asking questions. I'm serious. The more questions you ask, the worse it'll be. And you and I did not see each other tonight. As far as you know, I'm on tour. Understand?"

"Yes," Faith said to appease him.

"I want to stay, trust me. But I can't. You know why. All the answers you want, you already have. Don't keep bugging, don't mention it ever again."

"I want to go with you," she whispered.

"No. You stay. Go to your classes, go to work, go visit your parents. Everything normal. And I don't want you moping around either. You put on that pretty smile, and you pretend for me. I'll call you in a couple of weeks before the last show and arrange a way for you to get there."

"What do you mean you’ll call in couple of weeks?" Faith whined. “What about goodnights?”

"I don't have a phone anymore."

"Why—? Oh, um... Okay. I understand."

Faust gathered the girl up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Good girl. I love you, and I miss you."

"I love you, too."

He tipped her face up and sensed tears forming in her eyes. Faust shook his head. "No crying. We'll see each other very soon. Just a couple more weeks."

"I know," she sighed.

"I love you more than anything, Faith. Now, go catch your bus. Should be here in a few minutes."

"But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm on tour. I'm not even here," he explained.

Faust kissed her again, smoothed his hands over her shoulders and turned her to face the bus stop. He urged her along. "No looking back. Hop on the bus and go do your schoolwork."

"Okay," she said, determined to make him proud. Faith walked out of the shadows and into the lamplight hovering over the depot. Across the lot, the city bus pulled in, and though she longed to turn around to see Faust watching over her, she kept her eyes forward and waited. When the bus pulled up, and the doors drew back, she stepped onto the platform and smiled at the driver as she scanned her pass. Faith took a seat in the back and put in her earbuds. She searched through a list of bands and selected the only one whose logo was illegible. As she pressed play, she listened to the immediate assault of the drums, their constant and violent beat. Faith smiled—warm in her chest and between her legs.

#faust x faith #valter skarsgård smut #valter skarsgård fanfiction #valter skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

[lizhly-writes]

i do not have anything very new for you this week.  i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite.  i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her.  to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long. 

Why’s it so fucking loud.  Who’s screaming bloody murder in here?  Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better.  If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed?  You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair.  It better not be vomit.  Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me.  “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes.  Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really?  Wow!  Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.  Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar.  Did I get run over by a carriage or something too?  I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.  

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that.  Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it.  The aesthetic here is… really something.  Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now.  I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over.  No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right.  If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me.  Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something.  Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is.  Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose.  Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice.  Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face.  The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes.  Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull.  It’s a wonder he still has them!  Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt.  Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him.  But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid.  You might have a concussion.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.  A lot.”

…Hmm.  

“Am I?” I say.  I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah.  My fingers come away red.  

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound.  Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed.  Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say.  “Lil later, then.”  After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch.  Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though.  He ain’t wrong.   I know how head wounds work.  But those rules on what to do with them?  That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please.  Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.  

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of.  So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever.  Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?  

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand.  Real fancy, real nice to look at.  Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to.  Nice little add-on, this.  I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power.  Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do.  That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.  

The face he’s making is probably hilarious.  It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that.  If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm.  How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin.  And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.  

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth.  “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot.  I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it?  It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order.  The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear.  Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying.  There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for.  It should be gone.  Is it not physical damage, then?  What, is it psychosomatic or something?  That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking.  “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest.  He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently.  “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university.   Not even close.  Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up.  Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear.  Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here.  Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No.  I should have noticed that before, too.  I don’t pass out.  Alcohol fucks me up, sure.  But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious.  I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now.  I didn’t go out drinking last night.  No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me.  I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead. 

But I didn’t get to that part.  The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing.  That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something.  I know I am.   It’s pissing me off.   

That fuckwad.  What did he do?  Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight.  If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor.  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know?  You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please.  Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say.  “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth.  Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth.  It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked.  But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing.  There’s a name he whispers: Allison.  But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece.  I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where?  It doesn’t matter.  I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building.  Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country.  An entirely different world.

How long was I out?  Am I missing memories?  What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started.  He can’t have just coincidentally run into me.  He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up.  It doesn’t matter which.  Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet.  And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on.  Say it.  I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen.  I’m looking forward to it, actually!  Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness.  How pretty.  How valuable.  Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color.  Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

#original fiction #my writing #isekai #otome isekai #writeblr #everything #violence #implied violence

[another-dra-anew]

Should you fight the beta dras?

under the cut for length that's it

Maki: No??? she'll beat your ass she doesn't even need the rifle. you have no advantage. if she likes you she'll beat you worse to try and hide that she likes you. do not fight miss maki

Higa: yeah lol. it's not gonna go well and he'll probably beat you but odds are you can get some good smacks in and he'll get embarrassed by that no matter what, so yknow. do it. take one for the team, the pride of embarrassing him will prolly be worth loosing

Tomori: no. if there's a reason tomori fighting you, you deserve it. you'd have to be decently athletic to beat her, and even though you deserve it, shes still gonna feel bad after beating you. why are u such a dick man she's so sweet. don't be the sort of person tomori would have to beat up, for your sake, and more importantly, her own

Hatano: mmmm. maybe. she's strong but i don't think she could really take a hit. however i can't see her fighting anyone??? whatever your reason is for wanting to fight her, she's just gonna throw you off her and run before questioning you later and then you're gonna be embarrassed so?? yeah i'm gonna have to vote no

Inori: hm. yeah do it. but do it in private or smthn don't attack her out in the open. if it happens in private she'll fuck you up a little but her biggest weapon is her teeth, and her lack of restraint, so if you're also the type who will bite people, go for it. the key aspect is that if it's in private she'll be chill with you after but if you embarrass her publicly she's gonna get her revenge. and it will hurt. so yeah it'll prolly improve ur relationship with her but be smart about it

Yamaguchi: ....a tentative no. you could mess him up some and he prolly deserves it but when he keys in on what's happening, he's gonna grab you and pick you up by your collar, smack u back if you need it to stop, then once you're done, his big brother instincts will kick in, and he'll question why you did that. similar to hatano, you're just gonna end up getting embarrassed, and even tho you have a good reason this time around, hes not gonna understand ur reasoning and the only way ur getting down is by apologizing and promising to not do it again so?? i'd have to say no

Uehara: No?????? why tf did you think this was smart dude. the man is 6'6 without the platforms, and those platforms? he uses to curbstomp people at the drop of a hat. also like. he's a sweet boy you have zero reason to try and fight him. his biggest crime is that he'll fuck you up.

Kobashikawa: You probably don't have a good enough reason to. hes skinny and spends most his time at crazy altitudes that will fuck u up physically but he's another one who won't hold back, and dude he's got rings on all the time so... depends on ur resilience but you've got a strong chance if he did something wrong, then he'll forgive u but if he didn't do anything wrong, and you win? he's gonna find someone to sicc on you so like... yeah. and he rlly doesn't do stuff wrong very often so good luck justifying it to the army of simps that will come for u

Iranami: How dare you even think of this. could you? yeah. her physical capabilities are mostly flight based, not fight, and she's used to getting shoved around, but there in lies the issue. she's so sad. and she's done nothing wrong ever. why the fuck would you fight her?? doesn't she get enough bs already???? you could absolutely decimate the poor girl and she'd let you. but what do you gain? you monster

Kurokawa: Yeah! fight her! do it so she can record it and post it on social media. you'll become meme of the month as she beats your dumbass up. she'll probably help you up at the end, be sweet and kind and offer you a cake pop to eat as she grabs disinfectant but there's no healing the bruises to your ego.

Kisaragi: youre not fighting him, you're fighting kurokawa. you could tap this man on the side of the head and he'd crumple, but before you can float about your victory against this poor little kid who hasn't moved from his desk in four days, kurokawa is there to deck you. she is not going to help you up this time, she's gonna knock you into next week. fight kisaragi, and win, but at the cost of everything.

Taira: Sure! but it's gonna go down like that one mushroom post. if you're fighting taira it's because she's inflicting psychological damage to you for fun, and while she knows the name of god, she's not gonna tell you, because you can't kill her, not in a way that matters. so yeah fight taira! you two are in this together now, if you win, she does too.

Maeda: i guess??? i don't think you'll win. this dudes hobbies include hopping fences to hide from people and using his baseball bat to. not crack skulls, but leave decent bruises. i don't think you'll be able to beat him, but i don't think he'll beat you. you two will just tire each other out and call it good because. what reason do you have to fight him? he's long established that he'll throw hands with a kid then have lunch with him twenty minutes later. this is maedas fight, we play by different rules now

Mekaru: sure! why not. she's not meaaaan? but odds are you won't feel too guilty, and irregardless of her physical capabilities, it wouldn't be very lady like of her to throw hands, and that's kinda her priority so. why not

Ōtori: mmmm?? i??? guess??????? but he runs the student store and stuff and he's a good friend to have he'll take good care of u. he made maeda snacks bc he was worried abt maeda eating even tho their some other interaction involved him thinking maeda was talking shit so? you can, and depending on physical ability, you may win, but there's no reason good enough. the loss does not justify the win

Tsurugi: What the fuck is your issue? You cannot sneak up on him. try anything and he will knock you to the floor, restrain you so you can't attack him, then gently soothe u as u realize how much it fucking hurt to full body slam into the ground. he's such a sweet boy and i already know there was no reason for you to fight him. you we're screwed over from the start, and now you feel bad. the only thing youve gained from this is that he probably hugs u as u start to feel really guilty because "shhhh no it's okay we all have bad moments it's alright i'm not upset" but u could've gotten a hug anyways?? so???

TL;DR: don't fight most of the betas they can fuck you up and they're perfect kids so like??? you'd gain nothing even if winning was a possibility (Exceptions may apply)

#dra #ill tag later

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 14: Love Keeps The Monsters From Our Door] [Series Finale]

A/N: Thank you for your encouragement, enthusiasm, laughter, rants, screeches of anguish, and unapologetic thirsting for “sexy undead Italian man” Joseph Francis Mazzello. I hope you love this conclusion more than Baby Swan loves pineapple pizza. 💜

Series Summary: Potentially a better love story than Twilight?

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. (The #1 song I associate with this fic!)

Chapter Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @youngpastafanmug @simonedk @rhapsodyrecs​

Mercy

We have to stay in the Vladivostok palace until her transformation is complete, and I hate it.

The floors are cold and sterile and every clang of noise ricochets off them like a bullet. The earth outside is stripped bare and hibernal. There is no green to interrupt the bleakness of the sky, the cruel absence of color: no spruces or hemlocks or bigleaf maples, no evergreen forests, no verdant fields, only a grey that bleeds from the sky in sheets of hail and driving rain. This land is a stranger. So many of the faces, too, are strangers, although they try. Honora sits with me—her large dark eyes, like mirrors of mine, polished and wet with aching pity—and braids my hair. Morana invites me to bake homemade bread with her. Austin tries to make me smile. Cato visits me as much as he can, because he feels responsible; or maybe he would do it anyway, maybe lessening suffering is as instinctual to him as bloodshed is to so many of our kind. And when Cato is with me, I do feel a little better, like my story might belong to somebody else, like it’s a name I can’t quite remember, like it’s a transitory moment of déjà vu I can catch glimpses of but never touch. And yet, still, I send him away.  

I don’t want to be with Cato. It’s painful for him to be around me, I can see that. It’s painful for Rami, and for Ben, and for Joe, and for Lucy and Scarlett. It’s even painful for the Irish Wolfhounds that Cato found locked up for safekeeping in Larkin’s study; they skulk around the palace vigilantly but leave great swaths of uninterrupted space around me like open water. So I conjure up a mask of brave, hopeful acceptance and wear it everywhere I go.

Joe says very little, never leaves the girl he calls Baby Swan’s side, dabs her scorching skin with washcloths soaked in ice water and murmurs in sympathy when she screams through the unconsciousness, from beneath the ocean of fire we all know so well. He nods off sometimes, snatching minutes of sleep like fireflies in a jar, before jolting awake to make sure her heart is still beating. When Ben isn’t checking on them, he’s with Cato, helping to draw up plans for the future, reminiscing about the past with slick eyes and clinking midnight glasses of whiskey. Scarlett sprawls across the desk in what was once Larkin’s study and spends hours on the phone with Archer as she gazes up at the ceiling, telling him how to care for the farm animals and the garden, reassuring him that we’ll be home soon, whispering things to him that I try not to hear; and I know she wouldn’t want me to anyway. Lucy weeps delicate, ceaseless tears as she perches on the staircase landing and Rami entombs her in his arms, never having to ask what she needs from him. And I wander meaninglessly through the echoing, unfamiliar hallways like a moon without a planet.

I know what they all think about me, perhaps even Rami, for I keep it buried as deep as all skeletons should be: that I’m irrevocably kind, effortlessly forgiving. That I’m as incapable of bitterness as I am of aging. But they’re wrong. It’s a choice, and it always has been, ever since a late-November dusk in 1864 when madness eclipsed mercy. Every day I choose whether to surrender to the beckoning, malignant hatred that lurks in the back of my bedroom closet, in the dusty and ill-lit loft of the barn roped with cobwebs, in the twilight tree line of the western hemlocks crawling with shadows that whisper through fanged teeth. Every day I decide whether to become a monster. And it has never been harder to remember why I don’t.

My future is unimaginable. The nights are endless. I feel black, razored seeds of what I am horrified must be bitterness burrowing beneath my skin and taking root there. I am consumed by infected, fruitless questions that I can’t silence: Why Gwilym? Why Arthur? Why Eliza and Charlotte? Why is it always fire?

The first words that Gwilym ever spoke to me, as I unraveled from unconsciousness under a grove of sycamore trees with smoke still clinging to my unscarred skin, rattle around in my skull like windchimes beneath thunderous skies. His voice was colored with an accent I couldn’t place, and yet it sounded like home: You’re in a dark place right now. But you don’t have to stay there.

That might have been true once. That might have been true in the ruinous autumn of 1864. But now I can’t find my way out.

Seventy-three hours after our arrival in this barren corner of the world, Charlie Swan’s daughter  wakes up as a vampire. Her heart is perfectly still, her skin faultless, her senses sharp, her mind as impenetrable as ever; at least, that’s what Lucy says when she finds me. And Lucy tugs at my hand, wearing her first smile in days, insisting that I have to come meet the newest member of our coven, to welcome her. I don’t know how to tell Lucy that I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to love this girl, that I don’t have it in me to love anyone but ghosts. And yet—compliantly, yieldingly, expecting nothing but disappointment in the monster I have become—I follow her.

The door is already open to the Swan girl’s room; chattering, beaming vampires flood in and out like the tides. I step inside. And I see the way that Joe looks at her, the way that Ben does; and all those seeds that I had feared might be bitterness blossom into nothing but open air.

It’s Not A Fucking Wedding (A.K.A. 13.5 Months Later)

The ocean is a universe. Its arms are not ever-expanding, spiraling galaxies of suns and planets and nebulae and black holes, this is true; its belly is not a vacuum of inhospitable oblivion, its bones are not invisible strings of gravity, its language is not a silence older than starlight, older than eternity. But the ocean is a universe nonetheless, its borders tucked neatly around the seven continents, slumbering there until the next hurricane or tsunami or ice age comes conquering; and inevitably equilibrium is restored—like defibrillator paddles to a heart, like naloxone to an addict’s blood—and our two worlds can coexist side by side once again.  

The ocean’s arms are sighing waves, bubbling and brisk, grasping and retreating in the same breath. Its belly is swollen with life from immense blue whales down to swarming clouds of single-celled, sun-hungry phytoplankton. Its language is ancient whispers; not parched and blistering and brittle sounds like the desert’s but cool, serene, supple, engulfing. And I can hear them all, if I listen closely enough. I can hear the sentient whistling of orcas, the breaking of waves against rocks, the scrabbling of sand crabs beneath the earth, the gruff distant barks of sea lions, the rustling of evergreen pine needles in the breeze. And I understand now why it was always so easy for vampires to be introspective, to lapse into thoughtful, unhurried silences. I could imagine spending decades just sitting here with my knees tucked to my chest and my hair whipping in the brackish wind, watching the seasons roll by like a wheel.

Joe was coming back from the gravel parking lot. I turned to watch him: red U Chicago hoodie, messy dark auburn-ish hair, a pizza box clasped in his hands. The GrubHub delivery driver was returning to his car with the toothiest of grins.

“Buon appetito!” Joe announced, dramatically presenting me with the pizza box. It had become our post-finals tradition each semester: pizza at La Push beach, half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.

“Grazie, sexy undead Italian man. Your accent is getting so good!”

“I know, right?! I’m on a twelve-day Duolingo streak. I can’t let that little green owl dude down.”

“I’m impressed, I’ll admit it. I gotta brush up on my Welsh. Why’s the GrubHub driver so cheery?”

“I tipped him $500.”

I smiled, opening the box and lifting out a semi-warm slice of pineapple pizza. Elastic strands of mozzarella cheese stretched like rubber bands until they snapped. “Aww, really?”

Joe plopped down onto the cool, damp sand beside me. “No. I lied. We’re actually having a torrid love affair.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “How could you possibly have time for all that?” Between school, business ventures, family activities, and me, Joe was very rarely unoccupied. And he preferred it that way.

“I’m so glad you asked. I’m very speedy, if you recall. And that’s just one of the exclusive services I offer. I am a man of many talents. I make people’s wildest dreams come true. Who am I to deny the GrubHub delivery man the wonderland that is my spindly, annoying body?”  

“You are the fastest,” I said, winking.

“Oh shut up! I mean, uh, uhhh, silenzio!” He pointed his slice of pepperoni pizza at me reproachfully. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not the fastest at everything.”

“Whatever you say, mob guy.”

He lunged for me, pinned me down in the crumbling sand, both of us laughing wildly as the crusts of our pizza slices bounded off and were snatched up by diving, screeching seagulls. He growled with mock savagery, braced his hips against mine, kissed his way from the corner of my jaw to my lips. That oh-so-familiar commanding, craving ache for him came roaring to the surface; and now there was no bittersweet edge to it, no inescapable backdrop of lambent numbers ticking down from five or ten or fifteen years to zero. Now there was only the calm, unurgent promise of forever.

“Joe—!”

“You have besmirched my honor, Baby Swan. I am left with no recourse but to refresh your clearly flawed memory and prove you wrong.”

“Public indecency? That’s illegal, sir.”

“Okay, you gotta stop stealing my catchphrases. It’s extremely difficult for me to come up with new ones. I’m almost a hundred years old, you know.”

“Alright, I guess you’re not bad in bed for a basically-centenarian.”

He smiled down at me, his dark eyes alight, the wind tearing through his hair, one palm resting on my forehead, uncharacteristically quiet.

“What?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just really glad we’re a thing.”

“You better be. You’re kind of stuck with me now. You’ve stolen my virtue, you’ve made me fall in love with your entire demented family, you’ve forced your torturous immortality upon me. I’m not going anywhere. Unless you ever stop funding my pineapple pizza addiction, of course.”

Joe chuckled as he climbed off me and took my hand in his, pulling me upright. “It’s absolutely ridiculous, by the way. Your insistence on being a sort-of vegetarian. It’s embarrassing. You’re the wimpiest vampire ever. You’re a disgrace to the coven.”

“I eat animals!” I objected.

