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adelheidvonschicksal · 4 months

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⋆｡°✩ DARLING, DON'T BE AFRAID

Summary: Despite living with Xavier for the past few weeks, you still haven't taken the plunge to see if all this time together make you anything more than roommates especially when he disappears again in the middle of the night. Determined, you decide to question him on where his feelings lie. You just never thought a simple kiss on the cheek was the only push needed.

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Roommates AU, Vanilla Smut (A lot of it. Like 7k words of smut), Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex

Word Count: 12,000~

Note: Sequel to Do Roommates Sleep Together. This part can be read as a standalone. So not necessary to read part one but it adds more context.

AO3 Link

You make a final decisive pull of the trigger. A loud pang resonates in the air and smoke spirals off the barrel. The Wanderer disappears in a wisp of debris and dust that is quickly caught in the wind.

Xavier stands a few feet in front of you. His sword twirls with one final arc of light illuminating behind the sharpened tip before it dematerializes in his hand. You’re oblivious to the way his eyes search and find you on instinct as you run eager fingertips on the warm barrel of your pistol.

“Mission completed. We should report back.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze while your gloved fingers remain faithfully on your weapon. The adrenaline from a successful mission is still surging through you.

“I want to test out my guns some more.”

His eyes soften at your response, but the weight of his gaze is still heavy as he walks towards you and places his hand on your head.

“There will be more Wanderers tomorrow,” he murmurs. His thumb gently brushes your forehead before his hand swoops back over your hair. Though your hands were still itching for another battle, your mind was weak to the calmness of his tone, like the slow tumble of waves on the shore, as he coaxes your head back to look at him more directly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you do not protest. Even if you did, what could you possibly say?

Your aggression relaxes along with your shoulders, allowing you to give in to his request with a quick holstering of your twin guns.

You return to headquarters and give your mission report to Jenna – pausing only to poke fun when she mentions how much Xavier’s reporting time has improved since the two of you became partners – then you start on the way home with the sun kissing at your back.

Laughter fills the air on the streets. Immediately, you feel warm inside. It was only thanks to the work you do every day that citizens could enjoy this peaceful dusk without fear of monsters scrambling to destroy the city like so many years ago.

It’s rewarding to know you hold some small part in the safety of the city after almost dying in the catastrophe as a child. You breathed it in fully, letting joy fill your lungs as you savor the calm moment. The emotion is only highlighted by the fact that when you look to your side, you can see Xavier there, putting weight to the empty space left in the wake of your family’s death.

Walking home together in the past was a random occurrence, happening whenever your busy schedules after missions aligned. As freshly cemented roommates, it was almost a given you’d walk home together now. Not just to the apartment complex, but to an actual shared home.

This path you go along every day has become special in that time. It’s full of promises, the kind you could only wish for on snowy New Year's evenings as you tied red ribbons to the shrine gate and prayed for good things to happen in your life. Not a lot of those wishes came true but Xavier did.

In that way, you were a fortunate person.

It was only your guess if he felt the same. You want to ask him. Unlike when you’re fighting Wanderers, you’re not brave when it comes to Xavier - a part of you prefers to leave things between you unsaid. It’s safer that way as you can keep living in a beautiful world of your own illusions.

Therefore, you’re unable to help yourself. Pinching the sleeve of his uniform, you tug on it gently to gain his attention; Xavier looks at you with glossy glazed eyes. He’s always so sluggish after missions. His steps slow and methodical, like a robot, as he barely manages to straighten his spine and raise his head.

“Chin up, Xavier. We’re almost there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says.

You don’t need to hear him say it to understand. You think you’ve become good at reading his body language by now. Donning a sympathetic smile, you shift your hand, aiming for a lower target, and entwine your fingers with his under the guise of leading him faster.

“My next solution is carrying you by the way.”

A smile cracks on his face, impossibly light as his gaze drifts to the hold you have on his hand. “I don’t think you could carry me.”

“You dare doubt me?” Truth be told, he was right. He was tall and muscular and much thicker under that uniform than he looked. He would probably crush you under his weight if you tried to lift him. Despite how improper it was to think, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to place his weight on top of you in another way. You tick up the corner of your lips into a surprisingly innocent smile opposite of the images in your imagination as you flash your bicep to him. “I’m very strong.”

“I think it would make more sense if I carried you.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” he says with a yawn, and you smile.

“Are you sure you won’t drop me?”

“If it’s a choice between falling asleep and dropping you then I’ll definitely stay awake. Otherwise, you might end up carrying me after all,” he says. Xavier always manages to be unfailingly charming. Given the mystery of his past and the way he carries himself, you often question exactly what kind of upbringing he had. You almost ask but your interrogation doesn’t have the chance to plant seeds when he stops in front of you and kneels.

You thought he was joking when he said he’d carry you home but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and letting him scoop your legs up around his solid waistline.

His clasp on the back of your thighs makes you shiver. You feel like a touch-starved virgin that the simple strength of his hands over the thickness of your pants incited such a reaction out of you, so you bury your burning face against the back of his neck.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Xavier must feel your hair against his neck, and you use the fact he can’t see your face to your advantage as you nod against his nape.

“Just hungry.”

For his part, Xavier doesn’t question your sudden hunger. Instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for and starts to list the restaurants that you pass on the way to the apartment complex.

You lay your cheek against him, watching the many buildings pass you by until you point out one you don’t recognize, flashing with many signs about a grand opening.

“How about that one?” you ask.

Xavier chuckles, continuing on in his steps past the building in question. “It’s not that great.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried them out.”

You squeeze into his shoulders, pushing off of them in a childlike manner and an even more dramatic gasp. “Without me?”

“I was going to bring you something back, but they weren’t very tasty. I like your cooking a lot more.”

You know he can’t see you, but you puff out your cheeks anyway. You wrap your arms tightly around him again, willing your heart not to skip when his back tenses as your chest compresses against him.

“Are you asking me to cook dinner for you? I’m quite exhausted after all that running around,” you tell him sarcastically.

He accidentally makes you regret your teasing when he agrees with a compassionate offer, “I’ll cook for you today.”

Hearing the word cook from his mouth makes your stomach sour. If there’s one thing after all these months you learned, it’s that Xavier is a…creative cook to put it gently. Or rather, he has zero cooking ability if it involves electricity. You didn’t mind. The two of you make it work with you doing most of the cooking and him cleaning up after, at your own behest, because if he had his way, he’d be in the kitchen much more often.

“On second thought, I’ll cook.”

“You still don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh. Guilt tingles through you. However, your continued survival outweighs the guilt that the memory of his puppy eyes can draw out of you. “I’ll handle the cold stuff, and I’ll leave the meat to you.”

“Deal,” you say, nuzzling your head against his neck.

When you get home, the night pans out like it always does. The two of you take turns in the shower with dinner being cooked shortly after, and the human garbage disposal known as your roommate leaves very little work for you to do once all is said and done.

You decide to start on the last of chores for today while Xavier washes the dishes. It’s routine to check the plants before going to bed as the many potted flowers were like your own children after you spent so many hours tending to them, finding the perfect ratio of nutrients and water to keep them thriving.

It is also routine to hunt down the birds so lovingly named Fatso and Alarm Clock by the sleepy man of the house to give them some of the seeds and nuts you regularly brought home from the store. You told Xavier that happy birds would stop eating his strawberries when in reality you liked to spoil them.

So, you spread out the seeds on the ground for them, leaving them there for later.

“If you feed them, they’ll never leave.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. As much as he complains about the birds, you think, if his constant curiosity about the birds’ day-to-day lives was anything to go by, that he’d miss the two fluffy creatures if they were to ever find new nesting grounds. You turn back to the balcony door with a cheeky grin. “I have experience with things that don’t leave after you feed them. You enjoyed dinner a little too much.”

It’s hard to see in the fading light but Xavier blushes and brings a shy grip to the back of his neck. “Last I checked you moved in with me.”

That silences you. There’s no denying his observation, and you fail to notice him getting closer until he reaches his hand out to help you up. You willingly reach out, hand sinking into his touch as he lifts you to your feet.

The coolness of your palms touching slowly births a lingering warmth. The soft squeeze around your hand makes it hard to let him go but eventually you must. Otherwise, you might say things that are better kept to yourself as you walk back into the house and close the sliding door behind you.

With a pounding heart, you retire to your room early.

This room is a little different from the master room at your old apartment. The wall color is a little different brighter and it’s smaller. Luckily, you made the space work pretty easily by migrating half your plushie collection into Xavier’s room, checking like a dutiful mother to make sure he was treating them right and placing them with love should they roll off his dresser. Sighing, you change into slightly more comfortable clothes, choosing a random pair of soft shorts and a tank top to wear before climbing into bed. It’s ten when you finally let your eyes slip shut, and it's around eleven you feel someone touching you.

Your eyelids are surprisingly heavy; you can barely pry them open enough to see the wisp of grey-brown hair shadowing medium-blue eyes. You don’t protest as you feel his fingertips brush along your waist or when his knee digs into the mattress, sinking you towards his weight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants. You raise your arm enough to let your fingertips greet the curve of his chin in silent acceptance. Slowly, you drop your hand and squeeze his bicep. Like a good little soldier, he follows the order to fall into the bed with you.

The most comfortable position is to slot your arm on top of his as he hugs your waist, props his leg on top of yours, and spoons your back. There’s absolutely zero space between your lower halves; and if he notices how you, with a small amount of shame, subtly shift and push yourself back on him a little more, he doesn’t say as he lolls his head against the curve of your neck while his incredibly light exhaling on your skin comforts you after a long day.

With a flutter of your eyelids, you slowly slip back into sleep with the happiness that comes with being roommates with your crush.

It’s times like these that make you think maybe he loves you. It’s also times like these that make you forget that despite all of the endearing things about him and despite how much you care about him, you don’t truly know a lot about him.

Xavier has always been a man with a lot of secrets. You’ve known this since you first met him asleep in the forest. It’s true that you once accepted the fact you’d never learn all his secrets but that was before whatever this abnormal relationship that the two of you found yourself in.

Even after living together for more than two months now, you still had no idea where he would go when he would sneak off in the middle of the night. You didn’t question where he goes anymore, you found that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer to save his life. You merely stayed up until you heard the sound of the door opening or the warped echo of air being sucked into a vacuum, indicating he teleported inside.

So, when you wake up at two in the morning, finding yourself alone and the side of the bed where he laid mere hours ago already cold, you’re not surprised.

Getting out of bed, you slip on your slippers and drag your feet to the balcony. It’s a familiar situation when you collapse into the swing chair, with nothing but the cold and the chirping of the birds to keep you company until he undoubtedly returns with his body hosting a family of fresh wounds.

It’s incredibly frustrating because you love him and seeing him hurt, without you having been there to prevent it, drives you crazy. You wonder why he won’t tell you, and your heart sinks, as quickly as a stone cast in a lake, with the idea that maybe you were the only one thinking that your relationship meant more than it did. Because even after all this time, you still aren’t close to him in the way you want.

Clenching your fists, you shove your eyes against them. It was all so infuriating when he ran off to fight Wanderers or whoever and left you all alone to overthink and worry about him like some helpless house plant. It was enough to make you want to cry as the strange foreboding sense of losing him begins to echo inside of you, making you nauseous. There’s only one way to get rid of this feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you settle to give him a piece of your mind about sneaking off so much and also to bite the bullet to confess your feelings.

It was only a matter of waiting for him to actually return home and to get your heightened nerves to stop firing in every direction in the meantime.

By the time you heard the door to the apartment creaking open, you’d nearly fallen asleep in the wicker swing chair. You swallow down the bitter taste of fear, ignoring the tumultuous waves it makes when it hits your stomach. You’d never get anywhere if you didn’t face him.

Carefully, you hop up from your seat and make slow strides into the apartment. It’s still dark in the house; you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights earlier. Yet Xavier carries a lightness around him, mostly imagined by yourself, that makes him easy to spot in the darkness.

For a moment, things seem normal as he takes a few stiff steps forward. Suddenly, he falls forward, the white of his uniform nearly a blur with how fast he collapses onto the sofa, but it is nothing compared to the speed at which you rush to his side.

You call his name, press two fingers to his throat, and let your eyes slip closed with a desperate concentration as you search for his pulse behind the blaring red of his collar.

It’s a gradual pace, averaging twenty beats a minute and slowly rising. For anyone else, you’d immediately rush them to the hospital. For Xavier, that number is a relief.

You hold your hand to your pounding heart, practicing deep measured inhales to calm it. It appears he fell asleep as soon as he entered the room, with only enough awareness to kick off his shoes at the door.

It looks like your lecture will have to be postponed for another day.

You’re thankful for all the training you had to take to become a hunter because it takes an enormous amount of effort to throw one of his arms over your shoulders and drag him to his bedroom. You make a mental note to never let him question your ability to carry him again as you sit him on the bed and shuffle off his uniform jacket, leaving him only in his pants.

In a tender motion, you gently cup his face and examine him. Dirt cakes his face; and when you brush it away, there’s a small cut on his cheek. It hits you again just how reckless and secretive he can be, echoing with a bitter thought that he didn’t bring you again. The only bright spot is the little cut is his only injury this time.

Laying him on his back, you leave for only a moment to get a warm washcloth and an adhesive from the bathroom. It’s a blue band-aid with a cartoonish pink bunny on it, something a kid would love and has probably been collecting dust in the drawer longer than you’ve been alive.