“Yeah, when you have to.” And Joe was right: I steered clear of flesh outside of the two or three times a week when I hunted. For environmental sustainability reasons, I mostly consumed deer or rabbits; although the very occasional shark was my guilty pleasure. Joe gnawed on his second slice of pizza and peered out into the overcast, dusky horizon, wiping crumbs from his stubbled chin with the back of his hand. “We only have one more of these left,” he said at last, a little sadly. “One more finals season at Calawah University. One more celebratory dinner at La Push.”

“We’ll just have to get used to a new view. Pizza by the Chicago River, maybe.”

Joe looked over at me, thoughtful again, smiling. He had received his acceptance letter to the University of Chicago three weeks ago. I got mine eight days later. “It won’t be hard for you to leave Forks?”

“It will be. Once upon a time I didn’t think that was possible, but I will miss Forks. And not just because of Charlie and Archer and Jessica and Angela and all the Lees. But it was hard to leave Phoenix, and I’m sure one day it will be hard to leave Chicago. Just because change is hard doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Joe nodded introspectively. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

“Don’t quote classic rock songs at me, mixtapes boy.”

“You love my mixtapes,” he teased, circling his left arm around my waist, pulling me in closer, touching his lips to my forehead. Mint and pine and starlight sank into my lungs like an anchor through the surf. “And that saying actually goes all the way back to Seneca, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me he’s still philosophizing in some cloudy corner of the world somewhere.”

“Not to my knowledge. Although that’s an intriguing thought. We need more famous vampires. Caligula would have made for very interesting conversation. Lincoln, Napoleon, Cleopatra, Shakespeare, Dante...I guess it’s possible that anyone is still around. Maybe we should turn Meat Loaf. You know, for the good of posterity.”

“Is it not enough that they’re already cursed with student debt and global warming?”

Joe cackled, took my face in his palms, kissed each of my cheeks one after the other, then nudged my nose with his. “You ready to go, Baby Swan? I suspect we’re expected to participate in some holiday festivities tonight.”

“I’m ready,” I agreed. We threw our leftover pizza to the seagulls, disposed of the grease-spotted cardboard box, and walked back to my 1999 Honda Accord with our pulseless hands intertwined.

The evergreen trees along Routh 110 fled by beneath a sky freckling with stars. Sharp winter air poured in through the open windows. And I could feel that it was cold, in the same way that I could feel the warmth on Forks’ rare sweltering days; but there was no discomfort that accompanied that knowledge. Pain only came when the sky was unincumbered by thick clouds churning in off the Pacific, and then it felt something like staring into the sun had as a human. Sunglasses helped, but the surest remedy was avoidance, was surrender. And what an inconsequential price to pay for forever.

“Wait,” I said, spying the mailbox that marked the start of the Lees’ driveway. “They still deliver mail on Christmas Eve, right?”

“Uh, I think so, why...?” And then he remembered. “Oh, yeah, let’s check!”

I pulled up beside the mailbox and Joe leaned out, returning to his seat with a mountain of Christmas cards and business correspondence and advertisements from Costco and Sephora. He sifted through them until he found a single white envelope from the University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine. It was addressed to a Mr. Benjamin August Hardy. Joe held it up to show me as we drove down the driveway, the Lee house coming into view and ornamented with a frankly excessive amount of multicolored string lights and inflatable reindeer.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, drumming the steering wheel.

“You want to be the one to give it to him?”

“Are you serious?! Yeah, can I?”

Joe passed the envelope to me as I parked my geriatric Honda, which Archer had pledged to keep alive as long as physically possible. In return, Ben let him and Scarlett borrow the Aston Martin Vantage no less than once a week. I dashed out of the car, up the steps of the front porch, and into the house that bubbled over with the sounds of metallic kitchen clashes and frenetic voices and Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Ben?!” I shouted.

“Hi, honey!” Mercy called from the living room, where she and Lucy were putting the final touches on Scarlett’s gown. Scarlett was playing the part of semi-willing victim, wearing gold heels and an impatient smirk and her hair out of the way in a milkmaid braid; her train of vivid red lace billowed across the hardwood floor. From the couch, Archer and Rami were playing Mario Kart on the big-screen tv and nibbling their way through a tray of homemade gingerbread cookies.

“Oh wow,” I said, clutching the envelope to my chest, mesmerized. I kept waiting for Scarlett to start looking like a normal person to me, and it never happened. Tonight, in the glow of the flameless candles and kaleidoscopic Christmas lights and draped in lace the color of pomegranate seeds, she was Persephone: a goddess of resurrection, a face that death himself could not pass by unscathed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucy. Seriously.”

“One day I’m going to get you out of those thrift shop sweaters,” Lucy threatened me, placing a pin in the fabric at Scarlett’s waist.

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when that shows up in one of your visions.”

“Bitch,” Lucy flung back, snickering, knowing how improbable that was. I still appeared in her visions extremely infrequently, and then only when I happened to be standing next to whoever the premonition was actually about.

“Language, dear,” Mercy tutted, inspecting the hem of Scarlett’s gown.

Joe arrived beside me, his arms still full of mail. “ScarJo, I almost didn’t recognize you! Why do you have, like, no cleavage or fishnets or thigh slits?”

“Why do you have like no eyelashes?” Scarlett replied. “See, I can ask unnecessary and invasive questions too.”

Joe frowned, wounded. “What’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“Lucy, darling, I think it’s just a tad uneven on this side,” Mercy said, showing her. “Maybe by half an inch...?”

“No, seriously, what’s wrong with my eyelashes?!”

Mercy replied distractedly: “Nothing, honey, you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Mom!” Joe groaned.

“It really is gorgeous,” Mercy marveled as Lucy flitted around her to investigate the hem situation. “And so Christmasy. So perfect for the season. Scarlett, dear, you were right after all, and I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’d just never heard of a red wedding dress before.”

“Mom, it’s not a fucking wedding!” Scarlett exclaimed, for probably the thirtieth time since Thanksgiving. “It’s a nonbinding, informal celebration of an egalitarian romantic partnership. Will somebody please inform this woman that it’s not a wedding?!”

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” Mercy conceded dreamily.

Joe pointed to Archer. “Isn’t he supposed to not see the dress until the day of or something?”

“What a great question!” Archer replied, still deeply invested in Mario Kart. “You see, that would be the case if this was a wedding. However, I’ve been informed in no uncertain terms that it is most definitely not.”

Scarlett grinned triumphantly at Joe. “There you have it.”

She might snap petulantly, and she might complain, but Scarlett wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to; we were all intimately familiar with the futility of trying to force Scarlett into anything. The not-wedding, as improbable as it seemed, had been her idea from the start. And she wasn’t doing it for herself. She wasn’t even doing it for Archer. Scarlett was doing it for her mother.

The first six months had been hell for Mercy. She didn’t resent me, as I had feared she might; Mercy made that clear, and Rami confirmed it. But she was gutted. She wouldn’t speak of Gwil, wouldn’t listen to us talk about him, locked every photograph of him away in dark drawers, wandered around with a remote, uncanny, unseeing smile until she walked straight into walls; and then she would blink inanely up at them, as if they had dropped out of the sky rather than been built by her own hands. She baked hundreds of cakes and almost never slept. She told us she was fine every time we asked, which was more or less constantly. But on the very rare occasions when she was left alone, Mercy would unfailingly end up in the field behind the Lee house, gazing out into the forest of western hemlock trees with tears snaking silently down her cheeks, the muted light of the cloud-covered setting sun flickering red and furious on her face like wildfire.

And then one afternoon, a package had arrived from Arviat, Canada, where Cato and the rest of the surviving Draghi had relocated shortly after the rebellion at Vladivostok. It was five feet tall and another three wide, and what we found after carefully peeling away all those layers of foam padding and packing tape was a portrait of Gwilym so skillfully painted that it could have been mistaken for a photograph. Mercy had stared at it for a long time—ignoring Lucy’s attempts to guide her away, deaf to any of our concerns—until she at last picked up the portrait herself and said, quite evenly: “I think we should hang it in the living room, don’t you?”

Things had been better since then—very, very gradually, and yet unmistakably—and Gwil’s portrait remained mounted above the living room couch like a watchman, his eyes sparkling and blue, his faint smile stoic and fond and omniscient. But even in the wake of Mercy’s continued improvement, none of us kids were about to risk another agonizingly despondent Christmas. So the solution was obvious. We would keep Mercy preoccupied with what thrilled her more than absolutely anything else: the pseudo-weddings of her children. Rami and Lucy had already secretly volunteered to go next year...and after that, who knew? And there was one other thing that was making Mercy’s burden a little lighter these days.

Charlie sauntered into the living room, wearing an apron covered in cartwheeling Santas and wiping white dust like snow—powdered sugar? flour? baking soda?—from his ungainly hands. He was palpably proud. “The sugar cookies are officially in the oven. And I managed to fit them all on one baking sheet, isn’t that great?! Cuts down on dishes!”

“Why, yes, I suppose it does!” Mercy said, alarm dawning in her eyes. Had my beloved father placed the globs of dough too close together? Would we end up with one hideous, giant monster-cookie? Only time would tell. Providentially, Archer and Joe could be counted on to eat just about anything.

Joe sniffed the air, his forehead crinkling. “What’s burning?”

“Nothing should be burning,” Mercy replied, almost defensive, forever protective of Charlie and all of his profound, incurably human imperfections. Sometimes I thought that she preferred him that way, that he was a link to a simpler world in the same way I had once been, that he was a puddle of memory she could drop into, that maybe he wasn’t so unlike her first husband Arthur. “Not yet, anyway. The cookies need at least ten to twelve minutes at 350.”

“Wait, 350?!” Charlie exclaimed, horrorstruck. “I thought you said 450!”

“Oh, this is tragic,” Scarlett said.  

“I can fix it!” Mercy trilled buoyantly, breezing off to the kitchen as Charlie followed after her with a fountain of apologies. She shushed them away affectionately, patting his chest with her soft plump hands, chuckling about how luckily they had fire extinguishers stowed away in almost every closet just in case. And there were other reasons for that besides Charlie’s perilous baking attempts, but he didn’t know them. Now the record player was belting out Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas.  

Archer lost another round in Mario Kart and exhaled a great, mournful sigh. “Hey, Baby Swanpire, can you do something about this guy?” He nodded to Rami. “This is criminal. It’s nowhere near a fair fight. He knows every freaking time I’m about to toss a banana peel.”

Rami smirked guiltily up at me from the couch, not bothering to deny it.

“Do you mind?” I asked him.

“Not at all,” Rami replied. “I want to show this loser I can beat him even without the benefit of mega-cool extrasensory superpowers.”

“Rude!” Archer cried.

“So rude,” Scarlett agreed, smiling.

“Okay, here we go.” I sat down beside Rami, still holding Ben’s envelope in my right hand, and laid my left against Rami’s cheek. And I felt a fistful of numbness—like instant peace, like milk-white Novocain—pass from my skin into his, rolling into his skull, deadening whatever telepathic livewires had been ignited there in the August of 1916. The effect would last anywhere from thirty minutes to a few hours; and it worked on every vampire I’d met so far.

“Whoa, trippy,” Rami murmured. “It’s still weird, every single time.” He peered drowsily around the room. “It’s...so...quiet?! You guys really live like this? No one is constantly bombarding you with sexual fantasies or romantic pining or depressive inner monologues? How do you function?! Now I’m alone with my own thoughts, that’s actually worse!”

“Hurry up and beat him while he’s all freaked out and vulnerable,” Scarlett told Archer.

Archer laughed, picking up his Nintendo 64 controller, radiant with the promise of vengeance. “Yes ma’am.”

“Any good mail?” Lucy asked Joe.

“Yeah. Coupons and a ton of Christmas cards from random people. The vet sent us one with alpacas on it, so that’s cute. Oh, and here’s one from our favorite Canadians.”

Joe held up the card so we could all see. The picture on the front showed Cato and Honora sitting on a large velvet, forest green couch with a hulking Christmas tree illuminated in the background. The others were arranged around them: Austin, Max, Ksenia, Charity, Araminta, Akari, Morana, Phelan, Aruna, Adair, Zora, Sahel, and a few new faces I couldn’t name yet. They were all wearing matching turtleneck sweaters. And every single one of them was smiling.

Joe cleared his throat theatrically and read the text on the inside of the card:

“Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

(Oh, and Scarlett, congratulations on your not-marriage.)

- Cato Douglass Freeman”

“That bastard,” Scarlett muttered.

Rami offered me his controller. He had just slipped on a banana peel and rocketed off a cliff. “You want a turn?”

“No, thanks though. I have to talk to Ben. Is he around?”

Rami shrugged ruefully. “I would help, but my brain is temporarily broken.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes, taking a gingerbread cookie from the tray and biting into it as Lucy batted crumbs from the red lace dress, exasperated. “I think he’s out in the hot tub.”

“Cool. I shall return.”

Joe took my spot on the couch as I departed, shoveling cookies into his mouth, seizing Rami’s controller and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

I opened the door to the back porch, and frigid December air rushed in like an uninvited guest. The field was coated with a thin layer of snow, the animals safe and warm in the barn, the garden slumbering. And in the spring and summer, when blossoms of a dozen different varieties came open beneath the drizzling grey skies, Mercy’s calla lilies didn’t bother my allergies at all. Nothing did anymore. Ben was indeed in the hot tub, puffing on his vape pen, wearing only a beanie hat and swim trunks.

“What flavor is that cartridge?” I asked as I approached. “Gummy bear?”

“Close. Strawberry doughnut.”

“Ohhhh, yum!” Ben passed me the vape pen, and I took a drag as I kicked off my boots and sat near him on the rim of the hot tub, slipping my bare feet beneath the steaming, roiling water. Then I handed his vape pen back. “So. Guess what I have for you.”

“Uh.” He glanced at the envelope. “Jury duty.”

“Better.”

“Someone I hate has jury duty.”

I flipped the envelope around so he could see the University of Chicago logo on the front.

“Oh god,” Ben moaned.

“Don’t you want to see what it says?”

“Not really,” he admitted, grimacing.

“Come on, Ben. Open it.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?!”

Ben sighed. “Look, if I open it and it’s bad news, it’s gonna make Christmas weird. Rami will know. They’ll all know. They’ll all feel bad for me and it’ll be pathetic and depressing and awkward. You can look if you want to, just don’t tell anyone else yet.”

“It’s not going to be bad news,” I said, tugging at the floppy top of his beanie hat. He swatted my hand away, but he was smiling grudgingly.

“You have positively no way of knowing that. Unless Lucy’s had a vision I’m unaware of.”

“She hasn’t. You know she never sees anything important.”

“She saw you coming,” Ben countered.

“She saw human-me and Joe in love and gobbling down pretzels at a Cubs game. So I’d say there were at least a few minor details missing.”

“There’s no way I got in,” Ben said, his green eyes slick and fearful and now fixed on the envelope. “We can’t all be geniuses like you.”

“That’s an unfair accusation. I’m far from genius. I’m just obsessed with the ocean.” I’d written my senior thesis on the feeding habits of Pacific angelsharks, and my advisor was still trying to figure out how I, an amateur scuba diver at best, had managed to get so many quality photographs with my underwater camera. The secret, of course, was superhuman agility and not needing to breathe.

“I fucking hate calculus. The MCAT wrecked me. I got a 517.”

“And their median score is a 519, so I’d say you still have a fighting chance. Plus you have like eight million volunteer hours.” Ben had spent the vast majority of the past year either in class or at the hospital. The psychiatrist-in-chief, Dr. Siegel, had been more than happy to take one of Gwil’s foster children under her wing. Every human in Forks except Archer believed that Dr. Gwilym Lee had drowned in a tragic boating accident while he and Mercy were on vacation in Southern California, and that his body had never been recovered. The town had held a wonderful remembrance ceremony and dedicated a free clinic at the hospital in his honor. “Now open it.”

“You do it,” Ben relented finally. “My hands are wet. Go ahead, open it up and tell me what it says. And then kindly euthanize me to end my immortal shame.”

“That wouldn’t work,” I pointed out, tearing open the envelope. I pulled out the tri-folded piece of paper inside, flattened it against my thighs, and read the typed black text.

“...Well?” Ben pressed, vaping frantically.

I looked up and smiled at him.

“No way,” he whispered.

“I hope you like pretzels and bear-themed baseball teams, grandpa.”

And for a second, I thought he might bolt up out of the hot tub, hooting victoriously, splashing water all over the back porch as he danced around bellowing that he’d gotten into one of the best medical schools in the world, that he would be following me and Joe to Chicago. But that wasn’t Ben. Instead, a slow smile rippled across his face: it was small, but perfectly genuine. Pure, even.

“Goddamn,” he said, watching me. Venom doesn’t just resurrect or ruin; it forms a bond that is simultaneously intangible and yet immense. It’s an evolutionary adaptation, a way to facilitate stability and the building of covens in an often violent and ruleless world. And now that he had turned me, Ben had family here in Forks in more ways than one.

“Gwil would be so proud of you, Ben.”

“I hope so. I really do.”

The back door of the house opened, and Joe stepped outside. He studied Ben for a moment, and that was all it took for him to know. “Benny!” he shouted, elated.

“I know, I know. Fortunately, I look amazing in red. Thanks, supermodel genes.”

“This is going to be so fun!” Joe said, sprinting over to wrap Ben—who was characteristically lukewarm on this whole physical displays of affection business—in a hug from just outside the hot tub. “We’re going to go furniture shopping, and eat deep-dish pizza, and find apartments right next to each other, and mail home Chicago-themed care packages, and get you hooked up with some gorgeous Italian woman...or whatever you like, I guess I shouldn’t assume. Women. Men. Gang members. Marine mammals. Jessicas. Whatever. There are options.”

Ben laughed as he playfully shoved Joe away. “Sounds like a plan, pagliaccio.”

“Oh my god, stop learning Italian without me! You realize you have to tell Mom now.”

“I will,” Ben agreed, with some trepidation. “I’ll wait until after Christmas.”

“It’ll be hard for her,” I said. “But she knows it’s what you want. She knows it’s what’s best for you. So she’ll get through it. I think it would be worse for her if you didn’t get in, if she had to see you unhappy.”

Ben nodded, exhaling strawberry-doughnut-flavored vapor, gazing up at the stars, Orion and Auriga and Lynx and Perseus reflected in his thoughtful jade eyes. “She’ll still have Rami and Lucy and Scarlett here with her. And Archer. And Charlie.”

“Especially Charlie,” Joe said, grinning.

Mercy would have to leave Forks eventually, of course. The Lees had already been here for nearly four years; they could stay another ten, perhaps fifteen at the absolute maximum. And there had been a time when ten or fifteen years seemed like quite a while to me, but now it felt like I could doze off one afternoon and wake up on the other side of it, like swimming a lap in the sun-drenched public pool back in Phoenix. We would find a new home somewhere after Joe and I finished our PhDs, after Ben finished medical school, maybe Vancouver or Buffalo or Amsterdam or Edinburgh or Dublin or Reykjavik. Wherever we went, I hoped it wouldn’t be far from the sea. But Mercy couldn’t bear to leave Forks yet. It was the last home she had shared with Gwil, the last house they would ever build together, and leaving it would make his loss all the more irrevocable. She would be ready to leave someday, but not today.

In the meantime, there would still be visits for breaks and holidays. Scarlett and Archer had the shop to keep them busy, a brand new eight-car garage that held a virtual monopoly on both the Forks and Quileute communities. Lucy had opened a bohemian-style clothing boutique downtown, which confounded most of the locals but attracted more adventurous customers from as far away as Seattle. Rami was interning for a local immigration lawyer and entertaining the possibility of applying to U Chicago’s law school in another few years. And Mercy had the farm; and she had Charlie. He had asked her for cooking lessons to try to help rouse her a few months after Gwil’s death, and it had grown from there. If it wasn’t romantic just yet, I believed it would be soon. And there were moments when I thought my father might have figured something out, when his eyes narrowed and lingered on me just a little too long, when his brow knitted into suspicious, searching lines, when the hairs rose on the back of his neck and some innate insight whispered that we weren’t like him and never could be again. But then he would chuckle, shake his head, and say: “You’ve gotten weird, my gorgeous, brilliant progeny. But Forks looks pretty good on you.”

“Can I talk to you upstairs?” Joe asked me suddenly; and did I see restless nerves flicker in his dark eyes? I thought I did.

“Sure,” I replied, climbing down from the hot tub. “Ben, are you coming inside? My dad is trying to bake Christmas cookies and failing miserably. It��s pretty hilarious. Not that you should be the one to critique other people’s kitchen-related accidents.”

“I do enjoy your company a lot more now that I don’t want to murder you and slurp you down like a Chick-fil-A milkshake,” Ben said. “Yeah, give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.” And as Joe and I headed into the house, I saw Ben pick up the acceptance letter that I’d left on the rim of the hot tub and read it for himself with incredulous eyes, grappling with the irrefutable fact that it was his name on the opening line, that he had somewhere along the way become the sort of man who dedicated his immortality to saving lives rather than ending them.

In the living room, Scarlett was back in her yoga pants and absolutely brutalizing Archer in Mario Kart. Rami and Lucy were entwined together on the loveseat, murmuring, giggling, feeding each other pieces of gingerbread cookies. In the kitchen, Charlie was leading Mercy in a clumsy waltz to Meat Loaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love, and each time he fumbled his steps or mortifyingly trod on her feet she would cry out in a peal of laughter brighter than the sun she had learned to live without. Joe spirited me up the staircase, into his bedroom—which, honestly, was more like our bedroom now, in the same way that my room in Charlie’s house had become Joe’s as well—and closed the door.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “Your dad totally ruined our song. Now I can’t hear it without thinking about some moustached guy in plaid trying to seduce my mom.”

“It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Meat Loaf is vanquished. Oh, just so you’re aware, Renee and Paul are getting an Airbnb and coming up for New Years.”

“Cool. Do they still think I have a super embarrassing sunlight allergy and will break into hives and asphyxiate and that’s why we can’t visit them in Florida?”

“Yup.”

“Spectacular. Also, can you please tell me what’s wrong with my eyelashes?”

“They’re just a little sparse, amore. But I still like you.”

“Well, I am only moderately attractive, you know.” Then Joe steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Uh oh. He was definitely nervous. I still couldn’t believe I had the power to make him that way, but here we were. “So I get that we’re doing presents with the whole family tomorrow morning, and you do have some under the tree, so don’t worry about that. But there’s one I wanted to give to you alone. You know. With just us. Without an audience. Or whatever.”

“...Okay...?” A secret gift? A naughty gift? “I hope it’s a new vibrator.”

“Shut up,” Joe begged, laughing. “Here.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand—our nightstand—and produced a small blue box topped with a turquoise bow. It wasn’t a ring, I was sure of that; I didn’t feel especially attached to the idea of marriage, and neither did Joe to my knowledge. How could rings or papers seal commitment when you already had eternity? I was right: the mysterious present was not a ring. When I removed the lid and emptied the box into my palm, what appeared there was a small plastic airplane.

“What is this?” I asked, amused but puzzled.

“Are you not college educated? It’s a plane.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that. But it’s also like two inches long.” I scrutinized the plane. “Are you magically transforming me into a tiny, tiny, little plastic person? Is that my gift? Because I actually got you something good.” And I really did: there was a collection of vintage Chicago Cubs photographs from the 1910s and 20s downstairs under the Christmas tree, packaged in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wrapping paper.

“We’re going on a trip,” Joe said, grinning. “The day after Christmas. It’s just a short trip, nothing huge, don’t get too excited, we’re not going to Mt. Everest or Antarctica or anything. I think you’ll still like it. But I don’t want you to know where we’re going until we’re there.”

“How will that work? Considering the tickets and signage and pilot announcements and obnoxiously noisy other passengers and all.”

“ScarJo’s going to fly us.”

“Really?!” We were taking the jet. We almost never used the jet. “What’s in it for Scarlett?”

“She found out that Archer’s never had In-N-Out Burger before and is very much looking forward to initiating him into the cult of deliciousness.”

“Oh nice. I could go for a vanilla milkshake myself, now that Ben mentioned them.”  

“Obviously I’m gonna buy you all the milkshakes and animal-style fries you want. Bankrupt me, bitch. But we have to get one other thing taken care of first.”

“So it’s somewhere they have In-N-Out Burger...” I pondered aloud. California? Texas? Las Vegas? I felt a brief but unambiguous pang of homesickness for Phoenix. But there was nothing there for me anymore.

“Stop,” Joe pleaded. “I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much. Please forget that. Get a traumatic brain injury or oxygen deprivation or something.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m rather indestructible at the moment.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.”

There was laughter downstairs in the living room. I could detect the aroma of a fresh batch of sugar cookies baking in the kitchen, mingling with the cold night air and pine trees and peppermint candy canes. I loved Christmas. The entire world smelled like Joe. The U Chicago décor, classic rock posters, and Italian flag were now interspersed with National Geographic pages and photos of the two of us together. The Official Whatever You Want Pass hung in a small, square picture frame on the wall above Joe’s bed. Our bed.

“How real is it, Joe?” I asked quietly. I climbed onto my tiptoes, linking my hands around the back of his neck with the tiny plane still tucked between my fingers. “Seriously. The wishes thing.”

“The world may never know. Akari never met me as a human, so she wouldn’t be able to say. But if I had to place a bet...” He shrugged, grinning craftily. “Kinda real. Kinda not real. Just like vampires, I guess.”

“I am alarmingly glad that you’re real, mob guy,” I said, abruptly somber. “I never thought I’d meet someone who saw me as remarkable, who could make me see myself that way. And it’s miraculous. And it’s terrifying too, honestly. Being a thing with you. Falling for someone you could have for centuries and lose in a second.”

“It’s the scariest thing there is,” Joe concurred, taking my hand to lead me back downstairs.

Joseph

Scarlett looks like a goddess, and she knows it. But she’s not one of those magnanimous, fragile, harp-plucking, pastel-colored goddesses. She’s ferocity and wildness and crimson like blood, and that’s exactly why Archer loves her. And as they stand in front of the Christmas tree with their hands clasped together—ivory on bronze, snow on sun—with matching sprigs of holly in Scarlett’s hair and pinned to the jacket of Archer’s suit, reciting truths but no promises, I can’t help but watch the other faces in the room: Rami, Lucy, Ben, Charlie, Mom with her beaming smile and shining eyes, the woman I met sixteen months ago and now can’t fathom life without. And it occurs to me for the first time that love, in its cleanest form, isn’t something that changes people as much as it allows them to become who they truly are.

On the evening of December 26th, as soon as the sun dips beneath the western horizon, we board the jet in the Forks Airport hangar. It’s much easier for Scarlett to fly at night; otherwise she has to wear two or three pairs of sunglasses on top of each other, and even then it’s still painful, it still feels like blinding needles burrowing into the jelly of her retinas. That’s not a wrench in my plans or anything. It needs to be night where we’re going, too.

Vampire hyper-acuity notwithstanding, FAA regulations require Scarlett to have a copilot, so Archer joins her in the flight deck with his newly-minted license and spends most of the journey flipping through the latest issue of Motor Trend. As we begin our descent, he peeks back at us and teases: “It’ll be your turn eventually, guys. Scarlett and I did our time. Rami and Lucy can go next year. And after that...unless Ben happens to find someone worthy of a not-wedding...” He wiggles his black eyebrows.

“Bring it on,” I reply casually. “Fake wedding are my jam. It’ll be ocean themed. Or Roaring ‘20s themed. And we’ll all do the Cha-Cha Slide in the living room and shame Ben as a bonding activity.”

“Mercy can set up a mashed potatoes bar,” Baby Swan adds.

“Yeah. With pineapple.”

“No. Not on potatoes.”

“Yes on potatoes.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Too late,” I tell her, touching my lips to the knuckles of her cool, steady hand.

We touch down at a small noncommercial airport just outside the city, and Scarlett and Archer stay back to secure the plane as Baby Swan follows me outside. And she realizes where we are as soon as the wind hits her, as soon as her eyes soak up the sand and cacti and cloudless night sky like rain swallowed up by parched earth.

“Phoenix,” she whispers, smiling like a child.

“But wait, there’s more!” I announce in my best Billy Mays voice. I take the little glass bottle from my pocket, walk across the runway to the naked desert, crouch down when I find a suitable spot, and fill the bottle with dry, sandy earth that crumbles in my palms. Then I seal the bottle with a tiny cork and bring it back to give it to her.

“I know what it’s like to have to leave home,” I say. “You’ve had to say goodbye to Phoenix, and soon you’ll have to say goodbye to Forks, and next will be Chicago, on and on forever. You’ll always be leaving the places you learn to call home. Every five or ten or fifteen years, we start over again. Like a snake shedding its skin, like a hermit crab swapping shells. Like the water that travels from rain to seawater to mist and then back again. But now you can always have a little piece of home with you, and maybe that will make it easier.”

She takes the glass bottle and shakes her head in disbelief, in wonder. Because this is exactly what she wanted, what she needed, even if she didn’t know it yet. “Joe...how did you...?”

“What’d I tell ya? I’m a talented guy. Now you have to dance with me.”

She laughs. “Oh no. Hard pass. I don’t dance.”

“When we’re alone in my bedroom you do. So just pretend we’re alone now. In, like, a really really spacious, sandy bedroom. With probably some lizards.”

“Fine. But only because I’m willing to degrade myself for milkshakes.”

She slides the glass bottle of Arizona earth into her pocket and takes my hands. She’s still a pretty terrible dancer, honestly. She hasn’t lost that. And I love that about her. I love damn near everything about her. And it took me a long time to figure out what exactly her subtle yet peerless cocktail of fragrance is, because it wasn’t somewhere I’d ever been. The scent that drifts from her pores—the scent that now lives in my bedsheets like a shadow or a ghost—is sunlight and heat and clarity and resilience and wisdom older than the pyramids. Her scent is the desert.

Now she’s mischievous, her eyes gleaming with the reflections of the Milky Way and the full moon and the stars that are dead and yet eternal, just like us. “So what, you think you’re Vampire Boyfriend Of The Year material now or what? Some dirt and In-N-Out Burger? That’s the height of your game? Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my perpetual existence? I totally should have pursued that polyamorous triad with Scarlett and Archer when I had the chance—”

“Yeah,” I say, very softly, smiling, tilting up her chin to kiss her beneath the universe and all its eccentricities. “I love you too.”

[angellissy]

Don’t fall in love with me pt.2

6.“Don’t you ever do that again!” 7.“Do you even still love me? JJ Maybank x Reader A/N: I am overwhelmed by the support on my first imagine, honestly I even cried a bit. You guys are the best! When I haven’t been crying, I have been smiling for the past hours. A part two to the imagine was wanted, so I decided to write one. I really do hope you guys enjoy this one as well, and if you have any ideas or like that request away! you can use this prompt list Italics are flashbacks It felt like she had not stopped shaking or crying since that night. Even now when she was lying in Sarah’s bed with multiple blankets wrapped around her, she was shaking like never before. Her cheeks were stained from all the tears, that against her will had slipped past her closed eyes. She could even feel the taste of salt on her lips. Her body shuffled under the blankets, trying to find a comfortable position without disturbing the girl lying next to her. She had been staying with Sarah for the past week, not wanting to go home to a place where her parents would belittle her feelings. They would not understand, nor would they even try too. After several minutes of just turning over and over, she sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. She had not realized how much it had meant to have his arms wrapped around her body when they fell asleep, but she did know. The absence of the boy who had broken her heart appeared everywhere, no matter what she did or where she looked. She was reminded whenever she watched how the waves hit the shore, her mind instantly going back to the time when he had tried to teach her how to surf. “JJ, I honestly don’t think this is for me.” She had yelled when she plunged into the water for what felt like the 100th time that evening. He had been sitting on top of the new surfboard that she had gotten him as a birthday present, his lips were curved in a huge grin as he watched her climb up on the board once again. “C’mon princess, you just need to focus.” Her stomach had erupted in what felt like thousands of butterflies at the nickname. Wet strands of hair fell in front of her face as she tried to hide the small blush that had crept up on her cheeks.

Another tear fell from her eyes and she choked on a sob, desperately trying not to wake her best friend. She violently shook her head, trying to force the memory away. But it wouldn’t go away, and neither would all the other memories that they had made during those months. They were all she ever could think about, and she went through them carefully. Trying to understand what she could have done to make him not need her. But no matter how much she analyzed their time she couldn’t pinpoint what she had done wrong. She could no longer hold in her sobs and her loud cries made the blonde-haired girl next to hair stir under the covers. It didn’t take long before Sarah sat up and wrapped her arms around the bawling girl beside her. Sarah rocked her back and forth, her hands rubbing soothing circles over her back. Which made the heartbroken girl cry, even more, not being able to ignore the memories of him doing the exact same thing. “Hey hey, don’t cry pretty girl, I’ve got you okay?” His arms were wrapped around her shaking body, his heart was breaking more and more for every sob that escaped her lips. She turned around so that her face was pressed against his chest, her uneven breath calmed down to the sound of his heartbeat. “I don’t wanna live with them anymore.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he had heard her. His lips found their way to her forehead, where they left a small kiss. “One day we will live together, you remember the dream right?” She nodded at his question. “We will live together in a red house by the sea, and we will have a boat.” Her words made him smile, and he kissed the bridge of her nose. “Correct, and every morning we will go out with the boat and eat breakfast by the waves.” “That would probably make me sick, but the thought is nice.” She laughed and buried her face even deeper in his shirt, breathing in the smell of him. Sarah was telling her to take deep breaths, and she was really trying too, but it wasn’t helping. Nothing she had done the past week had helped with the pain in her body. “I miss him so much.” She sobbed and Sarah could not do anything but to hug her even harder. They sat like that for a while and together they watched how the water changed from being illuminated by the moon to the sun. Golden rays of sunshine found their way in Sarah’s room, indicating that it was time to get up. As she got up to get dressed, Sarah looked at her with a playful expression on her face. “I don’t like that look.” Her voice was hoarse and both of them laughed a little at that. “We need to get drunk, that’s it! We’ll throw a party here tonight and you can forget all about him who shall not be named.” She looked at Sarah for a couple of seconds, in her mind she was weighing her options. She could either stay in bed and eat snacks all night, additionally cry a whole lot too. Or she could get shitfaced with her best friend, which definitely would make her able to forget about JJ at least for a night. “If u borrow me a killer outfit.” Her answer made Sarah squel in delight, and togheter they started to roam her closet. They had managed to find a killer outfit, and it currently adorned her body as she danced away to the music that was blasting through the speakers. It was so loud that it changed the rate of heartbeat, but nevertheless she felt so fucking alive. Sarah was beside her and both of them were moving their bodies, not in sync to the music but enough to make guys crowd around them. Neither of the girls noticed them, they were too focused on how the alcohol flowing through their veins made them feel. A loud shriek escaped Sarah’s lips as she spotted their curly brown-haired friend, and both of them ran towards her. Engulfing Kiara in a hug tight enough to make her choke. “Well aren’t you two a happy bunch,” Kie said when they finally let go, a small smile playing on her lips. “I have never felt better.” Both Sarah and Kie exchanged looks as their friend said that, knowing it was far from the truth. But she looked happier than she had done the past days, so they did not care. “Did John B come with you?” Kie shook her head at Sarah’s question. “No, he is coming later.” “Well I for once don’t give a fuck about boys, so should we party or stand here all day.” Sarah and Kie laughed at their friend, but they didn’t exactly disagree. Her feet ached from all the dancing and jumping around. Her two friends had left her to get drinks, but she could not be bothered to wait any longer. She elbowed her way out of the heaps of drunken teenagers, and eventually, she managed to get out. Her eyes searched for her friends, and it didn’t take long before she spotted Sarah’s blonde hair and Kie’s curls. “Sarah! Kie! Where the fuck did you go with my drinks.” She screamed as she started to walk closer to them. The second the pair heard her voice, they whipped around. Even in her drunken state, she could tell something was wrong by the expressions on their face. But that didn’t stop her from going to them. Her smile faltered when she saw who was standing with them. There were John B, Pope and the boy who had broken her heart. The anger erupted in her like a wildfire, and she stomped towards him. Ignoring all of the others. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice was like venom, but JJ did not seem fazed at all. “Well John B invited me.” She whipped around to face John B who was holding his hands up in the air. “This is not about me.” Sarah grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him away, which caused Kie and Pope to go as well. Leaving both of them alone. “You are not allowed to be here.” JJ just shrugged his shoulders at her words. “Don’t go all kook on me know princess yo.-” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before she put a hand up to stop him. “Don’t, do not fucking call me that.” He was taken aback by her words, and for a couple of seconds, he did not know what to say. But before he had the time to figure something out, she asked him the thing she had been wondering since that night. “Do you even still love me?” She tried to carry the words with strength, but her voice broke halfway. Because she was terrified of his answer, so once again she found her body shaking. JJ pulled his hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh, he wasn’t able to look into her glossy eyes, he knew he would break if he did. “I never stopped.” A loud whimper escaped her lips, even though she had pressed them together as hard as she could. “But then can you.-” She pressed her palms to her face to try and stop the tears that had started to fall again. “Can you please tell me why you broke my heart?” He shook his head at her, he too was battling the tears that threatened to spill down his face. She so badly wanted to take his face between her hands and kiss them away, but that was not her place anymore and she shouldn’t even want it. “Listen, I’m a fuck up okay? I am not made for this.” He said, gesturing to the space between them. “You are so full of bullshit JJ, you are not a fuck up.” “But I am!? Okay? Why the fuck do you think you’re crying right now?” He yelled, and now he could no longer hold in the tears. They were running down his rose-tinted cheeks, leaving salty stains. Much like the sea did when they used to go swimming together. “You shouldn’t be with someone like me, you deserve so much better.” He whispered and suddenly they were holding each other. Soaking up the tears of each other. “I don’t want anyone else, when are you gonna get that through your thick skull?” She could barely think straight as his arms hugged her tighter. “I want our little red house by the sea, and I wanna go on morning boat rides, and I wanna love you until I no longer can.” Her words made the hair on his arms stand up, because that was all he wanted as well. He was just so scared, the sole feeling of love terrified him, he had not known that feeling prior to meeting the girl in his arms. He knew no other love than the one they shared, and he had been stupid for wanting that to go. “I’m so sorry princess.” He cried in her shoulder, and she knew in her soul that he meant it. JJ had a rough upbringing to say the least and he did not always have the right methods to deal with certain things. Which could make him a handful sometimes, he could say stuff he didn’t mean just because he didn’t know how else to express it. “It’s okay, but don’t ever do that again.” He nodded at her words, and for the first time in a couple of days, a genuine smile formed on her chapped lips. He took her face between his large hands, his thumbs trying to remove the remains of the salty tears that adorned her cheeks. They leaned their faces closer to each other’s, close enough for their lips to touch which they eventually did. They held each other’s shaking bodies the rest of the night, happy to have fallen in love with the person that made them discover the true meaning behind the word.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank imagines #jj imagines #outer banks #outer banks imagine #angellissy masterlist

[tiaragqueen]

Can I please request a yandere shinso trying to make his darling notice him again? like, he became kinda popular ever since he got into the hero course everyone praised him, and everyone said hello and hi to him in the hallways, 'you're gonna become a great Hero shinsou!' and he became kinda bratty and slightly arrogant there, but then reader didn't like that anymore so she just avoided him ever since and he was like what the fuck y/n? why aren't you answering me or my texts anymore?! y/n: who u

Imperious

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Shinsou Hitoshi x General Ed Student! Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,4k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, possessiveness

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“You’ve changed, you’re not the angel I once knew. No need to tell me that that we’re through. It’s all over now.” - You’ve Changed [Ella Fitzgerald]

You knew that underneath the cold shoulder you’d been giving to Shinsō lately, lied profound disappointment and dejection over his change of attitude. Your heart would wrench whenever you listened to his arrogant response towards the constant praises and support that surrounded him daily, and tears would prick your eyes whenever he attempted to strike a conversation with you.