It takes all the seriousness out of your body when you return, clean his face off, and place the colorful bandage on his cheek. It’s hard to believe this narcoleptic pretty boy was the strongest member of the Hunters Association.

“I didn’t think when we moved in together I was going to become a babysitter,” you commented with a little huff and poke of his cheek. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Can’t cook. Can’t stay awake. Can’t tell someone when you’re going out. I bet you didn’t even lock the door when you came in. …What if a Wanderer floated in after you and trampled all the flowers, or did you just not want to leave any for me tomorrow?”

You know your complaints are falling on deaf ears as he cuddles up to his pillow without a care in the world. But if you didn’t complain, you’d get depressed instead. Dropping to your knees, you sit on the floor and prop your elbow on the bed to get a better look at him.

He looks so peaceful.

There’s no tension, no crease to his expression. It’d be easy to mistake him for a normal young man if it weren’t for the strong humming of his Evol tickling at the wall of your resonance.

“I’ll let you sleep, but you’re getting it in the morning! I expect answers. Otherwise, I won’t cook breakfast for you,” you attempt to sound threatening in your words with every poke to his cheek a not-so-silent promise to follow through. “I’ll take my missions with the new recruit all the ladies at work gossip about. And the next time I get a snack shipment, I’m letting Jeremiah have first pick!”

With one last prod to his face and no reaction otherwise, you stop your demands and sit back on your legs.

Bit by bit, you feel your energy dissolving. It’s no use. It’s all empty threats. You’ll probably not cook for a few days, eat in front of him too, at least until he gives you those puppy eyes, and you’ll fold just like origami paper. You’ll still save him the snack you know he likes even if you allow Jeremiah first pick of the rest. And you’d never be interested in the new recruit or anyone else.

Xavier can be distant and formal. For others, his hyper-independence was evident. Taking on missions alone and avoiding group settings is just the way Xavier’s personality works. He’s reliable and gets along with everyone at a surface level and he’s known to go out of his way to help others without seeking validation for it so it never ruffled any feathers when he goes off on his own or rejects an invitation to drink with the others after work.

They didn’t see. They didn’t see how easy it was to care about him. They appreciate him but they weren’t aware of how intensely and passionately he could feel when he unfurls that independent nature. How he always quietly adjusts his dominant foot to point your direction whenever a Wanderer appears. How his voice drops and his touch becomes the smallest bit more graceful and careful when he sees you upset. How sweetly he looks when he sleeps.

It makes your resolve crumble and your heart squeeze, something only he can do without even being awake to know it.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mumble to him.

As you lean closer, you easily ignore the stirring in your gut that tells you to stop.

The bandage is a little rough against your lips as you seize the chance to kiss him. It’s a short and small thing, much more delicate than your prodding from earlier because you want to indulge the romantic in you. You want him to somehow sense the feelings cultivated in your heart over the past few months though impossible when he’s asleep.

You don’t let it last long. Instead, the desperate urge to feel his heat against you spurs you to rest your forehead against his cheek. It’s warm and soft, and the faint scent of pine trees of the no-hunt zone fills your nose. You savor being this close to him, allowing yourself to indulge in it until the heat on your skin starts to match his, and you finally let him have peace for the night.

With no need to remain in his room, you stand and pivot towards the door, wondering how you’ll manage to grasp any form of sleep tonight. However, you don’t make it two steps before there’s a tug at your arm.

You yelp as you’re pulled towards the bed while the shock has you stumbling forward into it. The hand leaving your arm in favor of grasping around your wrist stops you from falling completely but your knees have already buckled. You’re left nearly a head under him when he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shifts into a full sitting position. This position is oddly familiar. When you uncertainly force your eyes up to meet his face, this vulnerable angle becomes unmistakable.

His voice is husked and rasped from sleep, sending a chill up your spine when paired with the swirling shadows darkening his blue eyes under his hooded lids and dark lashes. That’s the look of a predator, of the association’s strongest hunter, and you face the inkling realization that you’re the prey.

Nervously, you begin to divert your eyes. He takes a page out of your own playbook and reaches under your chin to guide your sight back to him as you fight not to whimper at the pressure of his thumb pushing down as if he wants to part your lips. It isn’t until now that you notice how close you are to his lap and how another few inches would drop you to your knees.

“Why worry about Wanderers following me home when you’re so much scarier.”

“What do you mean?”

Memory has never been your friend. This though is the first time you’ve forgotten how to breathe when his fingers completely close around your wrist. His hold is firm, preventing you from wringing your way out of his grasp, but it doesn’t hurt.

He might as well take that grasp and use it to squeeze your heart instead when he brings your hand to his face. You’re unsure what he’s planning; the awkwardness of the situation makes your fingers straighten and twitch away as he holds your hand closer to his face. Sensing your trepidation, he closes the last of the distance instead by tilting his head into your hand with the same affection as always as he lets your fingertip brush against the silly little bunny bandage.

The familiarity of the motion puts your heart a little more at ease but not enough to bring your breathing back to you as he mumbles, “I don’t remember giving you permission to kiss me.”

Your lips part with a silent puff while your brows push forward, highlighting the confusion in your mind onto your face. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle your hand. It’s a notion you can’t appreciate as his words finally sink into your mind and reform into a horrifying conclusion.

“…You were awake the whole time.”

He chuckles so easily at the dry peep that echoes from you, the rivet of that warm sound collects in your palm and makes your face scalding hot. You didn’t face a burning heat like this even when fighting one of those flame dragons. All the while, Xavier was laughing at you…

“Not the whole time.”

With your head catching up, you find enough of yourself again to actually glare at him and smack his shoulder. “That’s not the point!”

With another display of strength, he locks your other wrist, pulls you up, and then snatches you into him. Luckily, you’re able to flatten your palms against his chest to brace yourself. His heart as well as his face is unnervingly calm compared to your own organ that’s currently orchestrating its escape from your chest, battering your ribcage even harder as you unconsciously stretch your fingers over his naked skin.

You don’t like this. This bullying, which you only describe as such because you can’t think of a word more fitting for the way he’s treating you, is too one-sided.

“It was on the cheek,” you argue with a steeled voice. You fake the confidence to stare him back down, choosing to trade your determination to confess to him tonight in exchange for preserving your pride. “It was friendly.”

To your satisfaction, your declaration of war makes him the one to pause this time. His eyes widen and there’s a quiver in those waves of blue that he hides by glancing down and away.

“…Is that what it was?”

You nod. “I wasn’t…going to do anything else.”

Xavier smiles, shaking his head, and there’s a new determination in his eyes that causes your teeth to clench down on the inside of your cheek as he leans closer.

“In that case, is it okay to return the favor?”

He doesn’t give you the time to answer. He’s already closing the distance, his dark lashes already fluttering, and his lips already puckering to kiss you as you’re squeezed flushed against him, only your palms stopping your chest from colliding with his.

“Wait!”

Hearing your disapproval, he pauses, but that cheeky grin still doesn’t dissipate.

“What's wrong?” he asks with a sigh. You’re sure it’s not a true question. “Am I not allowed to give you a friendly kiss as well.”

The implications make your stomach twist while your thighs squeeze together pathetically with the sudden throbbing of arousal that spikes through you as you tumble further and further into this rabbit’s trap.

“I—that’s!”

“So, you were misbehaving,” he concludes from your sheepishness. “I guess that means I need to punish you instead.” He breaks his hold around one of your wrists to ghost his fingertips along your cheek and down your neck until all you can do in response is breathe out a moan, much to his surprise given by the rise of his eyebrows and the slight dust of pink on his bewildered face. “…I didn’t think you were that sensitive there.”

Your mind swims with the traitorous thought of wanting to show him where you’re more sensitive dancing in your mind before you can sweep it away. When his fingers dance along your neck again, you whimper and hold in another moan.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You know my most sensitive spot after all, as hunting partners, it only makes sense for me to know yours, right?”

You can hardly think of a response to that. It’s true. You know his biggest weaknesses and as you come to terms with the situation you run your thumb over the plump inside of your thigh hesitantly. It takes you almost an entire minute to decide on what you want to say, and you don’t notice his hold on your wrist weakening.

“My weakness—”

Suddenly, your arm drops back to your side.

“I’m kidding,” Xavier states; the small smile he normally wears comes back to his face as you look up at him with wide eyes. “I was only curious as to what your reaction would be.”

The tension in the air wanes and buries itself in your heart. The embarrassment clings to every cell living in you, unshakeable as you try to keep a brave face. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I? You were the one touching me, all the while promising to run off with some rookie,” he reminds you.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t—you’re so frustrating,” you scream at him, and this is the first time he appears to take you seriously all night.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, with less teasing and more concern. He wraps an arm around your waist. His legs slot between yours, leaving your knees to collide with the plush of the bed as he hugs you tighter and tighter until you’re nearly seated in his lap. “Don’t be mad. I only thought—”

“Xavier?”

“Did you really mean it then?” he redirects. He snakes his other arm around your waist, this time when he holds you it feels…weak, and his pursed lips and narrowed eyes hold back a troubled emotion. “That it was in a friendly way?”

Your breath hitches at the swirl of his thumbs nervously circling the small of your waist. Nervously, he waits for an answer you long lost in the rapids of the constantly changing tides of the last few minutes.

“If you meant it…if you truly wanted to kiss me,” he pauses, trying to find his voice. The one to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. “Then you should have woken me up.” His face holds a serene glow that completely enraptures you as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he swore.

He loved you so much it ached. Moving in together should have been enough to prove it. He guesses not; because when he thinks you want him back, you’re so hesitant to accept. Even now, you’re unable to respond.

This cycle has become painful, even for someone as patient as himself, the wait when you’re this close to him is agonizing. So, he decides now to be the one to end this circle the two of you found yourself in with one decisive motion.

He tests the waters, not knowing if he’ll swim or drown, but he has confidence in his ability to read your personality and actions as he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss.

Your mind empties immediately, your body on autopilot when it registers the warm, silky skin of his lips on yours. Closing your eyes, you willingly tumble and fall into the taste of him, chasing after it when he breaks away.

“There. We’re even,” he says, but to you, that’s far from the truth. You’re far from even after all the heartache and sleepless nights he’s been putting you through, after all the push and pull that left you aching and wanting both in your heart and between your thighs.

The self-satisfied smile on his face quickly fades as you grope his shoulders, digging your nails in like you’re afraid he’ll escape. Your knees press to the top of the bed as you plant yourself more onto his lap. He braces his hands on your hips to catch you as you run your hand into his hair and crane his head back, so he has to look you in the eye.

His ears pinken at your sudden brazenness, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice as he smiles at you. “Are you trying to get more?”

“Am I being too greedy?” you ask. He chuckles at the jut of your lips and the pleading eyes before you press another demanding kiss to the corner of his lips.

Xavier moans from his throat as he latches onto your jaw to redirect your kisses to his lips. Kissing him is nearly maddening, the twitch of his muscular thighs under your ass making your mind hazy. With one hard squeeze at your hips, he catches up to the zealousness of your kisses.

His tongue pokes and prods at your mouth. However, he doesn’t need much permission to keep going as you open your mouth wider. His mind skips and lags at just how quickly your mouth overtakes the slick appendage. It leaves him more than a little out of breath and flustered with the rate your mouths keep parting and meeting, tongues desperately searching and licking the inside your mouths as if this is the first meal you’ve had in weeks.

You’re hungry to memorize each other despite having all the time in the world now to do just that. When the two of you finally indulged enough and earned enough satisfaction, you’re able to calm down and readjust the pace.

“I think we’re both greedy,” he jokes about the both of you before sliding his tongue back into your mouth. This time he’s slower as he presses down on your tongue, causing your teeth to lightly graze over the top of his.

There are too many sensations going on for you to keep up. The way your breasts hug his hard chest has you feeling sensitive while the heat seeping from his tongue stroking in your mouth has your stomach bundled in tight knots that won’t know release until he’s inside of you.

Dreams were nothing compared to this. Nights filled with nothing but inappropriate thoughts of him turn into nightmares at the slim chance of having to face them again should this go wrong.

Impatiently, his fingers curve into the hump of your ass to anchor you and encourage you to grind on his lap, or rather grind against the hard tent brazenly making its presence known with each hurried roll of your hips.

You whine from the separation of your sexes when he begins to lift you up, but your complaints quickly die in your throat. They’re replaced by a squeal as he flips you and your back bounces on the mattress.

Xavier climbs over you, his face flushed, breath ragged, and overall, he’s just absolutely beautiful to you. Reaching up, you cup his cheek and play with the ends of his hair, unable to recall the last time you’ve felt this high.

“Xavier,” you whisper breathlessly as you swoop his bangs back to see more of his handsome face and save it to memory. “What are we?”

Xavier tilts his head, furrowing his brow at your question, and there’s a second where a ray of doubt breaks through the clouds of lust in his irises. “We’re…whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be with you,” you say. Those words tumble out more effortlessly than you ever thought.

Xavier overlaps your hand with his, holding on tight as if to prove a point. “You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” he corrects. Then, he dazzles you as he always does, “I want you to tell me so there’s no mistake, and you can’t take it back later.”

You inwardly become embarrassed when it crosses your mind that this is the first time you’ve ever confessed to him without multiple drinks in your system. It’s too late to turn back now that you’ve crossed the Milky Way and landed on the other side.

But why would you when you’re so close?

“I want to be with you always. Whenever and wherever you are. Whether that’s having fun together or fighting. I-I love you, and—”

“And I love you,” he answers. You’re not sure if you’re jealous or relieved that he can say those three words without hesitation.