Were you overreacting? You didn’t know. All you knew was that he’d stomped on your feelings, on your delicate trust, with his behavior.

And all of this happened without his knowledge.

Not that you’d bothered to tell him, though. It was hard to bring yourself to look at him in the eye and feign a smile. It was hard to avoid him when he always lingered in front of your classroom, waiting for an opportunity that you’d never give. It was hard to ignore his messages when he practically bombarded your phone every day.

Today wasn’t an exception, either.

[06.18 pm] Shinsō: What the fuck, [Name]?! Why do you keep ignoring my texts? First, in school and now this. Heck, you even took a roundabout route just to avoid me yesterday! What have I done to you?!

Seen.

You frowned. How did he know that you took a longer path to your home yesterday? Was he… was he stalking you? No, that was impossible. He must’ve seen you somehow, despite your painstaking efforts to elude him. Then again, if he did spotted you, why didn’t he approach you? Although you wanted to diminish any possibility of confrontation, it’d be strange if he didn’t try to at least grab the chance.

Was he simply biding his time?

[06.23 pm] You: Who the hell are you? Stop spamming my phone.

Seen.

The reply came quickly as if he’d been waiting for yours, or relieved that you finally answered his desperate questions.

[06.23 pm] Shinsō: Very funny. Your first reply and you already made a joke.

Seen.

[06.24 pm] You: I’m not joking, tho. You really should stop spamming me. I don’t know you anymore.

Seen.

[06.25 pm] Shinsō: Oh? So you move on from me now, huh? Got a new friend or something? A boyfriend, maybe? Is that why you’re so cold towards me lately?

Seen.

[06.26 pm] You: The hell are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.

Seen.

[06.27 pm] Shinsō: He can be from another school for all I know. Or maybe it’s Agoyamato. You do seem close with each other, after all.

Seen.

[06.27 pm] You: Stop it.

Seen.

[06.28 pm] Shinsō: Why? Are you scared because it’s the truth? Tell me, how long have you been dating him, huh? Since I transferred to the Hero course? Or is it longer than that?

Seen.

Scowling, you refrained from breaking your phone out of sheer exasperation. This guy thought he could ruin your evening and interrogated you as if he was a disapproving parent or boyfriend. He really had changed for the worst, and you didn’t know whether you should be enraged or calmly confronted him about it. You weren’t sure if you had the courage and patience to do the latter, though. And yet, on the other hand, a sentimental part of you yearned for that forgotten connection and wished to solve things instead. You knew you were being childish with this whole silent treatment stuff, and why the result was counterproductive then your expectations.

If only there was a way for you to sever the ties without hurting you both. But the world hadn’t been kind to you, had it? First, his accession and now, his baseless suspicions over your imaginary relationship with a classmate.

When your mother said that high school time was ‘eye-opening’, you didn’t expect it to be like this. You thought you’d deal with the arbitrary romance or schoolwork, not handling conflict with your ex-friend.

[06.30 pm] You: We are not dating.

Seen.

[06.30 pm] Shinsō: Oh, lying now, are we?

Seen.

You groaned loudly. Why was he being so goddamn difficult?! What did you have to do to convince him that you weren’t and would never date Agoyamato? What did you have to say to knock some sense into that thick skull of his?

No, wait. Why did his opinion matter, anyway? It wasn’t your job to justify things to him, and it wasn’t his job to meddle with your affairs too.

Sighing, you gently massaged your throbbing temples and proceeded to end the conversation. Hopefully, once and for all.

[06.33 pm] You: You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if you think I’m lying or not, because I already told you the truth. I’m tired and I want to sleep. Goodbye.

Seen.

[06.34 pm] Shinsō: No, this conversation isn’t over yet. Not until I say so.

Seen.

[06.37 pm] Shinsō: [Name]?

Seen.

[06.40 pm] Shinsō: So you’re back to ignoring me again, huh? Very mature, [Name], very mature.

Seen.

[07.00 pm] Shinsō: Look. I’m sorry, okay? I’m just… scared that you found another friend already. I know it sounds silly because you’ll never ditch me like that. But the truth is… I miss you. I miss you so much, [Name], you have no idea. So, please, text me back. You don’t have to speak to me at school, but please don’t ignore me here too. I’m lonely without you. If I could, I would’ve brought you to the Hero course too.

Seen.

[07.05 pm] Shinsō: [Name]?

Seen.

[07.10 pm] Shinsō: [Name], answer me NOW. I know you don’t sleep around this hour, so stop this childish game. It’s not funny.

Seen.

[07.15 pm] Shinsō: Oh, fine! Do you want to keep ignoring me? Go ahead, but I hope you know that there’ll be consequences.

Seen.

[07.15 pm] Shinsō: I will make you notice me again.

Seen.

Frowning, you immediately shut off your phone and rolled to the other side of the bed. You ignored your mother’s call for dinner and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to dispel the last message from your mind. You refused to acknowledge the dread that crept to your chest or his tone of finality.

Nope, it was just your mind overanalyzing a simple and harmless text. There was nothing to be feared about tomorrow. Besides, what could he do to you that wouldn’t garner attention from the students anyway? That’s right, none. Because he was officially the student of Hero course, therefore, his movements would be more examined than other faculties.

He was the face of the school now, so there was nothing for you to be worried about.

That was what you tried to reassure yourself. Then again, the world hadn’t been kind to you ever since your abrupt separation with Shinsō.

It was as though you were doomed to be the bad end of the stick while he got the pleasant one.

“Wah, [Name], I didn’t know you’ve been dating Shinsō-kun!”

“Yeah, why didn’t you tell us? I thought we were friends, [Name]-chan!”

“Who confessed first? Him or you?”

“Are your feelings genuine or are you just dating him because he’s in the Hero course?”

“Man, I know this is late. But congratulation, [Last Name]-san! You’ve got yourself a keeper, you know?”

You clutched the doorframe, trying not to topple from the enthusiastic classmates that crowded you the moment your foot crossed the threshold of General Department class. What was this nonsense they were spouting on? You were dating Shinsō? Didn’t they know, or at least notice, that you no longer hung out with him and actively avoided his presence? You might not go around babbling about your problems to everyone, but you’d thought they could sense the tension that grew when Shinsō tried to confront you in front of the class a few weeks ago.

“W-what are you talking about? We’re not dating, I swear.”

“Oh, really?” A girl sneered and shoved her phone to your face. “Explain this, then.”

Bygone photos of you and Shinsō laughing and eating together burned your eyes more than the bright contrast. Your visage froze in a state of bewilderment and sullenness as she swiped the pictures rapidly and locked the device, barely giving you a chance to process with her challenging yet irritated stare. Overwhelmed with the silent questions that begged for your affirmation – not that they needed it, though, they just wanted to know if you’d be honest or deny it again – you took a step back and glanced over your shoulder.

Sensing your incidental look, Shinsō smirked and waved mockingly from his spot against the windows outside your classroom.

“Hello, girlfriend.” he mouthed.

#yandere anime au #yandere anime #anime yandere au #bnha yandere #anime yandere #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere bnha scenario #yandere bnha imagine #mha yandere #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #yandere shinsou hitoshi #yandere shinsou hitoshi x reader #yandere shinsou #yandere shinsou x reader #yandere hitoshi shinsou x reader #yandere hitoshi shinsou #yandere request #request #Anon

[meowmerson]

Waitwaitwait does this mean we gonna get head boy/head girl part two AND three?????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

do u kno what happens when i try to only write smut i end up with 7000 words and still no smut i hate myself anyway heres part 2 to the head boy head girl thing and i still haven’t gotten to the smut part IM SORRY

I will post these all together once its complete so ppl can read them all together lmao

--

“So, Hermione,” Lavender started as if she was going to say something of value, but when Hermione raised her eyes from her schoolwork, Lavender said nothing at all. Instead she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Hermione knew immediately what she was implying.

“Stop it.” Hermione snapped.

Thankfully, she stopped the hideous eyebrow-waggling, but she did not drop the subject. “I’m just saying, you and Tom have been spending a lot of time together, and you haven’t even—“

“Lavender, I swear to Merlin—“

“Haven’t even said anything about it!” Lavender bulldozed over Hermione’s interjection, and Ginny, who was painting her nails bright shades of Red and Gold for the upcoming Quidditch match, nodded solemnly along. “I mean come on, You can’t leave us hanging like this.”

“I’m not leaving you hanging.” Hermione said firmly, putting on what Ron often referred to as her Mum-voice, “There is nothing to hang on, because nothing is happening, Lavender.”

“Yes, Lavender,” Ginny interjected, arranging her face into a scowl and mimicking Hermione’s tone of voice, “Tom only sometimes sticks his hand up my skirt in Potions class—“

Hermione sputtered furiously, and Ron—who was nearby playing a game of chess with Harry—groaned.

“Riddle has never, not once, stuck his hand up my skirt anywhere, let alone in the middle of class!” Hermione protested, turning a furious glare on Lavender, “Stop making things up!”

“I saw it!” Lavender insisted.

“Can you lot talk about something other than Tom Bloody Riddle for once?” Ron griped.

“Tom and Hermione are dating?” Harry asked, clueless as ever, as Ginny roared laughing.

“Aw, shit,” Ginny said after she calmed down, staring balefully at her nails, “I fucked it up.”

“Give me,” Lavender said, sliding off the couch to sit by Ginny and grabbing her hand and the bottles of nail polish.

“I am not, nor will I ever be, dating Tom Riddle!” Hermione protested, feeling very much like a broken record at this point.

“Then why was his hand up your skirt?” Lavender asked.

“It was never up my skirt!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I know what I saw!” Lavender snapped.

“Aw, shit—“ Ginny said, pulling her hand away and holding up her index finger to show Lavender had accidentally swiped the red all the way down to her second knuckle, “Lavender what the hell?”

“Sorry,” Lavender shrugged, unbothered in the face of Ginny’s ire, and she added, “Just got so hot and bothered thinking of—“

Hermione knew what she was going to say, and had heard enough, so with a groan, she rose to her feet, packed up her parchment, and stomped out of the Gryffindor common room.

“So,” Harry spoke up as she was on her way out, “Are they dating or not?”

—

Tom Riddle had never, not once, stuck his hand up Hermione Granger’s skirt.

He did often have his hand on her arm when they walked together, as they sometimes did when he descended upon her like a vulture and she could think of no rational reason to tell him to fuck off. He did, at times, let his hand very briefly settle against the small of her back if he was saying goodbye, or saying hello, or brushing by her in the corridor. And perhaps, once, when he was sitting by her in potions class—as he had taken to sitting by her in every class they shared together, which was most of them—he may have very briefly, and very innocently, laid his hand on the bare skin of her thigh where her skirt had ridden up, just to get her attention as he pointed toward an ingredient on the far side of their table that he wanted her to pass to him. And maybe, maybe she had flinched a bit violently, and hurriedly fixed her skirt as she stood, and maybe she moved so quickly that he didn’t have time to retract his hand before she was already standing, stepping away from him, and maybe his fingers trailed down her thigh very, very slightly as he pulled his hand away, and maybe Hermione noticed the look of unrelenting glee on Lavender’s face as she gaped from across the room.

But he had not put his hand up her skirt. Lavender had a disgustingly over-reactive imagination. And Hermione certainly did not at any point think he was trying to put his hand up her skirt, absolutely not, that is not at all what went through her head when she first felt his fingers brush her inner thigh.

It wasn’t even her thigh really. Barely. It was closer to her knee, really, and she didn’t think of it often. She didn’t.

She thought, more often, of Malfoy. He had returned to his usual self, he muttered under his breath when she answered questions in class, called her a know-it-all, cornered her, Harry, and Ron in the corridor with his cronies when he was in the mood to start a fight. But he hadn’t called her a mudblood in the weeks following the incident, not once.

And she still couldn’t figure out why.

She knew how, that was easy to figure out. Obviously Tom Riddle had either threatened or tortured him into refusing to use that work against her, but she still wasn’t sure why. Similarly, she wasn’t sure why Tom Riddle insisted on being around her as often as possible.

He sat by her in class, sought her out in the library, he made conversation during rounds which they completed together every night. She entertained his peculiar behavior, but she didn’t try to piss him off anymore, not with the memory of Malfoy standing in front of the Great Hall, head bowed, contrite, directly following her disagreement with Tom the night before.

She just wanted to figure him out. Sometimes he would say something benign, something ordinary, something she had heard a thousand times before, like “you are an extraordinarily bright witch, Hermione,” and she would find herself so desperate to know what he meant by it, because it wasn’t like him to mean exactly what he said. She wanted to crack open his skull and peer into his mind, dig deep into is psyche and unearth all his little secrets, find out why he was the way he was, find out what he was doing, find out what he wanted.

She heard a knock on her door, and she looked up from her book. She felt her heart race for no logical reason, except for the fact that he had never once knocked on her door before.

“Yes?” She called, and glanced at the clock. It was too early for rounds. He didn’t answer, clearly preferring for her to open the door instead of speaking through it. She frowned, but stood and opened the door nonetheless.

“Hello, Hermione,” He smiled.

“It’s a bit early for rounds.” Hermione pointed out.

“Yes, I’m aware.” He said, still smiling, but it felt a bit more mocking now, “I was hoping you might join me for tea before our rounds today.”

A bit strange, but the request was not entirely out of nowhere. She had gotten used to his attempts to be in her company at all hours. Still, he had never actually invited her to do anything, had only ever sidled up to her in open spaces whenever the opportunity presented itself. “Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Of course,” He said, and gave her an innocent sort of expression, one that suggested he had no idea why she was asking that, “Just in want of your company.”

There was a small, double-sided smile on his face. Hermione wish it didn’t make her heart race.

“Fine,” She agreed, knowing she should say no, but unable to recall the reasons she should say no for.

They sat on the two armchairs by the fire, and for some reason Tom knew exactly how she took her tea (strong, milk, no sugar) and Hermione was mildly interested to see he took his tea black, no sugar. For reasons she refused to think about, she filed that little tidbit of information away, in case she needed it later.

“Has Slughorn invited you to his upcoming party?” He asked her.

“Obviously,” Hermione said, taking a sip of the tea he had prepared for her. Perfectly made, just like everything else he did.

“Perhaps you would like to go together?” He asked her.

It wasn’t surprising, or at all strange, for him to ask her. She knew he would. But she is still struck by the strangeness of the situation, of their situation, and so she hesitated. She wasn’t used to being on Tom’s radar. She had been battling against him for the place at the top of their year ever since she started at Hogwarts, but he had never really given her more than a glance outside of classes. She had expected that to change, at least a little bit, once they were forced together as head boy and head girl, but this was…

She knew it stemmed from their argument, from the first (and only) night she had seen him truly open, honest, and angry, but she couldn’t understand how point a lead to point b.

He could be covering his tracks, she thought suddenly. He could be luring her into a false sense of security, presenting himself to her and everyone around them as nothing more than a besotted classmate, so that when she one day meets her untimely demise, he is the farthest thing from a suspect.

A foolish plan, though, really, because she wasn’t a simpering idiot who would drop all her suspicions just because of…

But she hadn’t mentioned her suspicions on a long time, she realized. She held on to them, clutched them close to her chest, ready to brandish them the moment she finally could and say ‘look, look at him now, see him for what he truly is!’ But she hadn’t voiced her concerns to any of her friends for weeks, nearly a month now. If she were to die tonight, for example, it would seem to her friends that she had dropped her suspicions long ago. And Tom wasn’t foolish enough to leave any evidence if he decided to off her.

It struck her suddenly, that she hadn’t watched him while he was pouring her tea.

She glanced down at her cup, already a quarter empty, and then back at him. He quirked a brow, and it was then she realized she had never answered his question.

She cleared her throat, her heart suddenly racing in her chest, “Slughorn actually suggested that to me.” She said.

“He suggested it to me as well.” Tom said, smiling kindly, and Hermione looked at her cup of tea again.

She felt hot, but that could be because of the fire, or because of her fear, or because of the way Tom Riddle tilted his head and observed her under dark lashes. She willed herself to calm down, paid close attention to any symptoms of poison, but felt none.

Don’t be ridiculous, she suddenly chastised herself. The stupidest thing he could do would be poison her in their shared common room.

“Is that why you’re asking?” She asked, slightly breathless in her panic. She hadn’t quite calmed her heart down yet, and couldn’t distract herself from searching for symptoms of poisoning in her body.

“No,” He said, sounding genuinely surprised by her question, “I ask because I would like for us to go together.”

Hermione tapped her finger against the rim of her mug, “Well,” She started, and readied herself to lie through her teeth, “I’m afraid I already asked Ron if he would go with me.”

Tom got a very particular look on his face then, as he often did when she did something to go against what he wanted. He went very still, and his face went very blank, his eyes dropped to watch her finger tap against her mug over and over and over, and she watched his jaw twitch.

“Ronald Weasley.” He said darkly, and suddenly Hermione wondered if it was a mistake to say that. She thought of Draco Malfoy, shaking in an abandoned classroom, terrified out of his mind, and started turning over things to say to fix the dark look in Tom Riddle’s eyes as he said her friend’s name.

“I don’t appreciate Slughorn trying to set up his students as if it is any of his business,” She said, watching his expression closely, “And I had a feeling you might ask me.” Tom finally looked up, met her eyes again, a curious gleam in his eye. “I’m sure it isn’t a mystery to you as to why I might not want to accompany you anywhere.”

His jaw twitched. It might’ve been the wrong thing to say. “I had thought we might be passed this.” He said, “After all the time we have spent together.”

Hermione still didn’t take another sip of her tea, even though she had gone this long without any reaction, and she was passed the panic that said that Tom Riddle might be poisoning her,  but she kept it in her hands regardless. “What is the point of this, Riddle?”

“The point of this was to ask you to Slughorn’s party,” Tom insisted, “Only for me to discover that you have, for some incomprehensible reason, decided to go with Ronald Weasley.”

“Ron is my friend.” Hermione said firmly. “Why are you so angry, Riddle?”

Tom blinked, then he turned and set his mug of tea on the table to the side. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched her very closely, “I’m not angry, Hermione.” He said calmly.

She was forgetting herself again. She tried to remember Malfoy, trembling, afraid, she tried to think of Ron, and the situation she was putting him in, but Tom Riddle was so confusing, and she couldn’t figure out just what the hell he was after, and it infuriated her. She put her tea on the table as well, and mimicked his posture. “Well, I am.” She said.

Tom tilted his head, just a little, like he often did when something fascinated him. After a moment of observing her, he said, “You have such a Gryffindor approach to things, Hermione. I do find it refreshing.”

He certainly had a way of knowing exactly what to say to piss her off. “Why are you following me everywhere?” She demanded, “Why are you always asking me questions? Why are you asking me to accompany you to party?”

“I seek you out because I enjoy your company.” He answered quickly, and though his response seemed candid it still felt like a farce, “I ask you questions because I find you fascinating. I am asking you to accompany me to Slughorn’s party for the same reasons.”

“I don’t trust anything that you say.” Hermione snapped, and Tom Riddle smiled wide. She hated when he smiled like that, it showed off his straight, white teeth and dimpled his cheek. She felt that smile deep in her gut.

“That’s why I like you.” He said.

Hermione grit her teeth, “You know what?” She said, “You can do rounds by yourself tonight. I suddenly feel exhausted.”

She stood without another word, stomped off to her room and shut the door. Tom didn’t stop her.

—

She did go to bed early, but her sleep was far from restful, and when she woke, it was due to images of Ron shaking with wide-eyes, terrified, writhing under Tom Riddle’s wand. She snapped up in bed, chest heaving as if she had just been drowning, gulping in lungfuls of air and clutching her wand tight in her fist.

She had to check on Ron.

She crept out of her room without even checking the time, but given the dark common room, it must be late, definitely late enough for Tom to have finished his rounds and returned to turn off the lights. Enough time for him to torture Ron into submission.

She hurried through the corridors, peering around corners like a paranoid idiot, until she made her way to the Gryffindor common room. She ascended the stairs to the boys dorm as quietly as she could, found the 7th year dorm room, and crept inside.

It was dark, and all the boys were asleep. Most had pulled their curtains shut, save for a few, but she had to peek through every curtain until she found Ron’s bed.

He was fast asleep, peaceful, and as far as she could tell, unharmed. She realized then that her hands were shaking, and she didn’t know what to do next.

So she crawled into his bed, sat at his feet, her wand held tight in her hand.

She couldn’t even use the excuse that she was overreacting, not exactly. She knew that Riddle was capable of causing great harm to people, Malfoy was a perfect example, and for all of her accusations, Tom had never once denied it. So he might want to harm Ron, he might do anything if he felt it would get what he wanted.

It would help if she could figure out what he was trying to do. If he was trying to earn her trust, to erase her suspicions, then harming Ron would make no sense. But if he was trying to control her, to manipulate and silence her, then of course he would hurt her friends.

He wouldn’t do it in the Gryffindor common room, this she knew. It didn’t make her feel better, and it didn’t convince her to leave.

Unfortunately, Ron chose that moment to wake up. It happened slowly, and Hermione still wasn’t quick enough to leave or hide. His eyes fluttered and he shifted in his sleep. His ankle kicked her side, and in his half-asleep state, he felt her out with his foot for a moment as if trying to figure out what was on his bed. She didn’t move, and didn’t say anything, just sat there and watched him wake up, knowing he was going to think she was crazy.

Blearily, once he realized he could not figure what was on his bed just by foot-sight, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

He flailed, his arms getting caught up in his duvet, and he screamed.

“Shh!” Hermione snapped, holding her hands out as if to forcibly make him remain still, but she didn’t actually touch him, “Shush, its just me!” She kept her voice low, as quiet as she could, and Ron stared at her as he cowered against his headboard, his face twisted into confusion and incredulity.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hissed.

She realized she had no rational answer. “I….well—“

“Why are you sitting on my bed in the dark watching me sleep?” Ron squeaked.

“I was not watching you sleep.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Oh right okay—what were you doing then?” Ron hadn’t calmed down, and didn’t seem like he would calm down any time soon, “Plotting my death?”

“No!” Hermione objected.

“Then what the bloody hell are you doing?” He asked hysterically.

Hermione hesitated, “I…uh…” Then she sighed irritably through her nose, “I know you won’t believe me, but Riddle—“

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ron interrupted, “You gave me a fucking heart attack in the middle of the night to tell me about Tom Bloody Riddle?”

“Ronald, listen—“

“You’re bloody mental!”

The curtain was thrown open, “Hey, what’s going on—“

Ron screamed again, and Harry jolted, staring between Ron and Hermione with confused eyes, his glasses askew.

“Weasley, will you shut the fuck up?” A voice snapped in the dark, Hermione was pretty sure that was Seamus.

Harry crawled in and pulled the curtain shut, and Hermione cast a quick Muffliato. “What’s going on in here?” Harry asked, still glancing between them as he straightened his glasses.

“Hermione has lost her fucking mind!” Ron threw his hands up.

“I have not!” Hermione snapped.

“Yeah, uh,” Harry tucked his legs up, wrapped his arms around his knees, “What are you doing here, Mione?”

Hermione considered lying, but she remembered the fear she felt drinking that cup of tea, the fear that she might die without her friends knowing her suspicions, so she was honest. “I just thought…Riddle freaked me out, I thought—“

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ron muttered.

“—I thought maybe he would do something to you, Ron.” She finished.

“We’re still on that?” Harry asked, sounding more confused than exasperated as opposed to Ron’s huff.

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly, “Yes, we are.”

“And this couldn’t wait until the morning?” Ron griped, “You know, after sleep?”

“Why would Tom want to do something to Ron?” Harry asked.

“Because I told him that Ron and I are going to Slughorn’s party.”

“You what?” Ron whined.

“We’re going.” Hermione said firmly, and give Ron his due, he didn’t argue on that point, just turned his eyes to the ceiling and silently resigned himself to his fate.

“Why would you tell him that?” Harry asked, looking increasingly confused.

“Because Riddle asked me, and I needed a reason to say no.” Hermione explained.

Harry, somehow, looked even more confused. “Ok, wait, so…you and Tom aren’t dating?”

“No, I am not dating Tom Sodding Riddle!” Hermione exclaimed.

“She’s lost it,” Ron whispered to Harry, clearly aware that Hermione could hear every word he was saying, “She’s lost her damn mind.”

“Fuck you, Ron.” Hermione snapped.

“Well,” Harry said brightly, “Since we’re all up, how about a trip to the kitchens?”

Hermione scowled.

“What do you say, Head Girl?” Ron asked, “Gonna deduct house points?”

“Let’s just go to the kitchens.” Hermione sighed.

They didn’t really understand, when she tried to explain it. And every time she said that she couldn’t understand what Tom was after, they exchanged this look like they thought she was being dense, and then refused to explain to her what they were thinking.

—

It wasn’t precisely that Tom and Hermione didn’t speak in the time between their conversation and Slughorn’s party, but they certainly didn’t talk any more than absolutely necessary. Tom didn’t spend quite as much time with her, but that was mostly due to the fact she spends nearly every waking moment with Ron, much to Ron’s annoyance.

“Mione,” Ron said once, standing in front of her from her seat on the grass nearby where Quidditch practice was taking place. She looked up from her book. “Wouldn’t you rather read that in the library?”

“Wouldn’t you rather mind your business?” She asked brightly.

He huffed, and leaned forward to speak quietly, “Hermione, I know you’re going through like a mental breakdown right now—“

“Ronald—“ Hermione started warningly.

“—But you’re really screwing with my game, you know?”

“Your quidditch game?” Hermione asked, confused.

“My lady game!” Ron exclaimed, then hurriedly quieted himself, “No girls will talk to me because they all think you’re into me now.”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t see why that would deter anyone who really wanted to be with you, Ron.”

“It does when they’re all afraid of you.” He insisted.

“No one is afraid of me, Ron.” Hermione said, turning back to her book. Ron just huffed again and dropped the subject, returning to his game.

Tom and Hermione still did rounds together, but their conversations were all surface level. They talked about classes, they talked about books. They never mentioned Slughorn’s party, not once.

He also had ceased the unnecessary touching, although he continued to sit beside her in classes.

Hermione thought perhaps it was a change in tactic, and continued to follow Ron around no matter how many times he called her a paranoid guard dog.

—

Slughorn’s parties were always a bit stiff, and a bit awkward. Hermione had been invited to them every time they occurred since her third year, and there were never more than about 15 people, guests included, so it was near impossible to avoid anyone if they were there. She kept this in mind while standing by Ron at the side of the room, her eyes constantly searching for Riddle, who had yet to make his appearance.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Hermione said quietly to Ron as he rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I hate these stupid things.” Ron grumbled.

“Stop being such a baby,” Hermione said, turning to face him and eyeing the sad state of his dress robes. She sighed through her nose and moved to stand in front of him, tugging his robes into place so that he looked like less of a mess.

“Stop mothering me,” Ron said, pushing her hands away.

“I am not mothering you,” Hermione argued, “I don’t mother.”

She straightened his collar.

“Stop doing that!” Ron said, slapping her hand away. She punched him in the arm as revenge and he winced and stopped battling her as she straightened up his robes.

“What is this?” She asked, fingering a stain on his collar.

“I had a snack before I came.” Ron shrugged.

“You’re disgusting.” Hermione said, pulling her wand to clean that spot on his collar, “I can’t believe you are willing to be seen like this.”

“At least my hair doesn’t look like—“ Hermione glared up at him and Ron snapped his mouth shut with a clack, before opening it again to say, “—like a uh—beautiful fluffy cloud.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You can stop fussing now—“ Ron said, reaching up to bat her hands away again, and this time she caught his wrist.

“I’m not fussing,” She said firmly, and glanced briefly around the room, “I’m—“

She saw Tom Riddle in the far corner of the room, by the refreshments, and who should be on his arm but Pansy fucking Parkinson.

“Ow, Hermione, stop—“ Hermione jerked her attention back to Ron and realized she was digging her nails into his wrist. She hurriedly let go, and Ron rubbed at his now sore wrist, “No need to injure me just because your boyfriend—“

“Not my boyfriend.” She muttered under her breath.

“—found himself a new girl.”

She glanced back over to Pansy and Tom. Tom patted Pansy’s hand on his arm as she laughed at something that probably wasn’t funny, she had never heard Tom say anything funny in her entire life.

“Being a bit obvious, Mione.” Ron chided her.

“Obvious?” Hermione said, turning back to Ron, “Obvious how?”

Ron fixed her with a knowing look.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Hermione said.

Ron kept looking at her in exactly the same way, even waggled his eyebrows a bit as if he thought that might drive the point home.

“You look like an idiot.” She told him.

When everyone sat around the table, it was about as awkward as it usually was, with the added bonus of Parkinson glaring at Hermione every time she spoke. Tom Riddle watched her as well, but Hermione had never been able to pick apart this particular gaze so she didn’t trouble herself with trying now. Ron kept fidgeting in his chair, to the point where Hermione had to reach over and pinch his knee to remind him to sit still, and he made a very rude face every time Slughorn tried to speak to him, as if he would rather be beaten by the Whomping Willow than have to speak to anyone present.

Hermione was a bit distracted, to be honest. Every time Pansy laid a hand on Tom’s arm, or leaned over to whisper in his ear, she felt her fists curling.

Pansy and Hermione had never really got along, much in the same way her and Draco never got along. Pansy was Slytherin, pureblood, privileged, and a bitch. Ron used to joke that if Pansy wasn’t such a racist piece of shit, he thought her grade of bitchiness would go well with Hermione’s, and Hermione had responded to that with a smack on the head.

That was the only reason it grated on her so much to see her here. It had nothing to do with the fact she came with Tom Riddle.

“How long do these things usually last?” Ron asked quietly at her side, and Hermione almost jumped. She had nearly forgotten he was there.

“No much longer,” Hermione said, turning to look at him, “You look like you’re enjoying the food at least.”

“The only bearable thing about this.” Ron confirmed, but Hermione was focused on the sauce at the corner of his mouth.

“Wait,” She said, and reached out to wipe her thumb across the sauce.

“Mione—“

“Shush, I’m just—“

He reached out and grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks until she jerked away. “How’s it feel when someone randomly grabs your face, huh?”

“You had sauce on your mouth.” Hermione pointed out, “I was being helpful.”

“I already told you to stop mothering me—“

“I’m not mothering you, and it's still there, let me—“

She picked up a napkin and dipped it into her water, reaching up to wipe his mouth as Ron made a very childish face. Hermione laughed, because he was being ridiculous. Sometimes she really felt like he hadn’t aged since he was twelve.

“There,” Hermione said, setting her napkin down. “Now stop pouting.”

“Not pouting,” Ron said, “Just didn’t want to come to this fucking thing in the first place.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and made the mistake of looking across the table.

Tom Riddle was watching her, face blank, jaw clenched. She met his eyes on accident, and then found she couldn’t look away. She observed the tense line of his shoulders, the very slight downward turn of his lips, and she wondered what had caused his sudden change in mood. He had been perfect a moment ago, smiling and charming and at ease, and now he glowered at her in a way only he could, the type of glowering that wasn’t glowering at all unless you knew what you were looking for.

It made her heart race, it made warmth spread from her chest up to her cheeks.

She suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, and desperately wanted to leave.

“Excuse me,” She said quietly to Ron as she stood, “I need the loo.”

Ron, already distracted by dessert, waved her goodbye without a word.

Hermione hurried out of the room and into the corridor, felt her anger and her unease buzzing beneath her skin. She just needed a moment outside of the room, away from Tom Riddle and his disconcerting gaze, away from Ron who kept looking at her like she was over-reacting, like there was something she didn’t understand, away from Pansy Parkinson who drifted between glaring and staring smugly over at her from across the table, probably with her hand on Tom’s knee.

It was her stupid crush, her ridiculous little fixation, rearing it ugly head again, and she knew it. It was her least favorite part of herself, her obsession with Tom Riddle that never seemed to die no matter how many reasons he gave her to hate him. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew what it felt like to fancy someone, she just didn’t understand why her heart was so steadfastly focused on a man who, as far as she was convinced, tortured his fellow students in empty classrooms at any given opportunity.

She took a deep breath, let it out through her nose, slowly. She tried to calm down.

She felt a hand on her arm and somehow knew who it was before she even turned around.

She jerked away, turning to face Tom Riddle head-on, and for a single moment, neither of them said a thing.

“Pansy Parkinson.” Hermione commented, unsure why that was the only thing she could think to say, “Interesting choice.”

“She wasn’t my first choice,” Tom pointed out, “But you knew that.”

Hermione grit her teeth.

“You and Weasley are quite close.” Tom said, his tone was light, but his gaze was not.

“He’s my friend.” Hermione spat, “I trust you are unfamiliar with the experience.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow, “You’ve certainly been spending a lot of time with your friend.”

“It’s none of your business who I spend my time with.” Hermione snapped.

“Try as I might,” Tom said cuttingly, his voice so sharp she nearly flinched at the sound. She hadn’t heard him speak like this in a while, “I cannot seem to shake your suspicions, Hermione, I wonder why that is?”

“Because you are a liar.” Hermione said.

His jaw twitched, and he took a step closer, but they were already close enough, so that single stride brought him far, far closer than she felt comfortable allowing him. But she didn’t move away, and she didn’t push him back. “A liar?” He echoed, and he spoke so quietly, but she could hear him so clearly in the silent corridor. She was aware, suddenly, just how alone the two of them were, and that familiar feeling of panic began to well up in her throat.

“Did you think I would just forget?” Hermione asked, and willed her voice not to shake, “Did you really think that I would forget about Malfoy just because you follow me around, and compliment me, and flirt with me, like suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore?”

Tom’s brow twitched, and while he hadn’t quite reacted in the same way he had that night, all wild-eyed with a twisted sneer, she could still tell he was angry. “Malfoy again.” He said, in that same dark tone that he had said ‘Ronald Weasley’ the other night. She gritted her teeth, watched as Tom took a single step away from her lifted his hands in a sort of helpless gesture, and said simply, “I fixed him.”

Hermione stared, and stared, and stared for a moment more. She didn’t understand why every time they spoke, she always came away more confused. But before she had the chance to ask what he meant, Tom was already continuing.

“My methods are unimportant,” His brow quirked upwards, but not in a sarcastic way or a combative way, his expression was a beseeching one, like he wanted her to understand, “He upset you, so I fixed him.”

Hermione felt her heart lurch, and then race, “The first time,” She said, “The first time I found you—“

“Was nothing.” Tom finished for her, and then a bit more severely he said, “I may be a liar, Hermione, but I have not lied to you in a long time. Ask me.” Hermione watched him warily, and he said again, “Ask me.”

“What do you want from me?” She asked, and it wasn’t really what she meant to ask. She had a hundred questions, she wanted to know exactly what he did to Malfoy, she wanted to know how many people he had hurt, she wanted to know who else he was planning on hurting and intimidating, but Merlin, the way he looked at her made her desperate to know what he was thinking, what he was hoping for.

He smiled then, just a little, like he was pleased with the question she chose but also maybe a bit in awe of her. It was the wrong thing to ask, she knew it. It was a selfish and foolish thing to ask him. But it drove him closer, he closed the distance between them, watching her closely all the while, until he stood just in front of her, with only their breath between them.

His fingers found her wrist, barely touching, just hovering featherlight over the skin. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” He chided gently.

She might’ve had a come-back or a follow-up question, but the feeling of his fingers on her arm was distracting in a humiliating way. She felt something curl in her belly, and heat seemed to expand from her stomach clear into her fingers and toes in an instance, sudden and violent and overwhelming. It wasn’t fair that she felt like that form nothing more than the barely-there brush of his fingers against her wrist, just like she felt it when his hand found her arm, or her back, or her thigh.

“Why did you follow me?” She asked him, because she needed to know, because she still didn’t understand what he wanted from her, what his plan was, and even knowing he would just lie to her face she hoped she could read between the lines, finally get a small look at what goes on in his labyrinth of a mind.

“Because if I had to watch your friend,” He spat out that word as if it was a curse, “Shove more food in his gaping maw knowing that he has somehow managed to commandeer all of your attention, then you really would have something to guard him from.”

“And what would you rather I pay attention to?” She asked, and Tom’s fingers circled to the underside of her wrist, drawing down until they met her palm, holding her hand so gently she almost wondered if she was imagining his hold. His thumb brushed across the top of her hand.

She didn’t realize it, but she had been staring squarely at his mouth as he spoke, and had been for a while. When she noticed, she raised her eyes to meet his again, but he was staring at her lips as well.

She should stop this. She should snatch her hand away, she thought, but as she had that thought his fingers glided further down, until he had threaded his fingers between hers and pressed his palm against hers. She should push him away she thought, but he was already stepping closer, his free hand raised to curl his fingers under her chin, to tip her head back. She should tell him to get away from her, she should tell him to get out of her face, to never touch her again.

But his lips already met hers.

It was so soft, so gentle, so light, and still, she felt it like a slap. She felt so hot, and all her blood seemed to rush to her legs as if ready to run, it made her lightheaded, it made her unable to think clearly, so she let him kiss her, relished in the softness of his lips against hers. It felt new, it felt innocent, and his thumb dragged up the length of her index finger as their hands remained interlocked, his other hand shifted to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping across her cheek.