“I don’t want anything to be between us. I don’t want any more secrets or hidden things. I’m tired of this. I just want to be real, more than partners or roommates or whatever other title that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Xavier agrees as easily as he agreed to be roommates with you in the first place.

“Okay?”

“I want that too,” he agrees as he repositions himself on top of you and his lips curve into a small smirk, “girlfriend.”

You’re accustomed to the finicky organ known as your heart tightening with pain when you’re overwhelmed; this time when it skips a beat, it’s welcomed. Smiling, you gaze up at him as he releases a slow, strained breath. It’s validating to know he’s been just as nervous as you.

Everything suddenly becomes full force again when his knees move to either side of your legs while he pins your hands above your head in one tight fist. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and his free hand gropes at your breast, fingers outstretching to fully take it in his grasp. Wet kisses burn on your throat, each one firing off a rapid signal to arch your back.

“Slow down,” you whine before cutting it off with a moan as he hits a particular delicate spot. The discovery spurs him on, like a pet with a new toy, and he bites your nape once again causing your hips to jerk. With a burning desire building in your stomach at every touch, you pitifully hug your thighs together to try to ease it. “I didn’t get a chance to absorb all that,” you tell him, mostly to get some time to catch up. It backfires wonderfully as he grips onto the bottom of your tank top.

“I have a better way to help you understand.”

The sheets shift with his movement, your lower half dipping towards him as if he holds his own gravitational field. He settles between your legs and strokes against you with one slow, languid rock. It instantly makes you throb. It’s painful how hard you clench over absolutely nothing, panties gathering the lust that’s dripping from you.

You simultaneously hate and love him for causing this need that’s bubbling inside you.

Large hands press your shirt further up your torso. “Arms up,” he demands softly, which you have no problem obeying, and he quickly lifts your shirt over your head.

He lowers his hands to hold at your waist, and they fall still on you as he takes in your naked skin. You’re not privy to his thoughts. The silence of the room feels defean-ing now that your needy gasps of air aren’t filling it.

He pauses, eyes taking you in as you raise your eyebrows at his hesitancy. Xavier smiles, mumbling out, “Just thinking where to start.”

Xavier smiles at you so tenderly. Everything about him is incredibly soft on first appearance. He has big blue puppy eyes, he prefers white, cozy clothes, and his voice is just as gentle as his appearance. Everything about him is soft except for his hands.

Those are hardy and battle-honed, worn with calluses built up with every swing of the sword he’s taken since he was a child, enough of them to slay thousands of Wanderers over the years.

They drag.

Oh, they drag so dangerously slow over your skin, dipping into the pudge of your stomach and highlighting a small circle in the warm, buzzing glow of his Evol. The rays shine gold over your flesh, shimmering brightly in the dark of the room.

“Here,” he states before hunting down another spot on your torso. A beauty mark, like a beacon, earns the sharp eyes of a hunter. He zones in on the vulnerable location, creating a golden target. “Maybe here.”

You squirm with every mapped spot he creates. “Xavier.”

The residue of his power leaves your skin humming; you’re overly aware of each spot he highlights with his power. You like to think your senses would still be heightened regardless of this little game. After all, you’ve been wanting him to touch you forever.

Every night next to him felt like torture, being unable to touch him more than a hug when all you could feel on your back was his hard chest, his arm tight around your waist, and the outline of his cock against your ass as he sighed in your ear.

It runs through your head that he must have put more thought into touching you than you assumed as he continues to stripe lines over the top of your thighs right under your night shorts, making your breath heavy in your throat. You’re no longer sure if he’s marking you to tease you, to track what parts of your body he’s claimed for himself, or to simply make you laugh from the humming of his Evol tickling you like fuzzy static on an old tv screen. Even as he smiles at your shallow giggles, there’s no denying the aura of possession radiating from him that makes you antsy when he finally presses his finger to your sternum.

“Let’s start here,” he says followed by a soft hum as he tattoos a line straight between your breasts, leaving you highlighted in slowly fading graffiti.

“About time you decided,” you say with an playfully exaggerated roll of your eyes. He cocks his head at you with a sly smile.

“I can’t help if I want to touch all of you,” he murmurs. Any response you had ready dies when he licks the encircled zone of your shoulder then swiftly to the notch of your throat, drawing a moan out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of until you met him.

Tilting your head, you allow him more room to work as he kisses your chest. His warm tongue slips through the line he marked, his nose dragging against you as he litters your engorged skin with kisses.

“More,” you beg. Who was he to keep you waiting any longer?

He slips a fingerpad over the tip of your nipple, gently pressing down and then rolling it. It does nothing to satiate you. Satisfaction keeps escaping your grasp, the goalpost of what’s enough moving further out of reach with every pinch and pull of your pebbling nipples. Chasing it makes you brash, and you give a hard push to the back of his head.

Just as you want, he spoils you. He bites and nips the supple skin, drawing out soft pleas from your angelic lips. When he finally graces you with the slick, velvety lap of his tongue on your pert nipple, you mewl and arch. His lips are a little rough after being out all night, his hunger for you more palpable than ever as he gropes harder and sucks at your wet skin.

Your aching pussy throbs with every brush of his clothed cock. Your patience drains more and more as you crave something to fill you. It isn’t until he switches sides and gently nips and suckles around your other teat that you realize he’s been fingerprinting you with his Evol, the polka dots slowly fade away each time he adjusts his hand to knead your breast.

“You’re still being cruel,” you manage between moans.

“I think I’m being very fair,” he reasons, recapturing your lips to silence your complaints, and it works as your mind keeps repeating when his tongue makes a temporary reservation back in the confines of your mouth.

When he parts with you again, he cements it with a soft kiss then another. He keeps peppering them on you so fast that you almost miss the way his tongue darts over your bottom lip before his teeth bite down.

Xavier sighs between his kisses, each one adding more pressure, turning from loving, adoration-filled into needy, heavy smooches.

“Wanted.”

Another kiss that leaves you whimpering.

“To.”

He fondles your chest again, alternating between rolling and pinching your sensitive, puffed nipple then grasping your bare tits in his hands, molding and kneading them.

“With you.”

With your thighs closing at his waist, you curve your back and meet the sloppy buck of his hips. There’s a rush of excitement leaking from you when his kisses trail back over your breasts, hitting the tiny ring of bite marks he seared on you before tracing across the targets of light decorating your belly.

“So bad.”

Skin on fire, legs spread wide to accommodate his chest as he sinks lower to press wet kisses to your stomach, you call out to him. “Xavier, baby,” you whisper and brush his hair to get his attention. And does he give it to you when his eyes flick up to look at you from under the grey tuffs of his hair.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

You bring your finger to your lips, not only to pry them open so you can speak but also because you need to bite on it. Otherwise, the surge of lust in you at the sight of his head so close to your cunt and the back of your thighs resting on his broad shoulders would cause you to cum right there.

“My most sensitive spot…is my legs…”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he quirks his eyebrows up at you with false concern. He lowers his head to kiss your stomach again, this time noticeably closer to your mound. “Are you sure you want to tell me that in this situation? It isn’t wise for the prey to put themselves at a disadvantage.”

“I said no secrets,” you remind him, curling a finger to beckon him back up. Inwardly, you curse that he decides to bring your legs with him by keeping them propped up on his shoulders. Somehow, you manage to ignore his obvious teasing and poke at the cutesy adhesive still stuck on his face. “If you were listening, you should know you’re still in trouble for sneaking off so much without telling me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he tells you, a layer of remorse riding his explanation. “I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere.”

Amused, you shake your head at how boyish he sounds as he defends himself while he pulls off that wide and pleading look to bolster his cause. Even with your amusement, you’re not willing to let him off just yet. Sternly, you tap his cheek again.

“That’s not going to work this time.”

Pouting, Xavier holds onto your hand, stopping your playful jabs. “Please give me a chance to lighten my sentence, Miss Hunter, it was unintentional,” he negotiates with a kiss on your palm. The sincerity in his request eases your heart enough to allow him a little wiggle room, or perhaps it’s the slick trailing more between your folds.

“You only got until morning to make a case for yourself.”

“I’ll make you forget by then.” He snatches up your ankle towards his face, a much more pleasant position than your last, as your muscles were starting to ache from having your knees pushed to your face.

He caresses your ankle, pressing an airy kiss. The little bump of his nose against the ball of your ankle tickles, making a giggle cascade from your lips as you slide lower with the pull of your leg.

“Silly,” he mumbles before shuffling off your shorts. Your underwear comes off with more of a fight, the stickiness soaked into it causing the dainty fabric to cling lewdly to your skin and outline to the shape of your cunt.

You don’t often hear Xavier curse but that’s what happens along with his tongue rolling over his upper lip when he catches the image. He reaches out and his fingers twitch, threatening to curve against the spreading stain in your panties but he resists and hooks his fingers into the waistband. He takes his sweet time watching the doused material peeling from you with thin strands of cum sticking to it.

It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to resist diving straight in. Instead, he keeps it slow, sensual, as much for his sake as yours as he skims his lips up your calf.

He does the same with your center, carefully pressing two fingers against you as he holds your leg up on his shoulder. His mouth stays on your inner thigh, but his eyes are entirely locked on his fingers and the way they effortlessly collect your cum and slip between your lips with barely a push. You can feel his breath shudder out against you before he forces it down with a bite of your thigh but that does nothing to hide the way his entire body tenses when his fingers slip from your clit all the way to your clenching hole.

It does nothing good for your ego or your sanity to think how normally calm and collected Xavier is losing his composure just by touching you. How he’s so obviously turned on when you haven’t nearly returned as much as he’s been giving you.

He presses his hands at the crook of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, and quenches himself between your legs. His name leaves you in one low drawn-out sigh. Sure, you were baiting him when you told him your weakness, but you weren’t expecting him to abuse the knowledge so readily.

He held your legs blood cuttingly tight to keep you from squirming away from his wriggling tongue, and by the moan that reverberates from his chest and the strong jerk against the mattress when your juices hit his tongue, you think he would only be satisfied if you crushed his head between your straining thighs. When he suckles your clit; when his voice, muffled, hits your pussy; when his biceps tighten around your legs as if encouraging you to do so, and when his eyes meet yours with a silent demand, you know that’s exactly what he wants.

At the plunging of his fingers in you, you break down, catch his head in a vice-like grip, and push him into you. Your heart flutters and the remaining butterflies in your stomach migrate away at the growl he lets out. Your walls happily clench around those thick fingers, your dripping hole making it easy and smooth work to pump in and out of you. You’re not sure when he decides he would rather feel your muscle tightening around his tongue instead, but you can only respond with the tilt of your head back into the sheets and the stroke of your heel on his bare back when it happens.

The only thing better is his palm grinding down on your clit, alternating between slow rotations and rough sporadic grinding that has your toes curling and your eyes glossing with the buildup of tears.

“You’re too loud,” he comments yet he doesn’t stop, in fact, he presses down harder, making you whine. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Since when have you cared what the neighbors think?” you barely manage to whimper out.

“I’m not worried about them. I just don’t want anyone else to hear what only I should,” he remarks, lapping up the juices spilling down your legs.

His confession is a surprise to you. You never took him to be so possessive. But if that possessiveness is what kept his tongue swirling on your swollen clit and an intense moan escaping your lips then you didn’t mind.

However…

His fingers weren’t enough anymore.

Choosing to surprise him, you decide to turn the tables on him. You jerk your legs, catching him off guard but not enough to tip him over. He looks at you with concern. It doesn’t stop you from trying again with extra force this time until you can weaken his grasp and force him down on his back.

Having the world’s strongest hunter under you was only something you could dream of—first as a rival and now as a lover. The adrenaline has you tunnel-visioned as you straddle his stomach, your soaked cunt making a waterboard out of his abs, which Xavier has also picked up on if the dusky pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

You grab his hands, gripping tight to regain his attention. Xavier looks taken back especially when your fingers interlock his and pin them back. Whether he’s shocked or curious you don’t know, and you also don’t ask to borrow his power.

“You’ve been having too much fun,” you tell him as you check to make sure your finger is sufficiently coated with light. “For my turn, I’ll attack here and here,” you whisper, marking off his chest and drawing a line across his neck.

There’s a hint of worry finally when he sees you’re aiming for his weak spot. “If you’re trying to teach me the best spot to kill Wanderers, I already know.”

“More like the best spots to defeat a Xavier,” you remark, flattening your palm over his heart, finding your own thumping when you verify that you finally managed to raise his heart rate to the levels of a normal human.

“You’re pretty forward today.” Xavier reaches out to hold your hips and cocks his head at you with an inquisitive glance. “Are you always this easy to excite or is it because of me?”

You feel your face heat at his question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. No one else could make you like this. Needy. Shy. Aroused. Flustered. Confused. Infatuated and in love more than you’ve ever been.

Your eyes soften. “And if I said it was you?”

“Then, you can use me all you want,” he confesses and gently coaxes you back to sit on his hard cock. You smoothly slide your hands to his shoulders, rotating loving strokes into his fair skin before you stop to free his cock from his pants.

It springs readily into your palm, so responsive. You reward him by letting him have a little taste of you. He tries to hide the hitch of his breath as if he could hide any reaction from you right now. It’s so hard to get him to react to anything, and your brain won’t let you miss a single moment as you sit back onto his lap and grind.

His cock slides between your lips, so big that you can feel it stroking you fully, his swollen, dribbling head making you whimper whenever it bumps your clit.

“You, you’re so—” he begins, his eyes flitting from the gentle shake of your tits to his cock glistening between your folds, but he loses his voice to a low whimper when you increase your pace. It’s not on purpose but you can’t help yourself; you’re aching for him just as much as he is for you. “Hah, please...”

His cock is leaking onto him with each sleek thrust, a little pool of precum glistening on his belly as your hips buck. It makes your stomach twist and your insides twitch to see him so excited for you.

“Not yet,” you tell him, brushing fingers across the length of his throat. His mouth parts with a croak that plasters a crooked smile on your face.

His eyebrows knit, and he frowns as you decide to tease him a little by slowing your strokes while your nails continue to follow the thick vein protruding from his neck as he desperately holds down his whines.

“And you call me the cruel one.”

He was gorgeous under you. Beautifully flushed and sheened with sweat. His lips were so close to quivering each time his swollen head was swallowed back under your heat. It’s strange how his pitiful expression actually excites you, leaving you wetter and funneling this cycle of him repeatedly scrunching his face before relaxing it with a moan.

“Please,” he asks again, this time more politely, pleadingly, and downright cutely. He knows what he’s doing because you decide to take pity on him when he gazes at you. “Please let me have you?”

It takes only a second for you to reposition yourself and hover over him. There’s a split hesitation when it registers that you’re actually going to have sex with him and how large he actually is with his cock standing tall and the tip kissing at your entrance. You press downward anyway.

The stretch is both painful and pleasurable, straining your nerves as you lower. The wince on your face is accompanied by a hiss on your lips. However, Xavier is there again to catch you.

“Let’s take our time,” he instructs.

You nod, slowly thrusting halfway onto him. Each rise and fall of your hips coating him with your cream little by little makes it a bit easier to sheath him each bounce.

“Good girl,” he whispers soothingly. Face constricting, he bites down on his lip to hold in a weak groan. It’s not your fault that the praise made your walls flutter and tighten.

When you finally suck him in completely, your eyes roll.

“There you go,” he continues. He slides his hand into one of yours, encouraging you to hold onto it as you slowly and pointedly follow the curve of his cock, “Just like that,” he rasps out. As you take him in fully, your pussy reaching his lap and pushing against his balls, you find it hard to concentrate on the exact words leaving him.

You take a minute to sit with him fully sheathed inside of you, allowing your stretched core to get more accustomed to his cock and also for the high of joining with him to cool off. Otherwise, you’d lose control.

You feel so full. It’s a wonderful sensation, and the pleasure increases tenfold when you lift your hips then have him stretch you again.

Rubbing your fingertips into the back of his palm, you lift and slam back onto him again, causing a ragged groan from you both that ricochets off the walls of the room. It isn’t until now that you recognize how bad you’ve been needing this.

Needed him.

You’re still nowhere near understanding why this need is inside of you. Anyone can give you pleasure, and he’s not the first, but nothing quite matched the warmth overtaking you when his cock pistons and rubs against your nerves as you ride him.

The thought that Xavier was right about fate being written in the stars barely breaks through the thick fog of arousal clouding your brain. The heat spurs you to bounce harder to meet his jerking thrusts.

He sighs under you; the pressure on his lower half increases while your eyesight blurs and your head angles back. You’ll both be each other’s undoing at this rate, he thinks, as he watches the beads of sweat accumulating in little shiny droplets on your forehead and on your bouncing chest in a light sheen.

Chasing that desire to see you undone, he pulls you to a halt, burying himself deep inside of you, before pressing his hand to your mound, brushing past the patch of damp hair to zone in on your sticky, swollen clit.

The instant whine of his name makes him dizzy. Centuries have gone by, and he’s never heard you say his name with such wanton desperation nor seen you grind onto him, stirring his cock in you as if your sanity depended on it.

His certainly depended on you. Always has especially in the many decades he thought he’d never see you again. That need is even clearer from how sensitive yet eager his cock is to you squeezing around it as you shudder on top of him while keeping an unbearably tight hold on his hand. Your movements come to a near stop except for the occasional rut to prolong the rush of your orgasm.

The sight of you breaking down on top of him threatens to make his eyes roll back as he squeezes onto your legs for grounding. Your strangled gasp followed by your muscles relaxing tells him that you’re coming down.

“I take it you’ve finished,” Xavier says with a smirk, and you only have half the mind to swat at his chest like a lazy cat. Your legs burn, your chest unable to fill with enough oxygen to catch your breath. You think you’ll skip the gym tomorrow but Xavier has other plans.

“I’m not finished,” he reminds you.

You look down at Xavier; you’d been so busy finding your own pleasure, you didn’t realize he hadn’t cum yet. You feel a lingering guilt but he swiftly takes the situation into his own hands.

You’re still too sensitive to fight back as he slides his cock out of you with a wet pop. It takes two swift movements for him to lift you off of him and roll you onto your stomach.

Your chest feels restricted, tight to the mattress as he presses on top of you, his grey-brown hair rubbing your shoulder as he cuddles your back. It’s an affectionate notion, distracting from the pressure in your lower half as he slides off the last of his clothes and thrusts his cock back inside of you.

You thought you were filled to the brim the first time, yet this angle was different. It felt much tighter, and the slightest shift of his hips had you muffling moans into your arms.

“I want to hear you,” he sweetly requests, yanking on your hips to raise your ass higher and pull you further away from the muffling effects of the bed. Your fracturing mewls mix into his grunts, both sounds washing out the sloppy, wet paps of his cock pounding into you.

His hand swoops down your bending back in one long soothing stroke before his head collapses onto you. His grunts are loud, tumbling right into your ear along with the slapping sound of his hips meeting your ass. Your legs feel like jelly, and the rest of your body becomes weightless as your mind only focuses on his cock recklessly burning its way through you.

Xavier’s breath rolls against your back along with his forehead as he buries you under his weight; his grip on your thighs tightens to an unbearable degree, leaving you to wonder if you’ll have marks in the morning.

You don’t really care if he does when he moans your name and heat fills you, spreading with each sporadic thrust until he finally bottoms out inside you one last time and holds until he completely empties.

Taking his time to enjoy the sensation, he waits before pulling out of you, making you whimper with the sudden void. Shakily, you collapse back into the sheets and flip onto your back with a sigh. His eyes are still half-lidded as he watches you; he chews briefly on his bottom lip, reminding you of the look in his eyes earlier.

“Xavier,” you question but he silences you with a kiss, which you tiredly return. His fingertips slide down from your knee to your thigh, and he teases your opening, the mixture of cum making it easy for him to stroke your still spasming pussy.

Xavier sighs against your lips before moving his kisses to the swoop of your neck. “You’re so beautiful and all mine.”

Your mouth parts with a dry moan as he slides thick fingers over your clit. It starts to ache from his touch but it’s hard to deny him, even as he tortures you with his methodic and precise rotations over the bead.

His name is on your mouth, each syllable heavy on your tongue. You leave garbled gasps in his mouth as he makes out with you while your hand draws down his chest, attempting to make a mental map of every twitching muscle and healed wound on the way down.

Your heart jumps with the twitch of his cock when you wrap your hand around it. There’s going to be no trouble getting him to rebound, you think. He’s already thickening again with the warm strokes of your hand and tracing of your fingers over the slowly beating vein lining the underside of his shaft.

Xavier doesn’t even let you finish exciting him before he rolls back on top of you and settles his head between your breasts. Between all the cum in between your legs and his half-hard cock, it isn’t as mind-numbing to have him inside you. What is different is to feel him twitching and growing inside you with his renewed thrusts.

You’re hiccupping by the time he pushes your legs back and starts to hit deep inside of you, leaving the corner of your eyes tearing. You’re overwhelmed with everything. The uncharacteristic amount of energy he possesses as his hips snap into you. How each powerful rock leaves tingles aftershock-ing inside you, ruining your chances to recover before he does it again. The heavy scent of sex mixed with pine overwhelms your nose. His sweaty chest blocks out any light in the room, sealing any notion that you can be distracted by anything other than him as he pushes up your knee towards your chest.

You’re quickly working up to your second orgasm; the painful cramping in your foot tells you it’ll be bigger than the last. You’re right. When you come undone again, it’s with a shrill sob. You’re too out of it to even register when he finishes until he starts kissing your neck again.

He’s still inside you, you realize once your mind finally lands back on earth. His cock is resting in the heat inside you, waiting for him to work the two of you back up again. You know that’s the goal when his thumb gently brushes over one of your nipples again. Your sore insides constrict and strain. You don’t think you could survive a third round.

“Xavier, please, no more.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dry and husky in your ear as he kisses under it.

“Too much,” you tell him, pushing on his chest to make some space between the two of you.

“I didn’t catch that,” he coos defiantly. When he notices that you’re being serious, he obediently pulls out of you. His kisses become smoother as he pecks your lips. “What’s wrong? Is it aching?”

You nod then puff your cheeks in frustration when you see the amusement on his face.

“It’s not funny!” you say, holding onto that angry, childish pout until his smile turns sympathetic.

“You’re right,” he agrees and shifts off you. Quickly, he locates his briefs on the corner of the bed. He steps out of bed and pulls them on. To your surprise, he leaves you, alone and cold.

“Where are you going?”

Xavier disappears without answering you and only the sound of running water gives you any sort of hint of where he might’ve gone. When he returns, it’s with a rag dangled in his hand.

“A boyfriend should help clean his girlfriend up after times like this,” he explains and leans over you; he presses the wet cloth between your legs; the rag is incredibly soothing on your bloated skin. It’s a blessing to your sore muscles as he starts to massage and clean you. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” you answer pitifully, grumbling a bit because the look on his face still seems like he’s teasing about your neediness.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s my fault you’re a little sore.” He’s definitely taunting you, but you don’t have the energy to fight about it. “All done,” he remarks, tossing the rag to a forgotten section of the dresser. He carefully climbs back on top of you, waiting for the moment your hand finds his bicep to guide him down next to you.

It isn’t the first time he’s been this affectionate, and it won’t be the last time. However, this time feels more special than any time you’ve slept together, and not just because you can feel the stickiness of his sex-clad skin against your naked body. Well, that’s part of the reason.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m really happy,” you explain.

“If it really makes you that happy, maybe we should do it more often,” he offers, and you pinch his unwounded cheek to punish him. Jumping back, he knocks your hand away and caresses his wounded face. “I’ll need another bandage if you keep doing that,” he complains weakly.

“You only have yourself to blame!”

Xavier sighs. “You’re always right,” he concedes, more so that he can cuddle you without fighting rather than actually agreeing with you, you fear.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you really doubting your boyfriend?” he asks. Heartbeat skipped, you clamp your mouth shut as he unfolds the blankets over the two of you.

It’s finally settling back into your mind that the two of you are a couple now. “I’m still…not used to it yet with you being that.”

“You will get used to it the longer we’re together. The same as I will.” Xavier sighs, happily so. “Although, we might run into the same problem again.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

Thoughtful, Xavier hums then explains, “First comes love then comes marriage as they say.”

He catches you off-guard once more. As always, Xavier is forever forging on ahead with little regard for convention. “Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“Maybe,” he agrees but there’s no drop in his confidence as he smiles at you and draws his hand over your hairline. “But I loved you since we met.”

“Xavier, please,” you beg, finding your favorite place to hide your flustered face in the crook of his elbow.

He can’t help but laugh at you as he curls his arm around you. “Especially that,” he confesses and places one more kiss on the top of your head before inviting you to go to sleep.

You do, falling asleep against his chest less than thirty minutes later. For him, sleep is elusive for once as he mulls over the day’s events.

The word girlfriend on his tongue is sweet. The idea itself burns wonderfully in his chest, but it isn’t enough. He knows he still needs to wait a bit longer, take his time, your bashful response to his prodding was enough to tell him that it isn’t time yet. It’s hard not to rush when this is the closest he’s ever been to the one thing he truly wants.

Xavier guesses he’ll still have to rely on his dreams for a little while longer. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll work out this time. He’ll find a place to settle with you and have a quiet life, a place where he can see stars.

And this lifetime, when he asks you to marry him, he hopes you’ll say yes.

#xavier x reader #xavier smut #love and deepspace x reader #lnd smut #xavier love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads smut #notsfw #adelssmut

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elsm44 · 3 months

Text

friends? what friends?

club!ellie x fem!reader (dni -18)

you and ellie meet at a club after your friends ditch, only she has a few things in mind that might make your night a little better… 🌚

warnings: nsfw, cunnilingus, some dirty talk, a little boob stuff, lots of pet names, lowkey in public…, that’s it i think (also not proofread)

the blue club lights gave a rough shadow and outline to every body in the place. loud rap music bounced off the walls, enough to give you a headache if you focused on the noise long enough. pushing through the crowd, you were calling your friends’ names, who were no where to be found.

“callie? mason? liv?” it was no use over the music, but you tried again anyway. “callie?” you yelled louder. “mason? liv?”

people just whipped their heads around and stared at you like it was your fault you ended up in this mess. you told your friends you had to use the bathroom and they swore they’d stay in one spot while you were gone. when you got back? they were gone. again. not the first time this happened, and definitely not the last. you really need to get better friends, you thought.

you decided it was time to get some high ground so you worked your way up to the second floor of the club and scanned your eyes across the room. no sign of them, and not a single idea where they could’ve ended up. usually there was a clue, but this time there wasn’t.

“all alone princess?” a low voice questioned from behind you.

princess?