She jerked away, and she didn’t think it was fair that she could feel so breathless when he had barely touched her. She stared into his eyes, glancing wildly between them, desperately trying to regain control of her actions, but all she could feel was the tingle of her lips, his hands on her skin, and all she could think was how disconcerting it felt now, to know what it was like to be kissed by him and find her lips suddenly bereft.

His eyes were so dark, and she was sure they weren’t usually this dark, weren’t usually this black, but his pupils had swallowed up whatever color there usually was. She wished she could read him better, wished she could understand the flexing of his jaw, the pucker in his brow.

“What…” What are you playing at? She was going to say. What are you doing? What is the point of this? But she didn’t have the chance to ask, because he closed the distance between them again, but this time it wasn’t a feather-light caress, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t kind. His lips met hers and it was hard, it was sudden and startling and rough. She let out a sound, muffled against his lips, purely out of the surprise of the onslaught of sensations that it caused, her whole body tensed up as if preparing to take a hit. His hand slipped from hers so that he could slide it around her waist, his fingers digging into her back to pull her closer, his other hand threading into her hair. Her hands floated helplessly at her sides for a moment, she was too engrossed in the sparks that went straight to her core with every stroke of his lips against hers, and it wasn’t a constant decision to meet ever press of his lips with her own.

It wasn’t until his lips parted and she felt his tongue against hers that her hands finally sprung to life, she clutched at his arms, felt the tense and release of his biceps as he wrapped his arm fully around her waist, and she couldn’t understand how every stroke of his lips sent such a violent spark of heat straight to her core, she couldn’t remember where they were, or what they had been doing, or why it had taken so long to explore this feeling.

His hands were constantly moving, like he needed to touch every part of her. They went from her hair, to her throat, her shoulders and her sides and her back until they firmly grasped her waist and pressed her firmly against the wall of the corridor. Every stroke of his hands she could feel straight to the marrow, every sensation echoing in her core. His teeth caught her lower lip, scraped against the sensitive skin and then soothed it with his tongue, his fingers kept a bruising grip on her waist. It was nothing like the first kiss, gentle and soft and controlled, and she got the feeling he might feel just as out of control as she did, judging by the way his fingers dug warningly into her waist when she tried to arch her back.

It was too much. It was too much and she thought of Malfoy, and Ron, and all the other nameless unknown faces that saw the wrong side of this mysterious boy.

She pushed Tom away, and she was struck by the look in his eyes, a bit crazed, a bit wild. His brow was twisted in confusion, maybe a bit of anger, his lips were parted and swollen and wet and the only other time she had seen him with an expression so clear and unguarded was when he was angry. But this was different.

His hands were still on her, so she pushed him away again, further this time. She was well aware of how breathless she was, gasping for air like a fool, and suddenly his face was shuttered again, his brow uncreased, his mouth a straight, stern line.

“Hermione,” He started, and Merlin it sounded like a warning, like a threat, and she shoved him once more just to shut him up, just so she didn’t have to hear him speak so quiet and low and heated.

She tried to leave, and he reached for her, wrapped his fingers around her wrist, but she jerked away. She glared at him as viciously as she could manage, and then she turned and fled, fled like a coward because she couldn’t trust herself to say anything, knew she would sound like a breathless fool if she tried.

She didn’t even stop at Slughorn’s party to collect Ron. She fled all the way to the Gryffindor tower and didn’t look back.

—

“And then she fucking ditched me to go make out with Tom Riddle in the corridor—“

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped as Lavender started screeching with delight, “I did not—“

“Don’t lie,” Ron thrust a finger in her face that she immediately slapped away, “I saw him when he came back, I know what it looks like when someone gets back from a good snog.”

“Can’t hide it anymore!” Lavender said in a sing-song voice, kicking her feet excitedly on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room.

“It is just like Hermione to snag the hottest boy in school and then run away.” Parvati grumbled.

“Remember Viktor?” Padma said.

Parvati sighed wistfully, “Do I ever.”

“I didn’t run away—“ Hermione tried to argue.

“Can’t believe you chose to hide in Gryffindor tower instead of getting dicked down by Tom Riddle.” Padma said.

“Tom Riddle,” Parvati repeated, and shook her head as if she was disappointed.

“So,” Harry finally interjected from where he was sat beside Ron, staring between them all, “Tom and Hermione are definitely dating now, right?”

Ginny finally exploded into the laughter she had been holding in throughout the whole conversation.

#meow writes #tomione #yes i coud post this in a better way and like not on tumblr but im stubborn #i promise to eventually put them all together..... #there will probably be another part before the smut i literaly hate myself so much #im gonna die bc of my dumbassery #Anonymous

[elai-okonma]

Chapter 10. Jesus Wept

Thank you to @obeymekookie for always supporting my work<3

WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, TORTURE, SEXUAL CONTENT, ETC.

Word count: 2,064

Devildom 

  The brothers were still outside watching the light show in the sky when Diavolo spoke up, they had forgotten that he was even there. He looks to Lucifer, whose eyes were glued to the Celestial skies above. 

  “I don't understand, who would want to start another war??” 

  “Does anyone else think it suspicious that Simeon disappeared right before all this started?? I mean, it was very unlike him to leave the way he did. He looked really concerned.” 

  “Maybe so, we’ll just have to ask him when he comes back. Or better yet! Someone text him on his DDD!”

Asmodeus is the one who whips out his phone and sends the message:

Hey, do you know anything about what’s going on up in the Celestial Realm, right now??

Is it another war??

I hope you’re ok! 

Simeon??

 Hello??

 …

No answer. Asmo tries to call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. Honestly, what the fuck is going on up there?? 

Another few minutes goes by, before the black sky goes quiet. 

  “Huh… well, it seems that the fighting has stopped.”

  “Lord Diavolo, we need to finish our conversation about Belphie, but that will have to wait. If there is another Celestial war starting, then we need to find Satan, and then come up with a plan.” states Lucifer.

  “Why would we need to do that?? If there was another war, why would we need to be involved?? We don’t know if it’s directed at us, or the human realm. It could even be just amongst themselves, for all we know.” replies Diavolo. 

 Lucifer is stern with his words: “That’s right we don’t know. We don’t know anything about what just happened up there, but what I do know is that, that was Celestial Ash falling down upon us, and in all my years as an Angel I’ve never seen that. And even more, what little I have read about it, was vague. There is little to no information on it. So yeah, it might not be directed at us, but wouldn’t you rather be prepared for if it were??” 

Diavolo thinks on this. He knows Lucifer is right, his priority is the people of the Devildom. Every Demon is his responsibility. Including Satan, and Belphegor.

  “Ok, you all continue to search for Satan, I'll be leaving with Barbatos to tend to other matters back at the palace. Try to stay in the house until we figure out a plan.”

  The Lord and his butler turn to take their leave, making haste back to the castle. The two knew what they had to do. They were going to have to let Belphegor know what had happened, and even try to find out if he knew where Satan might be. They didn’t expect any type of cooperation from him though, and quite frankly the two didn’t ever want to see the youngest brothers face again. 

  “How do you suppose we go about this??” asks the Demon Lord, once they are back home.

  “Any way you’d like, my Lord. I know you never wanted to see Belphegor for as long as he lived, which is why you exiled him from the Devildom. So, however you want to go about this, I will support you.”

______________________________________________

The Celestial Realm:

  As you sit restrained on the shore, you hear Elai speak up quietly:

“MC….do you have any idea what the penalty is for attacking an Archangel…

  You stare up at your friends, not knowing what to say. What was there to say?? What was going to happen, now that you betrayed what was technically your Celestial brother. You don’t get long to think nor answer Elai’s question before you hear a loud, booming voice come from the night:

“MC!!!!!”

  Your eyes widen at the familiar voice, your hand shakily coming up to cover your mouth. The three Angels next to you flinch when they hear your name. Fuck, is the only thought you can form, the seriousness of the situation becoming more clear.

  That familiar blue light piercing through the dark sky, as you look up.

“Father…”

  It was the last word you heard before you covered your eyes to shield them from the light.

  When you open them, you notice you’re in a dark, unfamiliar room. The only light source was from your halo. It’s only when you try to walk forward, you realize you can’t. Panic starts to set in when you try your arms, but those also fail you. Looking around frantically, you crane your head around over your shoulders to try to see your surroundings but it’s no use. However, you hear metal clanking and it dawns on you that the reason you can’t move is because you’re chained up. You didn’t even notice the cold of the cuffs around your ankles and wrists. 

  Ok, let’s try to get some bearings, here…

  You tug at the cuff on your left wrist, then your right. Solid. I’m not going anywhere. Your shoulders start to ache from your arms being strung up above you, and your toes barely touch the ground. I’m suspended from my wrists. The chain, I'm assuming, goes up to the ceiling. The cuffs around my ankles are most likely chained to the floor. 

  The presence you feel behind of you now, interrupts your thoughts.

  “Who’s there?!” you call out, voice echoing of the walls.

The warm breath you feel on your ear sends a shiver up your spine. It’s followed by a low, smooth voice that makes you sick to your stomach.

  “Hello, MC…”

You don’t recognize the person, and that makes your breathing pick up, you’re scared now. 

  “W-w-who are you-u??” your voice falters, throat thick with panic.

A low pitched laugh, followed by an answer:

   “You wouldn’t know me, would you?? I’m not very talked about down in the Devildom, huh??”

  A hand runs through your hair, gripping the back of your skull. You feel another hand tracing your jawline and lips. Something warm and wet makes its way up your cheek, and you can’t stop the tears that start to flow from your eyes. 

  You try again, hoping for an answer, “who are you?!”

  The person is in front of you, now. He leans down to your ear again, “the left hand of God, the Archangel of Mercy and Redemption, the One who told Mary she would birth the son of our Father...I could go on all day with who I am, but for now, you can call me Gabriel.”

  You hear a loud crack, then feel a sting on your belly. A whip. You yelp at the sudden feeling but it’s soon followed by another, then another. You barely have time to catch your breath before you choke out:

  “I-i-is t-this my punis-shment for-r attac-cking M-michael??...”

The laughter that fills the room makes your insides knot. 

  “I would suggest not asking questions, that you really don’t want the answer to…”

  You try to steady your breathing, but with your skin itching from the welts it was almost impossible. Gabriel speaks again, this time sounding like a judge reading off a sentence.

   “...MC, for the attempted murder and assault of Archangel Michael, you are hereby sentenced to the Seven Terraces of Purgatory…”

  Another crack of the whip. You hang your head down as Gabriel continues:

  “...and after that, you are to be sent to the Labyrinth of Judas…”

  You didn’t understand what these places were, but that didn’t stop you from trying to put the words with the context. 

Judas, yes, I know who he is. 

Purgatory, I’ve heard little about it.

And Labyrinth, another word for a type of maze.

 Putting everything together made you realize just how fucked you actually were. All you could do was stay silent as the whip kept cracking down all over your body. Do you regret doing what you did?? Absolutely not. Anything for them. What could Gabriel do to you that hadn’t already been done, being tortured before being sent to the void?? An easy road to walk if it meant getting home to your Demons. 

  Sensing your newfound willingness to accept your punishment, Gabriel cracks the whip down on your face this time. You let out another yelp, and you hear the Archangel snarl. When you ready yourself for another hit, it doesn’t happen. You relax your muscles and take a shaky breath. Gabriel’s voice sounds farther away, now:

  “I bet you think you’re special, MC. I bet you think you’re going to come out of all of this unscathed. But you’re wrong. You see MC, it’s my job to send you off, but no one said when. Did you honestly think that I wouldn’t avenge my brother?? Our Father might be merciful, but I am not.”

  You decide to take this opportunity and clear some things up;

“Michael asked ME to make a pact with HIM, not the other way around. Had I known what it meant I would’ve declined the offer! I don’t regret what I did to him, and I don’t feel sorry for him, either. I hope he loses the wing that I ruined. 

  You feel that same sadistic energy from before come over you, and you look right at Gabriel. 

  “I relish in the thought of you going through all this trouble for me. You asked me if I thought I was special, and though it was obviously a rhetorical question, I’ll give you an answer anyway. I don’t think I’m special, I know I’m special. I fuck Demons, and get marriage proposals from Archangels. Do you honestly think that there won’t be repercussions for your actions here today?? Because let me tell ya, as soon as I get back to Lucifer and the others, mmmmh, it turns me on thinking of what they’ll do to you.”

  Gabriel is right in your face now, breathing heavily, and truly enjoying every minute of this interaction. 

  “Ohhhh MC, something needs to be done about that mouth of yours. I could shut you up in more ways than one, but the easiest option would be to just simply plug it up.”

  Something soft but dense enters your mouth. A ball gag, how original. You roll your eyes. He was going to have to do a hell of a lot worse than this. You hear him walk away again, but then comes right back, holding something that you thought looked like a wreath in his hand. 

  “MC, you would look absolutely stunning if you wore this…”

  You feel him slam down the sharp object onto your head, and you let out a muffled scream. A crown of fucking thorns. The action caused you to grip onto the chains that were attached to your cuffs. The feeling of your warm blood dripping down your face and head makes you laugh around the gag. 

    “You’re enjoying this way too much, MC. I didn’t know we had a masochist amongst us.”

  I you mumble through the gag.

“Hmm?? You have something you wish to say??” Gabriel pulls the gag out of your mouth, drool spilling out onto your chin, and you’re quick to correct the Archangel:

  “Sadomasochist.” you say with a confirming smile, eyes blown out and hooded with satisfaction. 

  A guttural moan slips past his lips, and you can’t help but throw your head back and laugh at him, the crown of thorns staying in place. You look back down at him, eyes meeting his gaze. 

 “My my, Gabriel, I didn’t peg you as the type to get off torturing your own kind.” 

  The instant you said it, you knew you struck a nerve. His eyes were dark and the features of his face were cold. 

  “First off MC, do not put yourself in the same ranking as me. I’m an Archangel, you are a human turned Angel. A gift given to you by my Father. Remember that when you fall. And lastly, I do not ‘get off’ on torturing my own kind, I get off on torturing you.” 

  As he shoves the ball gag back into your mouth, he draws his other hand back and slaps you across the face so hard, that the light from your halo dimmed out for a second. 

  “Now MC, what shall we do with all this time we have on our hands??”

  You shoot Gabriel your most dirtiest look, a look that says; ‘let’s play’. 

#obey me! #obey me fanfic #obey me luficer #obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #Obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon

[nanoland]

posting this again in a shameless bid for attention (the usual 2-3 people who already give me plenty of attention pls ignore and also i love u <3)

(Also on AO3.) 

Clean Hands, part 4

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel

Warning: Demon deals, violence, mention of abuse and torture. Also: Crowley is an abuse + addiction survivor and also a cold-hearted arsehole with very little respect or empathy for abuse + addiction survivors, and this story is written from his POV. 

0

What was there to be done when you were enamoured of a man who hit you?

Leave him! the whole world cried back in one voice.

Which was a bit like telling someone trapped in a burning car to get out of the car. Yes. Quite. Thank you. Fully agree. But what if, for a moment, you assumed I wasn’t as stupid as a fucking dog?

That, incidentally, was one of a handful of ways the world had worsened since Crowley last drew breath.

Back in the fourteenth century, the women in the marketplace had noted his black eye and torn dress with immediate understanding. Instead of insisting he pack his bags and walk out of the house belonging to his wealthy shoemaker husband, the father of his child, the man on whom his safety and good reputation and continued ability to eat depended, the man he, for some fucking reason, still loved, they’d actually tried to help.

Sybil had given him willow bark for the pain. Rose had engaged him in long, rambling conversations, stretching the minutes until he had to return home. Jane had walked across the village and rapped on his door every evening she could, always armed with solid excuses, just when the bastard was well and truly in his cups and looking for something to damage.

If ever analytical minds were to try to account for Crowley’s misanthropy and sadism, they couldn’t honestly conclude that either was due to his never experiencing true, heartfelt human kindness.

Yes, Sybil and Rose and Jane had all thought he was a woman and addressed him accordingly, and it had hurt. But that wasn’t their fault. He’d not had the courage to tell them otherwise.

Crowley didn’t regret much. Regret, in this game, was a slow-killing poison.

Still, he did occasionally wonder how things might have turned out if he’d accepted Jane’s invitation and fled with her to London that one warm night, rather than hanging in for years until he finally snapped and beat his husband’s skull into tooth-sized pieces with an iron kettle.

Returning to the present:

As Crowley watched Dean’s fist barrel towards his face, and not for the first time, he reviewed the pros and cons of incinerating him with hellfire.

When fist and nose were one millionth of an inch apart, he teleported across the room.

“Squirrel,” he sighed, “this has nothing to do with you.”

Dean charged and took another swing at him. “Fuck you! He worked so hard! Clean for four years, you piece of shit!”

This time, Crowley reappeared sitting on top of the dead man’s wardrobe, where Dean couldn’t reach him. “Good for him. His family and friends won’t remember him as the thieving, lying wretch he was ten years ago when he sold his soul for a pound of meth. They’ll probably give him a nice funeral.”

“Why couldn’t you make an exception? Just once?”

“That’s not how this works, Dean! It wasn’t even my deal! The contract is in the hands of a relatively inexperienced subordinate and honestly, I’m glad that she pulled it off. She’s got potential. This is her first real win. It’ll increase her standing in Hell and make her more powerful, which will be useful because some older demons have taken to bullying h-…”

“I don’t give a damn about your minions,” he snarled, picking up a lamp sprinkled with blood and throwing it at him. Crowley ducked. “Every last one of you can take an angel blade to the face, for all I care. You’re fucking parasites.”

Evenly, Crowley replied, “Yes. We are. You know that. You’ve always known that. Why are you having a fit about it now? Good people get dragged to Hell all the time.”

Dean stared down at what remained of Martin Booke, now that the hellhounds had left. “He worked so hard. Christ. You could have made an exception. He came to us and I swore I’d help him out.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have cocking well done that, should you?” Crowley cried, throwing up his hands.

Eyes wet, Dean sneered at him. “Parasite. Get out of my sight before I wring your evil neck.”

Crowley left.

Upon arriving back in Hell, he went to the Admissions Department.

The soul of Martin Booke was sitting in one of the cheap blue plastic chairs, knees drawn up to his chest. Probably still reeling from the trauma of the hounds ripping his throat out, though no damage was evident on his form now.

“Mr Booke,” Crowley said, sauntering up with his hands in his pockets. “Could you come with me, please?”

A door appeared in the nearest wall and swung open silently.

Once they were both standing inside Crowley’s office, it swung shut and dissolved into nothingness.

Moving to his liquor cabinet, Crowley said, “I hear you’re a Harvard man.”

“Um… y-yeah. Yes. I was.” Thin voice. Midwestern accent.

“Promising career ahead of you before things – ah – went awry.”

Booke swallowed. “Tom. First boyfriend. Got me into meth. Got me into a lot of stuff. I figured it was okay because we were gonna be together forever and as long as I had him, I’d be fine. Then he went and died and I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Smiling thinly, Crowley said, “Isn’t romance grand? As it happens, you may still get your happily ever after. Thomas Abbott is currently waiting in the eternal queue – which, ordinarily, is where you’d be headed.”

“Yeah. Dean told me. Although… um…”

“You have a question? Spit it out. Cowards bore me.”

“Dean said that when you sell your soul, you go to Hell and demons torture you until you become a demon. But he also told me about the queue thing. So that’s confusing. I mean, queuing sucks but it’s not torture.”