“excuse me?” you turned yourself around and made eye contact with likely one of the most attractive women you’d ever seen. the dim lighting carved out her toned muscles and made her stare even that more piercing, making your knees a little weak. you pretend you haven’t noticed that feeling as you wait for her response.

“did someone leave you alone? ‘ya look like you’re lookin’ for someone. hm?” the woman leaned against the railing on her back with her elbows holding her up, beer in hand. you examined her face more: the gorgeous freckles sprawled out across her face, her button nose, her full (and kissable) lips, and her hair, tied back half-up-half-down. her outfit was less than underwhelming, but she found a way to make it sexy as all hell: a black hoodie, some black cargo pants, and shoes you couldn’t quite make out under the dark lighting. you did notice the rings on her fingers though, which made your knees even weaker.

“you checkin’ me out?”

you hadn’t realized you were in such a daze. “hm?” you snap out of it, and realize you were shamelessly looking at her hands.

“where are your people, baby?”

you shake your head in anger, honestly livid enough to start crying. “i have no fucking clue. but at this point i don’t care. fuck ‘em.” you roll your eyes and run a hand through your hair.

“just like that, huh? what’s your name mama?” the woman looks you over, examining your tight black tube dress and your silver heels. your silver jewelry accented you beautifully in the blue light, and everything added together was enough to make her swoon. not to mention your scent.

you sighed. “y/n. you?”

she smiles. “that’s a real pretty name, but i’m still gonna call you mama, yeah? i’m ellie.” you try to hide your smile at her shameless flirting.

“promise you won’t ditch me like my asshole friends?”

ellie leans down and in so close to your ear, her lips could brush against you. “i would never mama. now let’s get you a beer, hm? or are you classier than that?” she leans back and smirks.

you two make your way through the crowd to the bar and order two new beers, one for each of you, since she finished hers on your way back downstairs. you sat down on the barstools and began to tell little things about yourselves.

she learned you were a sophomore in college, hoping to make it to the big leagues as a film director. you have a cat named simon, you love lily flowers, and you especially love women.

you learned she’s also a sophomore, a full-time astrophysics student (hello? fuck me already). her dad died about two years back, she’s a stoner, and also, evidentially, loves women.

ellie leaned down to your ear again, this time almost kissing it as she spoke, “why don’t we go downstairs to the lounge? there’s bound to be less people there, yeah?” she leans back and raises an eyebrow, you can only nod because of the rush washing over you.

down at the lounge, surprisingly, there was only two other people there, and they were on the other side of the room. you could only imagine what activities they were up to over there. ellie grabs your hand, “c’mon mama.”

she sits you two down on a round booth and sets your beers down for you two, which she willingly carried downstairs herself. you two sit next to each other, and for just a moment stare into each others’ eyes drunkenly.

“i’m so glad my friends ditched me, ellie.”

“yeah? why’s that, hm?” she smiled and began to rub your thigh, draped over her lap, with her warm hand. the frigidness of her rings made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“‘cause i wouldn’t be able to do this.” you climbed on top of her lap and almost immediately her hands grasped your waist, like it was where they were meant to be all along.

she smirked at this little game you started. “and i wouldn’t be able to do this.” she whispers before latching her lips to your neck. you gasp and flip your hair over to one side so that the area is free for her to work with. you let little breathy moans out and they lead straight to her eardrums, which make her suck on your skin harder.

“i know, y/n. let it out quietly.”

her words of comfort made you weaker on top of her. her hands around your waist went from just touching you because she wanted to to having to hold you steady. she pulled away and finally latched her lips to yours.

she tasted like vanilla chapstick, and her lips were soft and warm. you had missed making out with someone, but this time it was different. it felt right.

both of your breathing both picked up as the making out became sloppier and sloppier, her hands exploring your body. her crotch pushed up against your pussy, which was now only covered by your thin layer of panties under your dress. you pulled back to look around for a second.

“we should go to a bathroom.”

“nah, let’s stay right here mama. is everyone else gone?”

you looked down at her, out of breath, and hummed yes in response. she admired the bruising beginning to form on your neck before answering back to you.

“okay, we can stay here then. yeah?”

“yeah.” your answer was breathy, and you noticed the way you squirmed under her hands, which were pushing you down on to her pants even more. “ellie…”

she immediately kissed your lips again but quickly trailed kisses down your neck and to your chest. she pulled your tube dress down a little to expose your breasts and sucked on your nipples.

she swirled her tongue around each one, taking her time. she pinched the other while very gently nibbling on you, making you moan softly into her ear. her other hand trailed down to in between your legs and up your dress, rubbing your pussy slowly.

“mm..” was all you could get out as she slowly drew circles around your clothed clit.

“i wanna hear you say my name baby.” you could again, only moan in response.

she finally pulls back and says, “here, mama. climb off for a sec.” you climb off of her in confusion, thinking you did something wrong. slowly, ellie crawled and made her way under the table. “c’mere baby.” she waved her fingers for you to move up.

she pulled your legs apart and slowly moved your panties to the side. she quietly moaned at the sight of your bare pussy right in front of her face. it was perfect, every inch of it, and she couldn’t be more excited to make it pulse on her tongue.

without warning, she dove in. she swirled her tongue and sucked on your sensitive bud, causing you to have to hold a hand over your mouth, knowing someone could walk in at any second. you used your other hand to pull your dress up just in case, and then let it find its way down to ellie’s hair.

ellie sucked and licked and flicked her tongue on you like you were her final meal. “i know baby, you like that, hm?” she would say as her tongue slipped in and out of your hole. using the other hand that wasn’t holding your panties to the side, she inserted a finger and began to pump in and out of your pussy.

“oh, god. ellie!” you threw your head back and ground your pussy against her tongue as she sucked harder and harder. once she threw in her second finger, it was over for you. you began to hyperventilate over all of the sensations at once and moaned under the loud music. “please!”

finally, into her mouth, your juices spilled. your body shook as she had to use both hands to hold your legs down. you were a squirming and whining mess over her. she licked your pussy clean, put your panties back into place, and climbed back up next to you, wiping her mouth with the inside of her hoodie sleeve.

“still thinking about your friends?” you giggled at her cheeky question, and kissed her one more time.

“friends? what friends?” there’s only ellie now.

a/n

ermmm this is my first time writing like this on tumblr… i hope it isn’t too bad! i’m definitely gonna write more than just smut though

#ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #joel and ellie #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #tlou part 2 #club!ellie #dom!ellie #fem!reader #lesbian #lesbiansmut

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stitching-in-time · 4 months

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Finally caught up on Star Trek: Prodigy, and I truly think it's the best of the new Star Trek series. It has the strongest first season of any Trek show since Voyager, and it both respects the Star Trek universe and expands on it beautifully.

As an animated series, it has a grand scale and visual beauty that's unmatched in all of Star Trek. This show is breathtakingly gorgeous! All the design work is top notch; the character designs especially are truly different and unique and completely break the 'basically humanoid aliens with bumpy foreheads' mold.

For all that people seem to ignore it because it's a kids show, I think it has the strongest and most thoughtful writing of all the new Trek shows. The premise of child slaves escaping a mining asteroid in a stolen Starfleet ship is actually the darkest of any Trek series, and there's as many heartbreaking moral dilemmas to chew over as any Trek series ever gave us. But it captures the optimistic, humanist spirit of Star Trek far better than a show like Picard does, because unlike that show, it's not trying to be dark to be edgy or cool, it's trying to be honest and to find hope and light amidst dark circumstances. Hope that a better future is possible is what made Star Trek edgy in the first place, and as the world gets more cynical, holding onto that ideal is infinitely more punk than cynicism could ever be. Prodigy gets that, and it respects the history and lore of Star Trek while building on it. It was clearly made by people who've actually seen Voyager, and actually know and like Captain Janeway, because what we see of her here feels like the Janeway I grew up with. It's like getting to see an old friend again, having new adventures, while still being the same person she always was.

I do like all the other new Trek series, except for Picard, and I feel like for the most part, they've been very strong, and in keeping with the spirit of Star Trek. But Prodigy has this special mix of being tied directly to the old stuff while adding something entirely new. The epic scale of the first season's story arc was amazing, it is one of, if not the, best season finales I've ever seen in all of Star Trek. I'm grew up on the 90s shows, which will always have my heart, but Prodigy is such a mind-blowing expansion of that whole universe, I'm honestly astounded and grateful that someone used my old faves to make this epic new thing, which hopefully will bring an entirely new audience to the old stuff.

Despite the fact that there's lots of deep lore references that us grown up Trekkies can pick out with delight everywhere, the story of the main protagonists is self contained, and doesn't actually need any previous familarity with Star Trek to understand. Since the main characters don't know what Starfleet or the Federation even is, the audience can discover that along with them. It's such a genius concept, and it works so well! I honestly cried watching the season finale, it wrapped up the season's worth of story and character development so well, and set things up for an exciting new season. The characters are so well defined and lovable already! It has humor, it has adventure, it has heart, it's a classic Star Trek found family story!

I just can't rave about Prodigy enough, it exceeded all my expectations and then some. Everyone who loves Star Trek, please go watch it! Everyone who loves animation, please go watch it! Especially if you love Captain Janeway and Voyager, please go watch it! I want as many more seasons of this show as I can possibly get, so we need to keep streaming it so Netflix sees how popular it is and decides to make more.

I guess I'm in the category of old Trekkies now, so believe me when I say this show is what Star Trek is all about! Please please please give it a chance and you'll love it too!!!

#i really love this show more than i ever expected to #it's so so good #star trek: prodigy #star trek #captain kathryn janeway #star trek: voyager

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uva124 · 8 months

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So yeah, I finished the drawing of Asha's redesign from Wish :D, maybe I'll make some changes in the future, but I'm happy to have finished it, it should be noted that I haven't seen the movie. , so I can't give my opinion on it yet, but I found it very interesting that their fandom is mainly made up of people who rewrote or made their own version of the movie, they are all very creative and it got me out of an artistic block. that I had a few months ago, but above all I found the rewriting of @annymation which is the one I have been most hooked on, so I wanted to do some redesigns of the characters coming out of its rewriting, that's why everything that has to do with the story of this version of Asha, as well as her personality and her world on which I base my drawing are the ideas and work of this account: @annymation

I'm just making a drawing of her character and how I would design her as well as sharing part of the process I had to do to draw her because, why not?

BOARD:

The first thing I had to do was put together a table full of references that reminded me of the character and things that I would like to add to her design, so I used milanote to do it:

-Looked for some Asha's concept art and save the ones I liked the most, and add the main colors that I used in the design. -I also created notes to write down the personality of the character and some of his data to have a better guide, I did a little research and found publications that talked a lot about Asha's discarded designs and how Disney workers had put that she had tribe ancestry Amazigh on his mother's side and since his father was from the Iberian Peninsula, that's why the next thing I wanted to do is research more about their culture. -I am not an expert on this topic, nor do I belong to the cultures from which Asha has ancestry, so you can comment on any correction regarding this topic, I wanted to implement details of this culture to her design and I would really like to give a correct representation :)

HAIRSTYLE

Continuing with the theme, I saw that the hairstyles in the Amazigh culture mostly had this type of colorful decorations on their braids and dreadlocks, that's why I also posted these reference photos for Asha's hairstyle.

-Finally I decided that Asha would not have all her hair full of braids or dreadlocks, but only a few accompanied by these decorations with a great variation of colors, although it was fun to sketch the many hairstyle options that I had in mind based on these concept art and other photos that I had saved

TATTOOS:

-Another detail that I liked was giving Asha some tattoos with designs from the Amazigh culture, because I saw that it was quite common for women to get them, the tattoo on her forehead is a symbol of protection against bad influences, that's why the The middle symbol is responsible for deflecting it in the 4 directions, I also added a similar one in Asha's right hand.

ASTROLOGY AND THE SPACE:

-An important part of Asha's rewrite is her knowledge of astronomy inherited from her father, especially with the stars for obvious reasons xd, so in addition to adding constellations to her dresses, research the meaning (or something like that) of the planets. Only 3 really reminded me of the character, which were: -Mars: Symbolization of the internal conquering function of moving forward, independent, self-determined, enduring failures with new energy, courage and energy to fight for your desires. -Saturn: Maturity, effort to solidly build realistic criteria, frustrations are transformed into objectives to continue growing, critical and realistic, far from getting frustrated when an objective does not work, you strive to move forward and obtain even more resistant and solid achievements, perseverance , and tenacity (I feel like yhis it the most similar to Asha :D) -Moon: protective role, feeling very vulnerable outside your known areas, feeling of security with your ties, importance of family ties. The one that reminded me the most of Asha was Saturn, that's why I drew those Saturn-shaped earrings :).

SUITS:

I looked for references and placed some on milanote, I noticed that the concept art was mainly divided into whether the dresses have lilac colors or warm colors, I decided to draw 2 models based on the discarded designs, although at first I thought of using only one color palette lilac and bluish, I realized that the reddish colors of her dress reminded me of Mars which has certain meanings that in my opinion coincide with Asha's personality. In the end I didn't decide what wardrobe she would primarily have 😅, but I like to think that in this version of Wish, Asha would have wardrobe and hairstyle changes like in some older Disney movies.

-These are some of the concepts that I mainly used for my version of the dresses

FINAL COMMENTS:

I am satisfied with the result, it was fun to make all this, although what I researched mostly seems little, it actually cost me several hours and I did it at night, so as a funny fact the next day I was explaining all this information to my mother and I felt like I looked like that:

(Make this drawing was so funny LMAO)

(Apologies if there are errors in my writing, English is not my first language and my writing is very basic)

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wolfjackle-creates · 9 months

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Ghost!Robin Arc 2 Part 1

Happy WIP Wednesday! Ghost!Robin was the clear winner of last week's poll. Check out this week's poll if you want a say in what gets posted next. For any newer followers who aren't aware, the entire dinner scene has been written. I'm still working on getting it cross posted to AO3, though. That's going to be my next focus (once I finish editing the last chapter of The Two Ghost Motel, my EctoImplosion fic).

Story Summary: Jazz and Jason have been dating for a while. Long enough that it's time to meet the families. So a dinner at Wayne Manor is set up. Danny took great pains to manage all his Ghost King responsibilities so nothing ghostly would interrupt the meal.

But he wasn't expecting to see the ghost of the dead Robin hanging off Jason's shoulders.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

-----

Jason stared at the ceiling and counted his breaths. Next to him, Jazz’s breathing evened out as she slipped into sleep. Every time he let his mind wander, he saw the ghost grinning back at him. Signing with Bruce and Dick. Hugging Alfred.

Trying to take back his place in the family.

And of course everyone responded well to him! Bruce always hated the ways he’d changed since his death. And the ghost looked to be everything Jason had once been. Green shaded his vision and he grit his teeth.

A glance at Jazz, her face soft in sleep, made him let out a quiet breath and ease his way out of bed. A light in the living room proved he wasn’t the only one awake and, for a moment, rage burned hot in his chest. Why did Jazz’s brother have to come to Gotham and fuck everything up?

But he pushed that thought away. Danny hadn’t broken anything. Just revealed that Jason was even more broken than they had thought.

He stepped into the light and froze again when he saw the ghost sitting in front of Danny. The two looked over at him, silent.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunted.

Danny huffed a laugh. “It’s a lot. Especially if you haven’t grown up around this stuff.”

Jason glanced back at the ghost and felt the pits rumble under his skin once more. They hadn’t been this active in years. Not since well before he’d met Jazz.

But there was a ghost who looked like him, was him if Danny was to believed, and he was trying to take over Jason’s spot in the family.

He let out an angry huff of air.

Only for the ghost to roll his eyes and sign for him to get over himself.

Jason was throwing a punch before he was even aware, only to almost fall on his face when his hand passed right through the figure. Who decided to point and laugh at him.

Jason scowled and made his way to the window. “I’m going out. I’ll be back eventually.”

“That… might not be a good idea.”

He paused, one foot on the window frame, and asked, “Why the fuck not?”

“It’s just… Robin’s tied to you. He can’t be too far from you and with the power I gave him, I don’t think he can turn invisible again yet.”

Jason growled and pulled himself back from the window and slammed it shut. He glared at the ghost. “Why the fuck do you have to come in and ruin my life now, just when things are starting to work out?”

The ghost, of course, glared back and signed that Jason had ruined his existence first by pushing their family away. All the while, he was making angry-sounding chirps and trills that had Jason bristling even more.

Then Danny was between them, holding out his arms. It felt like something was pushing down on his anger, trying to ease the pits away. He tensed, not trusting the feeling even as he couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay,” said Danny. “Clearly there’s more strong feelings going on here than I first expected. So, um, should I start explaining what I suspect now or should we wait for Jazz to wake up?”

Jason sat on the edge of an armchair, still tense, and waved him on. “I want to know what’s going on.”

Danny nodded. “So I’m no doctor. We’ll have to go to the yetis for real answers, but I can start with the basics.”

“Yetis?” Jason couldn’t help but ask.

Danny blushed. It tinted his skin green. He’d blushed red earlier, what did the change mean? “The yetis of the Far Frozen,” said Danny. “They’re the doctors I mentioned earlier. Their leader is named Frostbite and he’s been helping me out since, like, six months or something after I died. They’re the experts in part-dead, part-living biology simply by taking care of me. I don’t even think the fruitloop knows as much as them, no matter how much he likes to pretend.”

Jason closed his eyes and took a breath. Sometimes talking to people not trained in giving reports by Batman was a test of patience. He decided to let the fruitloop comment go. It didn’t sound like it’d be relevant to what he wanted to know—at least not yet. Maybe he could find out more and get a second opinion after meeting these Yetis. “So not only will you be taking me to another dimension, you’ll be taking me to a place called the Far Frozen where I’ll be looked at by yetis.”

Danny shrugged. “Yeah, basically. Jazz mentioned you liked to read. If you like, I could take you to the Ghost Writer’s lair after. He’s got a library that contains every book ever written and many that never got published. I’m not allowed in it after an incident the year I died, but he likes Jazz so I’m sure he’d let you in if you promised not to damage any of his books.”

Now Jason was staring for an entirely different reason. There was a place like that? That he could just go to?

A questioning trill made his attention snap back to the ghost and he tensed again.

“Yeah, Robin,” said Danny. “You, too, of course. Can’t bring Jason somewhere and not you, after all! Especially since you’ll both have to be present for the medical examination.”

Jason grit his teeth and forced himself to not flinch at Danny’s use of the name “Robin.” He refused to take his gaze away from Jazz’s brother and ignored the sounds the ghost was making. “When will we go?” asked Jason.

“Soon as Jazz wakes up, if you want. No reason not to. And there’s a few things I’ll have to do in the Realms anyway. I was expecting to be away a single night, not however long this”—he gestured between Jason and the ghost—“will take.”

“But they can fix me, right?” asked Jason. He needed the answer to be yes. That ghost couldn’t be allowed to ruin the fragile peace he’d established with his family or the life he wanted to start with Jazz.

To his frustration, Danny just shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, Jason. I don’t know what they’ll find when they examine you. But they’ll know more than anyone else in either this dimension or the Realms.”

“But you have suspicions.”

“I do.” Danny took a breath. “Remember the sensor? Actually, let me just pull it up now.” He rummaged through his bag and pulled it out.

Jason made an annoyed grunt at the delay, but didn’t say anything as the seconds dragged on while Danny turned it on.

After what felt like ages but was really less than a minute, Danny moved closer so Jason could see the screen.

“See, here’s me.” Danny pointed to a bright orange blob on the screen. “And that’s you, he pointed to a mostly purple blob, half as bright as Danny. But mixed through the purple were shoots of orange and blue. The three shades turned mostly orange as they extended from his body to a mostly blue shape. But orange and purple twined as inextricably through the ghost as it did through Jason. Danny pointed to the blue. “And that’s Robin. You’re mostly purple which means you’re liminal. And a brighter purple than I’ve ever seen outside of Jazz and my closest friends. Robin is mostly blue which marks him as an unknown ghost. I’ll be updating the system soon so he shows up as a friendly, known ghost. But what’s interesting is this part between you. You’re connected by ectoplasm that most closely mimics halfa ecto. And there’s currently only three known halfas in existence.”

“You think we’re a halfa, like you.”

“Either that or you have the potential to be a halfa. But, really, we’ll need to go to Frostbite to know for sure.”

“I just want him gone.” Jay would argue to a second grave that it wasn’t a whine, but he was glad none of his siblings were here. Or Jazz.

The ghost let out a series of angry trills and signed at him. Which Jason easily ignored by simply closing his eyes and cradling his face in his hands as he worked on forcing back the pits.

“I don’t think it’s going to work that way, I’m afraid,” said Danny, echoing Jason’s worst fears.

-----

Jason is having A Time™️. Will it get better?

I've finally gotten around to making a Subscription Post for this fic, so this will be the last update I do the tag list for. Especially since it's been so long since I've updated, I feel kinda bad tagging all of you! But if you still want update notifications, please check out the subscription post.

Tag List Part 1:

@addie-lover-of-stories @justwannabecat @gin2212 @amercurio @regonold @overtherose @readerzj @sjrose1216 @echoednonny @deeterzz @blu-lilac @number-one-jew @rowanaway-fromthisbs @vythika96 @tired-yet-awaken @themirrorghost @emeraldcorpral @all-mights-asscheeks @darkhinauniverse @blep-23 @phandomhyperfixationblog @larkcoe1 @thegatorsgoose @job-ross-the-second @britcision @lenacraft @bubblemixer @androgynouslordofescapism @purefrickingspite @leftmiraclechaos @lizisipancardo @starlight-sparks @miraculousandmore @gildedphoenix @sometimesthingsfallapart @letmesayfuxk @phoenixcatch7 @skulld3mort-1fan @abaowo @dhampir-princess @idkmrpianoman @sarina-elais @ballzfrog-blog @undead-essence @spookytragedyshark @flyingpansaurus @akintoabitch @marivictal @8-29pm @justreadingthefanfics @happybear135 @kisatamao @spoopyspoony @adorablechaos @sara0055 @screamingtofillthevoid

#dpxdc #anger management ship #jason todd #danny fenton #ghost!robin #jason feels like things are falling out of control #just when he finally managed to get himself settled #and happy #so he is not having a good time #what will frostbite think of his situation?

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venussaidso · 2 months

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Rewatching Destined With You and it's actually not as bad as I remember it to be. It's not perfect but it's actually engaging and wholesome; it's also a nice little display of an archetypical dynamic between a Mercury nakshatra native and a Ketu nakshatra native. Ashlesha-Magha, to be specific. Both completely their nakshatras' stereotype if you watch.

The Ashlesha is a highly educated, wealthy, "cold" lawyer who has been cursed from generations and he meets a lonely quirky Magha civil servant who discovers that she has ancestral powers in witchcraft (couldn't get any more Magha than that). Both are into occult knowledge, the Ashlesha more than the Magha.

The gag is they're both tied by destiny and have unresolved karma starting from lifetimes ago WHICH COULDN'T GET MORE OBVIOUS THAN THAT SINCE THE GANDANTA POINT IS ONE WHERE THE WATER SIGNS UNTIE THE KARMIC KNOT (where all karmas/generational curses & blessings last stand as I've so briefly touched on in my Revati/Mercury Dominant Themes exploration) AND FIRE SIGNS ARE WHERE A NEW KARMIC KNOT TIE. The Ashlesha native's curse has been passed down through family generations and it is he, the Mercurial, who decides to end it in his current lifetime. But not without the help of the Magha native who, SPOILER ALERT, was the one who cursed his ancestors (yes the ketuvian being the one to tie a new karmic knot and whatnot YA GET IT NOW???).

Anyways this post is kinda overhyping this specific plot, I'll have you know the drama is more romance-centric and this story doesn't hold a lot of weight. I just find it awesome that they casted the perfect nakshatra natives for these roles. On point ASF.

Didn't I once make a post about gandanta nakshatras just being drawn to each other? Must be a heavily karmic thing going on, especially where there's that gandanta knot. Also they kinda look alike ngl. Especially them Revatis and Ashwinis mm mm.

EDIT: LMAOOOO I JUST REALIZED MY GRANDPARENTS ARE LITERALLY AN ASHLESHA X MAGHA DUO AMEN!!!! Grandma was a famous preacher who had the streets wrapped around her finger, very cult-like, which isn't surprising as Ketuvians have the power to ignite a cult around them. Grandpa was resourceful and very crafty which is Mercurial as hell, he moreso followed her lead though.

#ashlesha #cancer #nakshatra observations #magha #ketu #mercury

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griffinswitch · 2 months

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Some headcanons for Griffin, Faragonda and Saladin

I have some headcanons about Saladin, Griffin and Faragonda. All three of them have been "cursed" (not cursed per se, I'm using the word 'curse' as a metaphor for their trauma) during the Company of Light era.

Saladin prides himself in his powerful abilities as a wizard, especially in his strength.

When the time came to face a battle between the Ancestral Witches and their minions during one of the Company of Light’s missions, one of them cursed him to age quickly, which heavily affected his height too, causing him to shrink. It took him a while to adjust to his condition, but despite his curse, he is still able to retain the potency of his magical abilities with some limitations that comes with being cursed, which Valtor in Season 3 insinuates that he is the weakest (obvs he is far from that!) among the three points of magic.

With Faragonda, being able to have better control of her powers is one of the most important things to her. For most part of her childhood up to her early teenage years, she struggled understanding herself and her powers. Growing up from a family of witches and wizards, she was born a witch and because she was unable to control her powers (thanks to the pressure from her parents), despite the help of Griffin when they were younger, she decided to transfer from Cloud Tower to Alfea to become a fairy.

When she switched schools, it had caused a slight rivalry and bitterness between her and Griffin since light magic is the more socially acceptable type of magic. By channeling positive emotions, it has helped her manage and understand her powers better. This also led to an interest in teaching herself convergence at Alfea (which she teaches in the series), particularly converging with dark magic users. With Faragonda's own research in convergence with light and dark magic to fight the forces of evil, she had hoped it would bridge the gap between fairies and witches (especially from Alfea and Cloud Tower), hoped it would bring her and Griffin together like they once were and hoped it would help the Council understand that light and dark can work in unison, and that dark magic users are important to the balance of magic. I'll expand on Faragonda's role, powers and background in my CoL fic later on. Similar to Griffin's own research in my headcanons for her.