Crowley poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat down behind his desk. “Clever boy. Yes; when I became King of Hell, I restructured things. Most of you end up in the queue. The hot knives and whips are a speciality service and, as such, are reserved for our elite clientele. The pedos and Nazis and so forth – and, of course, anyone who pisses me off too much. As for the process of becoming a demon; that doesn’t actually require torture. I know! Surprised me too! We always thought it did, back when Lilith was in charge. Then I started running some tests and it turns out that becoming a demon is a bit like catching a virus; it’ll happen to anyone who hangs around other demons long enough. Everyone in the queue will have black eyes by the end of their first century.”

Booke took off his glasses and nervously rubbed them on his sleeve. “You said that ‘ordinarily’ I’d go to the queue. So am I an – uh – ‘elite client’?”

“Hah! No. Your little life was staggeringly boring and barely impacted anyone in ways either negative or positive. No, the reason you’re here is Harvard. See, I had a snoop and it seems that before you dropped out, you were getting bloody good grades.”

A wistful smile. “I guess. Had big dreams, once.”

Sipping his bourbon, Crowley said, “On track for a Master’s in aeronautical engineering, I believe.”

“Yep. I wanted to work for NASA.”

“Cards on the table, Booke: I might have a job for you. There is, at present, space in one or two of our departments for a man with your talents. But first I need to ask a question.”

He cocked his head. “Um. Sure? Anything’s better than what I was expecting. Shoot.”

“Do you know how to crash a spaceship?”

#supernatural #my fic #dean winchester #crowley #castiel #drowley #fanfic

[tw-anchor]

35. Emotional Tethers

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x11; Alpha Pact

Word Count: 7,880

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, human sacrifices, Scott’s asshole dad, 

Author’s Note: I’m updating with a new chapter today because I’ve been gone for a while and I need to play catch up. My grandma died, so I haven’t been very motivated lately. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think, reblog, and like!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

"Derek?!" Stiles shouted and he sounded so terrified it broke Olivia's heart. He slapped his hand down on Derek's cheek to stir him awake. "Derek, come on!"

Olivia shook her cousin's body while Stiles kept on hitting him. She didn't know if it was because Stiles was scared or taking his anger out on Derek for Jennifer's disappearance, but damn, he was putting all of his strength into his blows.

"Derek, wake up," Olivia shook him again. "Derek!"

Stiles curled his open hand into a fist and reared back, ready to punch Derek awake. Just as his arm reamed forward, Derek lifted his hand and caught it. Olivia sighed in relief and placed a chaste kiss on Derek's sweaty forehead before helping him up into a sitting position.

Derek looked around the elevator, bewildered. "Where is she?"

"Jennifer? Gone with Scott's mom," Stiles answered, his voice still panicked.

"She took her?"

"Yeah, and if that's not enough of a kick to the balls, Scott left with Deucalion, okay?" Stiles informed him. "So, we gotta get you out of here. The police are coming right now and we gotta get you the fuck out of here."

Olivia and Stiles both worked together to get Derek to his feet. "Woah," he stumbled slightly. "What about Cora?"

"She's with Isaac and Peter," Olivia told him. "They should be in the parking lot with the Argents."

"Olivia and I will hold the police off," Stiles added. "but you have to go right now."

Derek glanced at Olivia worriedly. "Be careful," he touched her cheek for a second and then brushed a thumb over the small cut just under her temple from where she hit the wall earlier. "and get that cut cleaned."

"I will," she assured him. "Go now."

Derek took off toward the parking lot and Olivia and Stiles made their way to the Emergency Wing's lobby. They sat in chairs right next together; Olivia laid her head on Stiles' shoulder while he grabbed her hand and locked their fingers together.

"I'm sorry all of this is happening, Stiles," Olivia whispered; there was something about the silence in the hospital that made her want to not disturb it.

"S'not your fault," Stiles kissed the top of her head. "Babe, you almost died last night. There wasn't anything you could do to stop Jennifer from taking my dad or Melissa."

"I know," and she did know that; she didn't blame herself for what was happening. None of them knew that Jennifer was the darach until she tried to kill her and Lydia. "but that doesn't mean that I can't feel sorry for the pain you and Scott are going through. How are you feeling?"

"Not great," his hold on her hand got a little tighter but he made up for it by playing with her fingers; it made her smile. "Maybe Cora was right, you know? We're only finding the bodies," he sniffed, a single tear making its way down his left cheek. "I don't want to find my dad's body."

Olivia gently detached her hand from his and wrapped her arms around him, her chin resting on his left shoulder. "We're gonna find him, Stiles, okay? We're gonna do everything we possibly can."

"How? We don't have a plan," he shifted so his face nuzzled her neck, his fingers pressing firmly into her back. His voice was absolute miserable and it made tears sting Olivia's eyes.

"We'll come up with one. I'll get Allison, Lydia, and Isaac and we'll come up with something. We're all smart, we can do it. Even if I have to join Deucalion, I will do that for you."

Stiles shook his head in protest and whispered. "Don't. I need you by my side."

Olivia stroked the back of his head. "Okay. I won't leave your side. Not even to go to the bathroom."

Her little joke coaxed a smile out of him, she could feel his lips quirk against her skin. He was about to reply when loud sirens alerted them to the fact that the police had arrived. They separated as the police officers and numerous FBI agents stormed into the hospital.

Stiles spotted a man that Olivia didn't recognize and sighed heavily. "Oh, just perfect."

Olivia gave him a questioning look but was unable to ask him what was up, because the man—who had to be a giant—walked over to them.

"A Stilinski at the center of this whole mess," the man stopped in front of Stiles, glaring down at him. "What a shocker. Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?"

Olivia started to protest—she was pretty sure Stiles was allowed a lawyer with him while being questions, or something like that—but Stiles had already spoken up, very sarcastically, "If you ask the questions without the usual level of stupid."

The smile smiled just as sarcastically. "Where's your dad?" he asked Stiles. "And why has no one been able to contact him?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in hours."

"Is he drinking again?"

"Is that question appropriate for this investigation?" Olivia glared at the agent.

The man gave her a firm be-quiet look and turned back to Stiles. "Answer the question."

Stiles sighed heavily. "What do you mean, again? He never had to stop."

"But he did have to slow down," the man prompted. "Is he drinking like he used to?"

Stiles licked his lips and glared up at him. "All right, how about this? Next time I see him, I'll give him a field sobriety test, okay?" his voice hardened. "We'll do the alphabet, start with 'F' and end with 'U.'"

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her laughter. Stiles totally made the agent look like a fool.

The agent smiled tightly. "How about you just tell me what the hell happened here?"

"I don't know what happened here," Stiles exhaled heavily. "Olivia and I were stuck in the elevator the whole time."

"You're not the one who put the names on the doors, are you?"

Olivia and Stiles shared a confused look. "What name?"

"Argent."

-

"The word is guardian, Allison," Mr. Argent said as he opened the door to their apartment, Allison, Olivia, and Stiles piling in after him. "More than anyone, you know that's a role I haven't exactly lived up to lately."

"But she took Scott's mother and Stiles' father," Allison pointed out as they walked through the apartment and into Mr. Argent's office. "That's not a coincidence."

"Yeah, I'd also consider the fact that someone put your name up in large block letters on the elevator doors," Stiles added. "That kind of felt like a warning to me."

"I think it was Ms. Morrel," Olivia stated, remembering how the guidance counselor told Scott about Deucalion wanting them in his pack. "She knows everything about the alpha pack and she knew Jennifer before. I think she might be trying to help us."

Stiles scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, she needs to get on that a lot faster, okay? Seeing as how the lunar eclipse is less than two freaking nights away."

He sat in one of the chairs in front of Mr. Argent's desk; Olivia went to him, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

Mr. Argent gave him a kind look. "Stiles, don't give up hope."

Stiles ducked his head. "They could already be dead."

"I don't think so," Mr. Argent disagreed. "There's something about Jennifer's tactics. It's like she's still positioning, still moving pieces into place."

"And you're one of them," Allison reminded her father.

"Then let's not wait around to see the next move," Mr. Argent grabbed the map of Beacon Hills and the telluric currents and flattened it on his desk. "Everything she's done has been on a telluric current, so Melissa and the sheriff have to be somewhere on one of those currents, right?" he paused when he saw that Stiles hadn't followed Olivia over to the desk. "Stiles, if we're gonna find them, we need your help."

"You're seriously want to go after her?" Stiles didn't stand up, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I mean, what if she just takes you like the others, huh? No offense, but what's the difference between you and them?"

Mr. Argent reached for one of the drawers in his desk. He pulled it open and Olivia watched in shock as he pulled out a huge handgun. She inched closer to Allison, who gave her a reassuring smile. She had never been shot, but there was something about seeing Mr. Argent hold a gun in front of her that made her itch.

"I'm carrying a .45," Mr. Argent told Stiles bluntly. "Maybe she can heal from a shot to the leg and a few slashes to the face, but personally, I'd like to see how she holds up with half her skull blown off."

Olivia looked back at Stiles and quirked her lips, her expression telling him 'he's got a point.'

Mr. Argent set the gun back on his desk. "We've got one priority right now and that's to find Melissa and your dad," he said firmly. "We've got a map and every clue we need to figure this out. The only thing we don't have is time, which is why I need all three of you."

Stiles sighed and stood up. "Where do we start?"

Mr. Argent pulled out his blue light so they could see exactly where he had marked the telluric currents, the places where the victims were kidnapped, and the places where their bodies were found.

"The place where the sacrifices have been committed have usually been different from where the bodies have been found. I think the placement has to do with the strength of the current," he held the light over the map, hitting three different places. "So, there's the school, the animal clinic, and the bank."

"Wait, hold on," Olivia spoke up thoughtfully, her eyes studying the map. "You don't think she would use the same place twice, do you?"

"Only if she didn't succeed the first time," Mr. Argent hit the light against the mark at the bank.

"Scott's boss," Allison realized.

"Deaton," Mr. Argent confirmed. "It was her only failure. That could mean something."

"That's just one place so far," Stiles grumbled. "We're gonna need a lot more help."

Allison looked at Olivia. "What about Lydia?"

Mr. Argent looked at the girls, confused. "Lydia? What can she do?"

"She's a banshee, a harbinger of death," Olivia told him. "She's been finding the bodies without looking for them. Which, now that I think about it, might not be the best thing. Because if she can find Ms. McCall and Sheriff Stilinski, that means..."

No one said anything as her sentence trailed off. They all knew what that meant.

"We can still bring her in," Mr. Argent decided; Olivia nodded in agreement. "What about you? Are you able to locate them?"

"I can try. They're not considered official pack members, but their relation to Scott and Stiles might give me something," she glanced at Stiles, who gave her a small smile.

Mr. Argent nodded. "All right, good," he glanced at Allison. "Let's get ready then."

Olivia and Stiles watched as the Argents pulled out their weapons. Mr. Argent went down to the basement of their apartment building where they had a storage locker full of weapons, while Allison went around the apartment and pulled out the ones they kept with them all the time. Guns—big and small—bows and arrows, Chinese ring daggers—those were harder than they looked to use, Olivia knew because Allison had been attempting to teach her the ropes—more knives, smoke grenades, and anything else that would help defeat Jennifer, and/or the alpha pack, were laid on the desk.

Stiles looked at the collection of weapons with wide eyes. "Woah," Mr. Argent cocked his gun into place. "I thought you guys were retired."

"Retired, yes. Defenseless, no," Mr. Argent set the gun back on the desk and then turned to face Olivia and Stiles. "Make sure both of your phones are on. If either of you hear from Scott, let us know immediately."

Stiles checked his phone, where there were no messages or missed calls from Scott, and frowned. "Yeah, I'm thinking that's gonna be kind of unlikely."

Mr. Argent glanced at Allison, seeing the frown on her face. "All three you, try to remember he's just doing what he thinks is right," he advised them all.

Allison's gaze was already on the door; Olivia, Stiles, and Mr. Argent turned to see Isaac standing within the door frame. "I can't shoot a gun or use a crossbow, but..." his claws slipped out of his nail beds and he held them up. "Well, I'm getting pretty good with these."

-

The one thing she had not expected when she stepped a foot into her house a half-hour later, was Natalie rushing up to her. She pulled Olivia into a tight hug—a very tight hug—and held the back of her head, as if assuring herself that Olivia was alive and relatively okay.

Olivia should have expected it. Natalie might not be her mother, but all intents and purposes, she was. She watched over Olivia for six, going on seven, years, she fed and sheltered her, and she loved her and cared for her just as much as Lydia. Her stomach dropped when she realized that she hadn't gotten in touch with Natalie after the whole fiasco that she and Lydia went through with Jennifer. She had been too caught up with the events happening in the hospital and she knew that Lydia was okay, only because of her tether to her.

"I was so worried about you," Natalie sighed into her hair.

"I'm sorry," Olivia apologized sincerely but then had to lie about where she had been. "I was at Derek's. He took care of me."

Natalie frowned and pulled away from the hug to get a good look at her. "Your neck. God, I'm going to kill whoever did this to you two."

If only that was possible.

"I'm okay," she assured her aunt; and as if the universe hated her, her voice squeaked like she was a male going through puberty. She cleared her throat, having gotten used to the pain, and asked, "How's Lydia?"

"The poor thing has a concussion and a couple of stitches by her hairline," Natalie sighed sadly and reached up to Olivia's forehead, thumbing over the cut she had cleaned up at the Argents' apartment. "I'm so glad you two are okay."

"Me too," Olivia took her hand and squeezed it quickly. "If it's okay, I'm gonna go see Lydia."

"Of course, honey," Natalie nodded encouragingly. "How about in ten minutes, I come up there and help you get ready for school? I know you don't like to miss it."

"Thanks, Aunt Nat. I'll see you in a few."

Olivia left her aunt and climbed the stairs, heading straight to Lydia's bedroom, only a door from her own room. She knocked gently and waited until she heard Lydia's permission to enter, before going into the room. Lydia was sitting at the end of her bed, dressed in pajamas, flipping through pages of an old photobook. Olivia recognized it; it was the one from their first year in middle school.

She looked up and smiled at Olivia as she padded over to her bed. "Hey."

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she sat next to the redhead.

"My head hurts a little bit, but other than that, I'm fine," Lydia studied the bruise on her neck. "How about you?"

"Just a little bruise."

Lydia pressed her lips together sadly. "What happened last night?"

Olivia described everything that went on last night. She told her about confronting Jennifer with Stiles, Scott, and Derek, about how Jennifer had poisoned Cora with mistletoe and that was why she wasn't healing. She explained how they went to the hospital and the alpha pack showed up, the many ways they tried to thwart them, and the plan that they eventually came up with. Finally, she told Lydia about Jennifer taking Melissa and Scott joining Deucalion and the rest of the alphas.

"I don't believe it," Lydia shook her head with a sigh. "Scott can't really be with them. He can't be."

"He's doing it for his mom and the sheriff," Olivia frowned; more and more, she was thinking that Scott had made the right decision. And she should have done it with him. If making a deal with the devil was the price she had to pay to make sure Noah and Melissa were safe, she'd do it. "And the look on his face..."

"Okay, so what can I do?" Lydia immediately volunteered to help them, making Olivia smile thankfully at her. "I know I'm supposed to be some human Geiger counter for death or something, but you told me that I could maybe save some people. I don't know how to turn it on and off yet, but..."

When she hesitated, Olivia bit the inside of her cheek. "What?"

"Remember what Jennifer said when she was going to kill me after you?" Lydia reminded her. "She said I knew too much."

"You're right. She didn't know you were a banshee."

Olivia's mind raced. Jennifer tried to kill Lydia because she knew something about what was going on, but what was it? She thought back on how Lydia had been acting since the school year started, and other than finding the dead bodies and that stint at the Motel Glen Capri, she couldn't think of much else...Except, wait. There was something. The day before, when they were in English class learning about idioms, Jennifer had commented on Lydia's drawing.

"Your drawing," she said aloud to see if it sparked something in Lydia. "The one you always draw, the tree."

Lydia looked at her confused, "What are you talking about?"

"The tree you always draw," Olivia got up from the bed and rushed over to Lydia's desk, picking up one of the notebooks there. She opened it up and on the very first page, was the tree. She showed it to Lydia. "This tree. You've been drawing it everywhere, Lyds."

"What?" Lydia asked, horrified. She ripped the notebook out of Olivia's grasp and flipped through the rest of the pages. Over and over, on each page, a drawing of the same tree was there in various sizes. "What the hell?"

"She knew that you knew something about the tree, but she didn't know what," Olivia pointed out. "Do you know what the drawing means?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, I don't. I mean, I talked about it with Ms. Morrell once in one of our sessions, but—"

"Ms. Morrell knows?" Olivia cut her off urgently. "About the drawings and stuff?"

"Yeah, why?" Olivia didn't answer her as she pulled out her phone and started messaging Stiles. "Liv?"

"Sorry, sorry," Olivia turned back to her cousin. "Okay, Stiles and I are gonna head to the school and talk to Ms. Morrell. Do you think you can try to get ahold of Aiden and see if he or the other alphas know anything about Jennifer that we don't?"

"I can try," Lydia seemed bewildered at how flustered Olivia was. "Are you all right, Liv?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just need to go," Olivia rushed to the door before stopping and turning back to her. "Hey, do you think I should cover this," she gestured to her neck. "up?"

"No," Lydia said firmly. "You survived Jennifer's attack. You don't need to hide that."

Olivia inhaled deeply, feeling herself get emotional, and smiled softly at Lydia. "Okay, thank you. I love you, Lyds."

"I love you, too, Liv."

-

After getting dressed and throwing her hair into a topknot—she had not had time to shower, which was unfortunate, because she was pretty sure she still had blood in her hair—Stiles picked her up and they rushed to the school. As they started heading over to Ms. Morrell's office, Olivia got a text message from Lydia.

Lyds: Aiden's not texting me back

Liv: All right. Just keep trying, okay?

Lyds: I will. Be careful

Liv: You too

While she was texting her cousin back, she saw a message come in from Isaac. She ignored it for just a second as she looked up at Stiles and informed him of what was going on with Lydia, "Aiden's not texting Lydia back," she paused and saw that he had stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, his phone in his hand. "Are you okay, Stiles?"

Stiles continued to look at the phone, his face crumpling.

"Stiles, what's going on?" she asked cautiously. She walked over to be by his side and saw that Stiles had gotten a text message from Isaac as well. "What does it say?"

"Jennifer, she t—" he inhaled shakily, his hands shaking. "she has Allison's father. She took him. "She's got all three now."

Olivia's heart started racing in her chest but she somehow found words. "There's still time," she focused on that; Jennifer couldn't do anything until the lunar eclipse started. "We still have time, Stiles."

Stiles didn't respond. His hands shook terribly as he put his phone back into his jeans pocket, he was pale and sweaty, and she didn't need to have enhanced hearing to hear how shaky his breath was. Not only did his tether—his was her favorite, a light brown like his eyes when the sun hit them just right—start flashing, different than it did with the werewolf tethers.

"Stiles," she stood on her tiptoes to place the palm of her hand against his cheek, grounding him for a second. "Stiles, are you having a panic attack?"

Stiles struggled to breathe as he nodded, his eyes wide with panic.

"Okay, it's okay, um..." she looked around the hallway and thanked God that Ms. Morrell's office was close to the boys' locker room. "Okay, come on, Stiles."