Anyway, during Faragonda’s mission to rescue Griffin from the Ancestral Witches' lair in Obsidian, everything was going to plan when Faragonda found herself in a trap set by one of the members from the Wizards of the Black Circle, Yllidith (a character from the comics who we do not see in the show). Long story short, Yllidith plucked Faragonda’s wings in front of Griffin (who was magi-cuffed at the time, also tied to her fate, so she couldn't access her powers as she watched in horror). Hagen and Saladin both came to their rescue and fought off the wizard and other beings of evil. And with all the strength she had left, Faragonda opened a portal and teleported them back to safety despite being severely wounded. Even with the help of her Enchantix fairy dust or any fairy who was at Enchantix level, there had been no cure in growing her fairy wings back.

However, since witches don't need wings to fly, Griffin taught Faragonda to fly with a LOT of trial and error + it had taken Faragonda years to heal from losing her wings. She also had gotten a little better at channeling her negative emotions but she was still better suited as a fairy and was at her best with transmitting positive emotions despite being wingless.

Griffin’s curse is thanks to Valtor for her betrayal during their final encounter with one another. He has cursed her to never know peace. Anything she holds dear somehow gets taken away from her, even momentarily and she's in a constant state of chaos, also most likely from her PTSD from the war(s). (Faragonda helps Griffin cope with and manage her curse, they both do!)

Cloud Tower (CT) is one of the things she holds dear because it is her safe space, not only for herself or the many objects (some rare, dangerous and ancient relics) that is home to it but also for her students who she deeply care for.

The times when CT was invaded by the Trix and with them being related to the Ancestral Witches (AW), you can imagine how triggering it was for her, especially when she’s worked incredibly hard to make sure CT is a school where witches of dark magic can learn how to control their powers for good and help fight evil. She fears that, with the Trix being in control of CT, history might repeat itself and cause an army of dark magic users who uses their powers for evil causing an imbalance in magic.

And let’s not forget when Valtor took control of CT and her students, it had really caused her dearly. He even sent her to prison in her own school, a cruel way to face her punishment for betraying him all those years ago. He had hoped she'd rot in her prison cell for eternity, to be a prisoner of her own mind from her grief and guilt, the same way he did when he was trapped in the Omega Dimension. (Of course, we know what canonically happened in Season 3).

#winx club #winx club headcanon #winx club griffin #winx griffin #winx club faragonda #winx faragonda #winx saladin #winx company of light #winx headcanons

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thelittlegirlinwonderland · 2 months

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What I'd Change about MHA

firstly, i'd put monoma in 1-a. i'd replace sato b/c i hate his character design and does he even do anything?

i'd make aizawa more of a stoic, scary looking guy but he just wants what's best for these kids. he doesn't lie to them or use ruses but he tends to push more and seems like a hardass to prepare them for the cutthroat life of heroics

i'd flesh out the characters more, their backstories, why they want to be heroes. i'd also build their relationships more. give them time to bond, spend time together outside of school without a disaster happening. filler type stuff

i like most of the plot up until the war arc, so i'd probably keep it, changing small things like stain. i think i'd make stain a former hero, like lady nagant, who saw corruption in his field and decided to handle it in the most extreme way. i would either get rid of stain attacking tensei or have it be a 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario where tensei found stain attempting to kill a different hero and wouldn't leave(similar to midoriya running in to save tenya)

ofa is one of the things about the og that annoys me. firstly, more than 9 users. probably 11-13. if it's supposed to be 2-3 hundred years since quirks, 9 doesn't make sense. especially since the first 3 were all around the same age and most of them died young. i'd also have more diverse users and quirks. i hate fa jin and gearshift, and danger sense and smokescreen don't make sense. blackwhip and float are great quirks. expand on the users' pasts as well. why were they chosen? what did they do with the quirk when they had it? also more izuku/vestige scenes. no random bakugou look alike user

i'd change a lot of the villain's stories. i'd change toga to actually be a victim of the system instead of just a blood-crazed lunatic. she was starved and didn't understand her cravings until she snapped and accidentally killed a classmate. from there, she's treated like a monster and pushed into the league who help her get the blood she needs which calms her down significantly. no wanting to become the people she loves and creepy harrasment of izuku and ochaco. just make her a scared teenage girl with no one else to go

as for shigaraki, when afo gets arrested show a slow change in his thought process, behavior, and lifestyle as he adjusts to life without the man who had been grooming and abusing him his entire life. make him realize afo isn't a helpful sensei but rather manipulating him. have him grow and reject afo and his ideas. have him start forming his own ideas of how he wants to change society

dabi is a tough one. i think i'd make him ostracized from his entire family. he had the quirk but not the body or mind for heroics. enji rejects him, rei can't stand his ambition, natsuo and fuyumi don't have anything in common and so he pushes them away, shoto is the masterpiece. this makes him more sullen and closed off. i'd have him run away instead of nearly dying and being save by afo. when he finds the league, he starts to open up more and develops more of a personality in this new family.

i wouldn't make kurogiri oboro. i think i'd scrap oboro as a whole. kurogiri is still a nomu but he has no ties to any heroes.

i'd have more people die in the war. more important heroes like all might, miruko, edgeshot, jeanist etc. bakugo stays dead, it's a tragedy that even someone as strong as him can't always win. maybe parents, friends, past classmates of the students because this is a war, collateral is going to happen. gran torino also should've died.

izuku: -make izuku's hair slowly turn white after he gets ofa so by the end it is completely white. this can be due to stress, having multiple quirks, getting a quirk when he didn't have one, etc. -all for one is his dad. this can explain why izuku can wield all of the past users' quirks, he's built to have multiple. now, this doesn't make afo a good person suddenly. he's still the man who groomed tenko and killed countless. maybe he just makes kids every now and then to get/make new quirks. it's just a game to him, he doesn't care about izuku or inko but it give izuku more personal stakes. -lean into izuku's analysis and intelligence more. -make monoma part of his friend group and have them bond over quirk analysis. -i think i'd make Mic his tutor. like how aizawa saw shinsou and decided to train him, mic sees izuku and his destructive quirk and decides to do something about it.

#livvytalks #mha #mha critical #anti mha #i have a lot of thoughts about this #i don't think i'd rewrite the whole thing #but it fell off so hard #izuku midoriya #monoma neito #one for all #dad for one #mha dabi #shigaraki tomura #toga himiko

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takaraphoenix · 2 months

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London Calling

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Pack Feels, True Mates, Spark Stiles, fluff, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, post Nogitsune, post canon, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Chris/Sheriff, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Noah Stilinski

@writersmonth Prompts: passion + tattoo parlor

Summary: After graduation, Stiles decides to go with Lydia, who is heading to London, to be with her mate, Jackson, from whom she'd been separated for too long now. Stiles knows the Hale Pack has moved to London, reformed there. They know Lydia is coming, but they don't know about Stiles yet.

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London Calling

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

The first member of the Hale Pack to leave Beacon Hills had been Jackson, only weeks after he even became a member of the pack. His parents had packed up, uprooted the young beta and moved to London. The Hales had contacted a pack in London that Peter's father, Derek's grandfather, had been allied to and asked if they would keep an eye on Jackson.

That had happened before Cora even rejoined the Hale Pack, before she ever met her brother in his function as the new Alpha. Apparently, Jackson and Lydia's love and mate-bond had broken the kanima curse and they had been insufferable since then (though, according to Stiles, they had been insufferable before that too). Not that Cora saw a lot of them together, since Lydia was still living in Beacon Hills. But the mated pair made it work, with phone-calls and video-chats and by Lydia spending every single vacation in London to see Jackson (which were the times Cora had to endure them together and she had to admit that they were an exhausting couple).

When Cora joined the pack, she had first and foremost joined Erica and Boyd. The three of them had been bonded by trauma, by their captivity at the hands of the Alpha pack. The pack-bond forged between the three during these months was a strong one. It was what made Erica and Boyd stay in Beacon Hills and rejoin the Hale Pack, even though they'd first been captivated because they'd left the pack and had meant to leave Beacon Hills. And Cora herself, she… She couldn't say what would have happened if she hadn't formed these two strong bonds, because Peter and Derek had been total strangers to her, too much time had passed, they'd grown apart. But she stayed.

Well, she stayed, until they all left. Derek, Peter, Cora, Boyd and Erica. The remaining Hale Pack.

Scott claimed that Beacon Hills was too small for two packs, but Cora knew better. The real reason why Scott wanted them gone had been because Derek was growing more and more into a good Alpha, was learning how to lead and care. And there were three pack members who were with one foot in each pack. Lydia, whose mate-bond to Jackson did tie her to the Hale Pack. Isaac, who had been Derek's beta first and then grown apart from him during the months Erica and Boyd had been lost and had become Scott's beta, but who still held a tie to Derek, especially after Boyd and Erica were saved. And Stiles, Stiles whose fierce loyalty made it so he couldn't turn his back on the Hales even as his ties laid with his best friend and brother by anything but blood.

Derek's pack was stronger – Jackson, even in London, Peter and Cora, Boyd and Erica. While Scott had been a young Alpha, with barely a pack to speak of, and the majority of them with one foot in the Hale Pack. It was a power move, to strengthen his own claim and pack.

The tension between the two packs had steadily grown, but for too long, Derek refused to leave. Because he didn't want to leave his family's land, the last thing they had left of their family's legacy, and even more so, he didn't want to leave his mate. Even though he never told Stiles. In the end, Derek gave in. Because he didn't want to cause tension between Stiles and Scott, thought he was doing right by Stiles. So the Hale Pack left Beacon Hills for good, together.

The Hale Pack left, for London, because if they had to leave Beacon Hills, why not the place where one of their pack-mates was already living. And it was good. Cora actually liked it better than her return to Beacon Hills – because Beacon Hills was filled with memories and sadness and death and even more recently, the memory of her abduction and captivity and nearly dying when the darach had poisoned her. Beacon Hills was pain. London was a full, fresh new start. A place where the Hale Pack was allowed to grow and be happy. It hadn't been hard to convince Erica and Boyd's families to let them leave, after pulling some strings with the help of the London Pack to get them into a really good school. A little white lie about a scholarship and their parents were on board with it.

Things in Beacon Hills took a turn for the worse, because of course it did, it always did. All the more reason to leave it behind. Stiles got possessed by a demon. Not that they knew, at first. When Lydia called them in tears, she told them that Stiles was dying, of the same disease that had killed his mother. They returned to Beacon Hills, because he was Derek's mate, because he shared a similar trauma-bond with Erica and Boyd as Cora did, because he was pack.

He didn't die. He was possessed. A demon used his body to kill people. And though Stiles already had bonds with Erica and Boyd, that was when his bond with Jackson formed. Both having been used to kill against their will. They started texting, near daily. Cora knew. There was a special look on Jackson's face when he was texting Stiles.

When the Hale Pack had returned to London, Isaac had gone with them. After Allison's death, he couldn't stay. And seeing the Hale Pack again had reignited his bonds with them. He sought his family, his first pack, for comfort and companionship. Isaac found his place among the pack with ease, the change in scenery helped him heal.

And as graduation was growling closer and closer, the pack prepared for another member to move to them. Because Lydia had stayed in Beacon Hills for certain reasons, being a minor, still going to high school and having divorced parents who were trying to make up for neglect and failure of the past by being a bit overbearing now. Now that she was a legal adult and had graduated high school, she planned on joining their pack officially, to live with his mate.

Cora dreaded it a little to have those two be disgustingly in love all over the pack house every day, but she was happy for Jackson. Though she hadn't found her own mate yet, she knew how important and cherished True Mates were among wolves. Besides, gaining another pack-member would strengthen their pack further.

"It is funny to see Jackson clean," Erica pointed out, cackling.

She was holding her phone so she could take pictures of Jackson. Jackson glared at her and flipped her off before he returned to his task of cleaning the downstairs windows. Peter and Derek had bought a large, beautiful house near Hyde Park when they first got there. Gradually, over the past year that they'd lived here, it had turned into a proper home. Every member of the pack had their own room upstairs, and though some days Cora was annoyed by Jackson or Isaac or Derek, she also loved this feeling of pack, had missed this sense of family and community. Her pack in Mexico had been good, but… it had been different, it hadn't been family.

"Are you sending that to Lydia?" Isaac asked amused.

"No," Erica huffed. "She knows that Jackson is gonna do everything to make the place impressive and 'worthy' of her. I'm sending this to Stiles so he can get a laugh out of it."

Cora noted the tenseness to her brother's shoulders, at every mention of Stiles' name. Mates were meant to be together and though Lydia and Jackson had spent most of the past two years apart, their mate-bond had at least been sealed and Lydia regularly visited. Derek had never even told Stiles – there was always some kind of tragedy that got in the way, or them leaving, and he thought it would be unfair to tell Stiles, just to then leave, or worse yet, to make Stiles choose. Cora thought that was frustrating and stupid, but she also understood. Loss was the most formative thing in Derek's life and the thought of losing his mate, in any way, was too much to bear.

"Where is Stiles going to college anyway?" Cora asked after a moment.

She was probably the only one in the pack to not have regular contact with Stiles. Erica and Boyd had their bond from being captured and tortured by Gerard Argent and it had forged a deep friendship that stayed strong even as the two betas left. Jackson and Stiles, even though they hadn't been friends before Jackson left Beacon Hills, had formed a strong bond over the similar experiences of being the kanima and being possessed by the Nogitsune. Isaac and Stiles, having been in the McCall Pack together for so long, already had a pack-bond that didn't weaken even as Isaac moved to London. Even Peter was in regular contact with Stiles – Stiles was still working on translating the entirety of the Argent bestiary, while Peter was still adding onto the Hale bestiary and the two of them worked together on making it one big database. Cora had been in Beacon Hills for too short a time, too wrapped up in her own trauma and the revelation that two members of her family were still alive, to really make friends, but she liked to imagine that if things had been different, if she had gotten to spend more time with Stiles, she too would be friends with him.