The frantic gasping that came from Stiles was scary, she wasn't going to lie. However, she needed to be there for him. She had never experienced a panic attack, but she had read about them. And because she knew Stiles had anxiety, she had learned multiple ways to help people who were experiencing panic attacks. Even though everyone was different and so were reactions, she hoped one of the techniques would help him.

Olivia helped Stiles take a seat on the floor, his back leaned up against one row of lockers, and then kneeled down in front of him. Stiles was really beginning to worry now, his face had lost all color and his breathing had turned into hyperventilating.

"Stiles? Stiles, look at me," she gently grabbed his face and tilted it upward so he could look her in the eyes. "I know you're scared right now, but you have to calm down. Can you breathe with me?"

Stiles nodded, breathing heavily.

"All right, here," she picked up one of his hands and pressed it against her stomach where he would be able to feel how she breathed. "and breathe slow like this. Slow inhale, slow exhale."

She demonstrated the breathing for him. Stiles tried to copy her actions but his thoughts must have gone to his dad again, because he went through two or three cycles of breathing before it picked up again.

"Liv-Livvy," he gasped out, his eyes boring into hers, panicked.

"Okay," that didn't work. "um, okay. Tell me five things you see in this room right now."

He gave her a bewildered look. "I-I can't."

"Yes, you can," she insisted as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Right now, Stiles. Please."

"O-Okay," he panted, his eyes quickly tracing the room. "Okay, u-um, my locker."

"Good, good. What else?"

"Y-You're wearing—you're wearing a blue shirt. Blue is pretty."

"Yeah, it is," Olivia smiled at him. "Okay, three more things. You're doing great, sweetcheeks.

"The, uh," his breathing was better but not totally okay yet. He gasped quickly and then continued, "the regional ch-championship trophy."

"That's great, Stiles. Two more."

Stiles eyes darted behind her, where the sinks were lined up on the wall. "The leaky faucet. It's, uh, it's the third one."

Olivia glanced behind her and smiled when she saw that he was right. "Good. One more," his breathing was much calmer now. The gasps were gone and each breath he took was less wheezy. "You're doing great, Stiles."

Stiles' eyes went back to her face, searching it intently. "You're wearing that lip balm you like," he said finally. "it's pink and it tastes like strawberries."

"Yeah," she gazed at him fondly. He inhaled deeply and exhaled, his breathing back to normal. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Stiles took the hand of hers that was on his face and kissed her knuckles. "How'd you know how to do that?"

"I, uh, I knew you had anxiety, so I looked up some methods that might help with panic attacks," Olivia answered him sheepishly. "I have a few more. You can name some colors or hold your breath, and you can even distract yourself with something funny that you like. Like for you, it'd be—"

Her rambling was cut off but Stiles pulling her in for a loving but passionate kiss. Of course, she returned the affection. She loved Stiles so much and she was very happy to know he was feeling better.

When he pulled away from the kiss and stared at her. And he was so damn cute, staring at her like she was the most wonderful person in the world. "You really did that?"

"Of course I did," she stroked his cheek again once she moved it back to his face. "I would do anything for you, I love you."

"I love you, too," Stiles pressed his lips to hers again and pulled away before she could react. "I love you so fucking much, Livvy. One day, after all this is over and we graduate, I'm gonna marry you. And then we'll go to college and get an apartment next to Scott, and we'll have however many dogs you want—because I know you secretly love them so much—and then we'll have a family and we'll—"

"Okay, okay, settle down there," Olivia giggled and gave him a bright smile. The only way she could describe how she felt at his words was that there were a hundred butterflies in her stomach who were just as overjoyed to hear him say that as she was. "We have to get your dad, Melissa, and Mr. Argent back first. We'll see about the rest then, okay?"

"Okay," Stiles nodded with a grin. After Olivia climbed to her feet, she brought her hand down for him to take. He took it gladly and she helped him up. "We should get to Ms. Morrell's office now, huh?"

"Yeah."

After leaving the locker room, they rushed down the hallway and stormed into Ms. Morrell's office. Ms. Morrell wasn't there at her desk like they thought she would be, but there was a student waiting for her. She looked kind of familiar, but Olivia just couldn't place her face at the moment.

"Are you here for Ms. Morrell?" Stiles asked her.

"No, I thought this was gym class," she snarked back at him.

"Okay, listen, we're not in the mood for unneeded sarcasm," Olivia put up her unfeeling mask she used for her classmates and the other students—and teachers—at the school. "Do you know where she is?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be waiting her for twenty minutes," the girl huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, how about you two lovebirds back out the door and wait your turn?"

"We're here for a session," Stiles told her.

"Well, I am, and I've got some serious issues to work on."

"Woah, hold on," Olivia studied the girl's face, finally realizing where she had seen her before. "You were at Heath's birthday party. Uh, it's Danielle, right?"

"We've had class together, but sure, I was the girl at Heath's birthday party," Danielle rolled her eyes. "I was his best friend and you and your cousin stopped hanging out with him. That's what Morrell and I have been working on three times a week."

"Wait, did you say that Morrell's twenty minutes late?" Stiles interjected.

Danielle nodded. "And I don't know why, either. She's always on time.

Stiles nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I've been seeing her since freshman year," he looked at Olivia. "She's never late...so, she must be missing."

Olivia gave him a knowing look. "What if we're not the only ones who think she knows something?" she mused. "Aiden wasn't answering Lydia, remember?"

Stiles nodded and glanced at the filing cabinet behind Ms. Morrell's desk. "Then let's find out what she knows," he knelt down in front of the filing cabinet and pulled out a lock-pick kit that Olivia had no idea he had. "You said Lydia's been seeing her since the start of the semester?"

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?" Danielle asked, affronted, as she watched Stiles break into the cabinet and sift through the files. "Those files are private."

"We're looking for my cousin's file," Olivia told her. "She gave us permission."

Danielle didn't look impressed but she didn't stop them or go to tattle on them, either.

"Find it!" Stiles stood up and tossed Lydia's file onto the desk.

Olivia opened the file and went through the various papers that Ms. Morrell had collected on Lydia. There were no notes like there would be if Morrell was a normal guidance counselor. Instead, it was full of Lydia's drawings, each one of them a tree just like the ones that filled her notebook back at home.

"Wait, wait, stop," Stiles caught her hand as she went to pick up another paper. "Look at that."

The paper he had pointed to had the tree on it like the others. However, this one was different. It was upside down compared to the other ones, making the tree look more like roots, and at the bottom, it was labeled. In Ms. Morrell's writing, it said, 'Nemeton.'

"Oh, my God," Olivia breathed in realization. "It's the Nemeton. That's where she's keeping them. It has to be."

Stiles nodded in agreement. "That's where Derek brought Paige, right?" Olivia made a noise of confirmation as they rushed out of the office, leaving Danielle behind. "Okay, so—"

"Stilinski!" the agent from earlier, who Stiles had told her was Scott's father, shouted for him as he stomped down the hallway.

"Fuck," Stiles cursed under his breath. "All right, you should go to Derek and ask him about the Nemeton and its location."

"I will," Olivia glanced behind him and bit the inside of her cheek when she saw that Agent McCall was only a few feet away from them now. "Be careful."

"You too."

Olivia walked away as Stiles confronted Agent McCall and swiftly turned into a different hallway, the one where her locker was located. She didn't leave like Stiles wanted her to, she had a few phone calls to make.

She took a deep breath and dialed Dr. Deaton first.

-

-

"Did you know your dad's car is in the school parking lot and has been since last night?" Agent McCall asked him. He was sitting on Coach's desk while Stiles sat on one of the students' desks right across from him. He felt like he was in the worst detention he had ever experienced. Scratch that, Mr. Harris' detentions were the worst.

Stiles ducked his head, staring at his fingers and he nervously wringed them together. "No. What does that mean?"

"It means he's officially missing," Rafael told him. Stiles stayed quiet: Tell me something I don't know. "Stiles, why am I getting the feeling you know something that could help us find your dad?"

Stiles lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at his best friend's father. "If I did, why would I not tell you?"

Probably because you, nor the FBI, know anything about what it's really like in Beacon Hills. You don't know about the supernatural, you don't even know that your son is a werewolf, a fucking true alpha, he thought bitterly.

"If it meant helping your dad, why wouldn't you?"

Stiles gave him a look that clearly asked the agent why he was being so idiotic. "So, you're asking me to tell you what I wouldn't not tell you?"

"First, I have no idea what you just said," Rafael said calmly. "Second, how about you just help me help you?"

"Well, I don't know how to help you help me tell you something that would help you if I don't know it," even Stiles was confused about his words, but he stuck to them.

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Stiles sighed. "I don't know anything, okay? Can I just go?"

Rafael shook his head. "Where are your other friends?"

"You mean Scott?"

"I mean Scott," McCall took out his handy-dandy notebook and listed off all of Stiles' friends, excluding Olivia—he knew where she was—and including some that weren't his friends. "I mean Isaac Lahey, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin, these twins Ethan and Aiden," he shut the notepad and put it back in his jacket. "I've been told your whole little clique didn't show up at school today."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't have a clique."

Especially not one with Ethan and Aiden and...Well, I guess Isaac's part of our pack of friends...

"Stiles, come on," Rafael sighed, wishing he would just say something. "There's been a pretty disturbing amount of violent activity in this county in the last month, several murders tied to this school. I don't know what's going on here, but it's serious."

Stiles ducked his head again. McCall didn't have to tell him about what was going on. Stiles knew more about it than he did.

"And hey, your dad is missing," Rafael caught his attention; he lifted his head but didn't say anything. "Fine. But I don't want you going home alone. You have someone you can stay with tonight?"

"He's with me," a new, familiar, voice spoke up. Stiles and Agent McCall both looked over to the door where Deaton was standing, Olivia behind him. "Come on, Stiles."

Stiles eagerly jumped off the desk he was sitting and threw Agent McCall another glare before following Olivia and Dr. Deaton out of the classroom.

-

-

Olivia, Stiles, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia had all gathered in the exam room at the animal clinic with Dr. Deaton. Lydia had gone to see Derek and Peter, at Olivia's insistence, and asked them about the Nemeton, but according to them, Talia had taken those memories from them. That left them with no new leads on Jennifer or a location of the Nemeton, and the sun had already set. They had twenty-four hours to figure everything out.

"It has to be on a telluric current," Stiles declared, leaning against the stainless-steel cart in the middle of the room. "or maybe even at the axis of two or where they all intersect..."

"We just know that Derek took Paige to die there," Olivia finished.

"My dad and Gerard were there once," Allison told everyone from next to Olivia. "but Gerard said it was years ago and he couldn't remember where it was. And my dad obviously isn't here to tell us now."

"Yeah, mine either."

Olivia bit the inside of her cheek, and comfortingly rubbed Allison's back with one hand and Stiles' back with the other. She didn't know if it was comforting but she wanted to show her support for them anyway.

"Then how do we find this place?" Isaac spoke up.

The five of them looked over to Dr. Deaton, who had been pacing with a thoughtful expression the whole time they spoke.

"There might be a way," Dr. Deaton said finally. "but it's dangerous. We're going to need Scott."

Olivia immediately set to work on finding Scott's location. After only two minutes—she was getting much better at locating her pack members—Stiles and Dr. Deaton went to go find him. While she and the others waited for them to bring Scott back with them, she pulled herself into her map and tried to find Sheriff Stilinski, Ms. McCall, and Mr. Argent.

The whole thing was trickier than expected but she didn't care. Knowing that she was most connected to Stiles, she started with his tether. First, she dived deep down into it—while trying not to disturb Stiles, where he and Deaton were—and stayed there for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling of it. She pictured Noah and Stiles together, using one of the memories in which she had gone over to their house for pizza one night so Noah could get to know her better. She focused on them and their bond. Although Stiles and his dad didn't look much alike, their personalities were damn near the same, with a little less sarcasm on Noah's side. They really loved each other, and each one was the last family that the other had.

Once she was comfortable with both Stiles and Noah, she moved onto Noah by himself. Something about Noah just screamed green to her, but that was nice. Green was warm and comforting and that fit him. And when she saw a faded green dot in front of her, she knew that it was him. The thing was, the dot was dull and blurry—she couldn't see him properly. She tried going further toward him but she couldn't move. Something was keeping her back.

She cursed under her breath as she opened her, realizing what was happening. Lydia, Allison, and Isaac were all looking at her expectantly, wanting to know if she got anything. "Jennifer," she scowled. "I think she's blocking me somehow."

"Then we will have to go through with the plan. It's our last choice," Dr. Deaton entered the exam room, followed by Stiles and Scott.

"Yeah, what exactly is this plan?" Lydia asked curiously. Dr. Deaton and Stiles had left before the former was able to explain the plan.

"Essentially, Scott, Allison, and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for their parents," Deaton explained.

"They're going to die for them?" Olivia asked, furrowing their eyebrows. She wouldn't be able to handle that. Stiles was the love of her life, Allison was one of her best friends, and Scott was a friend to her as well. Three members of her pack, three people that she loved and cared about would be gone.

Stiles, it seemed, could read her mind. "He can bring us back," he assured her, crossing the room to pull her into his side. He glanced at Deaton to make sure, "You can bring us back, right?"

Dr. Deaton pulled a half-grimace. "You remember the part where I said it was dangerous?" everyone nodded. "If it goes right, the three of you will be dead for a few seconds, but there's something else you need to think about. This is a dangerous thing for more reasons than one. You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton, a place that hasn't had power for a long time."

"This kind of power is like a magnet. It attracts the supernatural, the kind of things that a family like the Argents can fill the pages of a bestiary with," he said seriously, finishing up. "It will draw them here, like a beacon."

Olivia wondered if the Nemeton was the reason that their town was named Beacon Hills in the first place. If it had been a long time since the Nemeton had power, it might have been. The Hales had always been a prominent family in Beacon Hills for over a century, so it was entirely possible if they had named the town themselves.

Stiles shrugged. "Doesn't sound any worse than anything we've already seen."

Deaton shook his head. "You'd be surprised at what you have yet to see."

"Is that it?" Allison asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"No, it will also have an effect on the three of you," Deaton answered her. "You won't be able to see it, but you'll feel it every day for the rest of your lives. It'll be a kind of darkness around your heart and permanent, like a scar."

"Like a tattoo," Scott mused thoughtfully.

Stiles, Scott, and Allison were allowed to leave the animal clinic to head back to their homes to grab a token that represented their parents. While they did that, Olivia, Lydia, Isaac, and Deaton got to work on setting things up for the ritual.

The set-up was much like the one that they used for Isaac's when they were trying to find Boyd and Erica. There were three large tubs this time and each one was filled to the brim with water, ice, and herbs that Dr. Deaton had mixed for them. While Lydia and Isaac continued working, Dr. Deaton pulled Olivia aside.

He told her that, unlike Isaac's ritual, she wouldn't be able to help with this one. When Olivia heard his explanation, she agreed. Because Stiles, Allison, and Scott would be dead—at the minimum for a few seconds—she wouldn't be in the best shape. Deaton even told her that she may be out of it for a period of time while they were gone, if they were gone for more than a few seconds or even minutes. Honestly, it scared Olivia. She felt the whole in her heart desperately when Boyd died. It was undoubtedly going to be worse when the ritual started.

When Stiles and Scott came back, followed shortly by Allison, Olivia went straight to Stiles and wrapped her arms around his waist. He had to know that she was nervous about the whole thing because he wrapped his arms around her, too, and whispered soothing words into her ears.

"All right," Dr. Deaton said once the tubs were ready to go. "What did you bring?"

Stiles unhooked one arm from around Olivia and dug his hand into his jacket pocket. "Um, I got by dad's badge," he told everyone, staring at it sadly. "Jennifer kind of crushed it in her hand, so I tried hammering it out a bit. Still doesn't look great."

"It doesn't need to look good if it has meaning," Deaton assured him.

Stiles nodded and pressed his lips together.

"Is that an actual silver bullet?" Isaac spoke up, looking at the token that Allison was holding.

Allison nodded. "My dad made it. It's a kind of ceremonial thing," she explained. "When one of us finishes learning all the skills to be a hunter, we forge a silver bullet as a testament to the code."

"Scott?"

Scott held up a dainty watch. "My dad got my mom this watch when she first got hired at the hospital," he scoffed lightly. "She used to say it was the only thing in their marriage that ever worked."

"Okay," Dr. Deaton started to explain what they needed to do. "the three of you will get in. Olivia, Lydia, and Isaac will each hold you down until you're essentially...Well, dead. But it's not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether."

Olivia quickly looked up. "Did you say emotional tether?"

When Deaton nodded, Olivia and Stiles shared a knowing look. Stiles was the only one she told about her knew system of keeping track of her pack and how it worked much better than before. The fact that Deaton was mentioning an emotional tether like the ones she used couldn't be a coincidence.

Had she been led to start thinking of her attachments to the pack as tethers for a reason? The answer seemed to be yes. Olivia didn't know if she be freaked out or relieved that she was understanding her abilities better.

"Lydia," Deaton called out the redhead's name when she went to stand by Allison. "you go with Scott."

Olivia and Stiles shared another look, both of them shocked at the turn of events. Olivia looked back at her cousin with a questioning look but Lydia steadfastly ignored her as she went to take her place by a very surprised Scott.

Scott...and...Lydia? What was going on here?

They'd be cute together, though, Olivia admitted to herself.

Allison looked between one of her best friends and her former boyfriend, confused. "Are you sure?" she asked Deaton. "I mean, I have to go under, too. And Isaac—"

"Isaac will go with you," Dr. Deaton told her. "Olivia, you'll be with Stiles."

Well, that wasn't a shock. Isaac and Allison and Scott and Lydia, though? What a plot twist.

Before the ritual began, Olivia made sure to take Stiles aside for a second.

"If you stay dead, I'm gonna kill you," she warned Stiles, making him laugh through his nerves. "I'm completely serious, Stiles."

"I know you are," he smirked down at her. "It's gonna be fine, though. I love you, baby."

Olivia didn't object to the pet name. He was going to be dead for a few seconds, so she'd let it slide. "I love you, too, sweetcheeks."

They quickly kissed and Stiles placed an extra one on her temple, his lips quirking into a knowing smile. Olivia may be hard to read for other people, but it was easy for him to figure out what was going on in that stubborn head of hers.

They both made their way back into the exam room. Olivia squeezed Allison's hand meaningfully and smiled at Scott, wishing them a good luck without words. Then, they all lined up at their respective tubs.

Allison was the first one to step in, deeply inhaling at the freezing cold water. Scott got into his tub as well. Stiles looked back at Olivia before he got into his tub and she gave him the most reassuring smile that she could. It worked for him, though; he stepped into the tub fearlessly.

They were all having trouble breathing from the freezing cold water as they fully submerged themselves. A second later, Olivia took her place behind Stiles with her hands on his shivering shoulders; Lydia and Isaac did the same for Scott and Allison, respectively.

Teeth chattering, Stiles looked to his left to speak to Scott. "By the way, if I don't make it back and you do, you should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Tears slipped down Olivia's cheeks as she pressed down on Stiles' shoulder at Deaton told them to begin. Stiles kicked and struggled underneath the water, but she kept going, knowing that this was what he wanted. It was just a little heartbreaking to keep him under.

Stiles, Scott, and Allison all stilled at the same time. Olivia didn't even have to let go, she collapsed under the weight of their nonpermanent deaths, slipping into nothingness.

(Gif is not mine)

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