"He hasn't decided yet," Jackson replied, scrubbing excessively on one spot. "Also, grab a damn rag and help, you losers. This is your house too, how the fuck is it ever clean at all."

"I have a maid come by once a week," Peter tagged on delighted.

Cora waved a hand. "What do you mean he hasn't decided yet, graduation is in a few days."

"He's taking a gap-year," this time it was Erica who replied, a small smile on her lips, though it was more sad than happy. "He kind of never really…"

"He never actually dealt with the possession," Jackson cut in, voice sharp, curt, filled with a restrained sense of rage and pain, a reflection of his own experiences with the kanima. "He pushed it down and he kept going, because he couldn't afford to take a couple months off to heal. Between school, which he didn't want to fail, and the McCall Pack literally being useless without him and Lyd, he dealt with it as best as he could while also dealing with a shit-ton of other stuff."

Cora hummed and she saw the pained look on Derek's face, the way her brother clenched his fists at his sides. Helplessness was never going to be a look she'd get used to seeing on his face. But this wasn't something Derek could fix, something Derek could protect his mate from. The pain had already happened and Stiles needed to fight through it. Healing was something only he could do.

"That sounds good," Isaac spoke softly, grabbing a rag and turning away from the pack. "I hope he gets out of Beacon Hills, even just for a while… I think that would help him."

Because it had helped him. It had helped him to get out of that cursed town. It had helped all of them, and Cora could see it in the faces of every member of her pack. She could see it in her own face. Getting out of Beacon Hills after the fire had allowed her to heal from the loss and leaving again, for London, had helped her move on from what the Alpha Pack and the darach had done.

She may not be close to Stiles, but she genuinely hoped that he'd find a way to get better.

/break\

The sheriff and Chris Argent went to the same grief group for widowers. Years ago, when Noah finally realized he had to sober up, he had to do better, be better, to be there for his son, for the family he still had, he had started going to these meetings. After Victoria's death, Noah had suggested the same to Chris. Ever since, the two went there together. They grew closer.

It was only after Allison's death that this closeness turned into something more, a friendship born from mutual support and a shared understanding of grief turned into the main pillar that kept Chris going after he lost his only child. Over the past two years, Chris had just lost too much. His sister, his wife, his father, now his daughter. He had nothing left, nobody left. Only the Stilinskis.

Not just the sheriff, but also Stiles. Because Allison's death had to mean something, he needed it to mean something, to have a purpose, to not have been in vein. She'd died when they all tried to save Stiles, so Chris? Chris needed Stiles to be safe. He needed Stiles to be safe, because his daughter had died to make sure Stiles would be safe.

For a long time, Stiles didn't understand that. He thought that Chris should hate him, should blame him for Allison's death. He'd yelled all of that at Chris, one evening, when Chris was over at the Stilinski home for dinner and him and the sheriff acted so unbearably normal and kind, in a manner that Stiles didn't deserve or understand. He yelled, and cried, and broke down.

How could they be so kind to him? How could Chris be kind to him? How could Chris even look at him? He couldn't even look at himself, all he saw in the mirror was the twisted sneer of the Nogitsune, all he saw was Allison's blood on his hands.

Chris had hugged him, hugged him and held him and... cried with him. Stiles didn't know how long the two sat on the kitchen floor, crying together. His dad had put dinner away into the fridge and given them some privacy, at one point, retreating to the living room.

"She died to save you," Chris had said, voice rough with tears. "We all fought to save you, Stiles. You didn't kill her, kid. A demon did, a demon that used you. You're... You're as much a victim of it as she was, but you survived and I need to... I need to cling onto that. That you survived, that she didn't die for nothing, that she... that we managed what we set out to do."

Stiles hadn't known what to say to that. So he just sat there and continued crying quietly, remembering every time Allison had smiled at him, joked with him, been his friend.

It took so much longer for Stiles to get... better. He wasn't good, he still wasn't good. He still had the nightmares, but they were more irregular these days. He still counted his fingers, by now a nervous habit really, just pressing his thumbs against each of his fingers one by one.

He got his first tattoo three months after the possession. After he sat down at the kitchen table with his dad and Chris, who at that point was over at the Stilinski home more often than he wasn't, and he told them that he still struggled with what was real. He counted his fingers, but it didn't always feel like enough. Reading, seeing that words were real, that helped.

He needed to carry words with him, wherever he went, so he could check, see if he could read them, know that he was awake. He wanted a tattoo. A simple phrase This is real, written out on his wrist. To make it more meaningful, he'd chosen his mother's handwriting – they had so many examples of it in her cookbooks and it wasn't hard to put the phrase together in her writing.

He was seventeen, couldn't get a tattoo without his dad's permission. But after hearing the reason behind it, the idea for it and how Stiles imagined the execution, his dad signed the permission for him to get the tattoo, because this wasn't a silly teen idea that Stiles would regret, this was something that helped him get better. And it did, it really did help, he could feel himself calming down much easier now that he could look at the words and know it was real.

He got his second tattoo three months after. Stiles... needed it. A silver arrow through his heart, with the Argents' family motto. We protect those who can't protect themselves. Because that was what they did, what they all did, that was what Allison had done when she had died. She'd tried to protect Stiles when he couldn't protect himself. His father had found it hard to deny Stiles this time either. Chris went to the tattoo parlor with Stiles and got a matching tattoo, to honor his daughter.

Both of those tattoos helped him. Grounded him.

His dad and Chris helped and grounded him too. Stiles could see the gradual shift in their relationship and one day, Chris simply stopped leaving. One day, Stiles came home and found the two men curled together on the couch, holding each other in a manner that was much more intimate than a hug between friends. One day, Chris just became a part of the Stilinski household.

While Stiles had his support at home, he slowly felt like he was losing the pack.

There were so many new people, people who had joined after the Nogitsune, people Scott had accepted into the pack. People Stiles didn't really have bonds with, people he… never cared enough to get to know, or who never really cared enough to get to know him. People who had no way of ever truly understanding, because they hadn't been there, hadn't lived through the things Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Allison and Isaac had gone through, had seen since the beginning. Even Malia and Kira understood more, had suffered through more with them. But those that came after, it… felt like a whole different pack, like there was a cut, a line drawn, and Stiles was on the other side.

His friendship with Scott wasn't what it used to be either, and maybe that factored into why Stiles didn't feel the same bond to the newer pack members. Though now, looking back, he wondered for just how long it had been like this. It wasn't just Allison's death that had broken something, their friendship had cracked long before. What truly broke it though was Theo, was how easily Scott let himself be manipulated by Theo. Believing Theo over Stiles, accusing Stiles of murdering Donovan, when it had been self-defense, not even asking for Stiles' side of the story, not believing Stiles. That night, those accusations, their friendship never recovered from.

On paper, he was still in the pack. Stiles still attended mandatory pack meetings, but he stuck to the background. He gradually offered less and less solutions, voiced less and less of his suspicions, because he wasn't being heard anyway. Neither him nor Scott really named it, the fact that Stiles wasn't really pack anymore, that they had grown apart. They simply… lived side by side.

Maybe he would have left, should have left, but Beacon Hills was where his dads were living, and he wanted to graduate here. He would bide his time until. And he wasn't all alone.

He still had Lydia, always had Lydia. The grief over losing Allison had brought them so much closer, even though, much like with Chris, Stiles had thought she should hate him.

Isaac left. He couldn't stay, after losing Allison, couldn't bear this place where his mother and brother had died, where his father had abused him, where he had now lost Allison. And Stiles understood. The blonde had ducked his head, looking guilty as he stood in Stiles' bedroom one night, telling him that he'd leave. But Stiles understood. He hugged Isaac and told him to say hi to the Hales, at which Isaac had looked at him in surprise.

Like Stiles didn't know where Isaac stood. With one foot in each pack. Isaac's relationship with Scott had been strained over his feelings for Allison already, but now with Allison's death, Isaac didn't feel like much was holding him here. Isaac had no reason not to follow his original pack.

There was a pang of longing in Stiles' heart at the thought.

Stiles imagined that having the Hale Pack back in Beacon Hills, even just for a short while, must have had a similar effect on Isaac as it did on Stiles. The Hales had come back, when they thought Stiles was dying. They had all hugged him and cried with him and he'd curled against Derek's chest, crying for an hour. But then Stiles survived and the demon was exorcised and the Hales all had a life in London – the betas all went to school, Peter and Derek had jobs. And so they'd left again.

The sense of longing was near physical, it ached in Stiles' chest.

His third tattoo was one that he got on his eighteenth birthday, without telling his dads first. Because he knew they both would disapprove of that one. He went back to the tattoo parlor and got a giant, beautifully detailed black fox on his back, curling around the symbol for self. It was a constant reminder, a manifestation of his guilt but also of his survival. A promise, both to himself and to Allison, that now that he was himself again he would be himself. However he was going to manage that, because he still struggled with it at times.

Graduation was coming up and Chris took him aside. Told him that he needed to live. At first, Stiles didn't understand, thought that he did. Allison had died, so Stiles had to live. Chris sighed.

"You're not living, kid," Chris said, voice rough and distant. "You're surviving. You have been surviving since the possession. I know there's a lot of trauma you've been working through, you kept your grades up through it all, you kept helping keep this town safe, but… that is all you do. You haven't lived since then. You keep your head down and you continue, but you don't start."

"I don't…" Stiles frowned at him in confusion.

"You haven't had a girlfriend since things between you and Malia ended, you haven't made any new friends, I know you keep your distance to the newer members of the pack, you… don't really spend time with anyone but Lydia, Malia and Kira anymore. You need to live, make new experiences, have fun, laugh, spend time with the people you love, fall in love."

Do all the things Allison would never get to do again, was left unsaid but both Stiles and Chris could feel it in their bones. He ducked his head and leaned into Chris, receiving a hug. Chris was right, Stiles hadn't really lived since Allison had died, he'd been so busy struggling to survive, he hadn't even had time to consider living yet. But now, he was doing better, he was on the right path.

"You need to leave this place," Chris whispered against his hair, still hugging him. "You need to get out before this city kills you too, and you need to find a place where you can be happy, kid."

Stiles tensed in his arms. Leaving Beacon Hills wasn't something he'd ever considered. This was his home, this was where his dad lived, worked, he couldn't leave. He was all his dad had… No, that wasn't true anymore. Blinking, he looked up at Chris. His dad wasn't alone anymore. There was someone who loved his dad, who watched out that his dad would eat healthy even when Stiles was busy. There was someone living in the Stilinski house, so his dad wasn't alone anymore.

"Chris is right, kiddo," Noah stepped into the kitchen, looking at them both with sad but loving eyes. "You aren't happy here, I haven't… I haven't seen you happy in a long time. I know your friends are all doing better, no longer living here, and maybe it will help you too. All I want for you is to be happy, kiddo. I'll be fine, don't let me hold you back."

Chris and Stiles opened their hug for Noah, allowing the sheriff to join them. They were right. He wasn't happy here and this place had been slowly killing him since the night Scott got bitten. Maybe it was time to leave before this town could finish him off.

/break\

The pack was buzzing with excitement as they were gathered at the airport, waiting for Lydia's arrival. This kind of energy, it made Derek feel... serene. His pack, together, all eagerly awaiting their newest member. They'd come a long way from the three teens he'd turned two years ago, from the in-fighting when Scott had briefly joined the pack, the strain of turning Jackson and him leaving Beacon Hills near immediately, the tension when Boyd and Erica had been returned and how awkward things had been when Cora first joined the pack.

Moving to London had been the right call. They were happier here. They were happy here. They had the chance to fully grow into a pack, to form deep, meaningful pack-bonds.

And Derek was eager himself, for Lydia to properly join his pack. Ever since Derek had relocated the pack to London, she had become more and more a member of this pack. With every visit to London, to be with her mate, with every video-call between Jackson and Lydia that Erica and Cora and later on Isaac and occasionally even Boyd would butt in. She had been forming pack-bonds with them all for months now. And still, when she actually called him, told him that she wanted to leave Beacon Hills behind and had applied to a university in London so she could be with Jackson and then formally asked Derek if he would accept her into his pack, that had meant a lot to him.

He was an Alpha whom betas chose. Boyd and Erica chose to rejoin the pack, after they'd been saved from the Alpha Pack. Cora had chosen not to leave for Mexico again. Jackson had chosen to be with their pack, even though he could have stayed with the local pack that had kept an eye on him until the Hale Pack moved to London. Jackson and Lydia, together, could have chosen to leave for a different place entirely. Isaac chose to come to them, after Allison's death.

He had a strong, happy, good pack. He was... happy. A feeling he still sometimes struggled with, the survivor's guilt usually made him remember Laura and their family, those he had lost. But he'd been working with a therapist on this, on the fact that he deserved to live, to be happy.

There was still a hole in his chest, a Stiles-shaped hole that left an ache in his heart, but he was going to fix it, he was finally going to move forward. He'd never dared to tell Stiles that they were mates. At first, because he thought the teen was mostly annoying and the age-difference mortified him. But the more often Stiles saved his life, the more Stiles proved himself to be strong and fierce and loyal, the more Derek could see why fate had chosen him as Derek's mate.

However, at that point, something seemed to always get in the way. After Scott and Stiles officially joined his pack, Derek had been overjoyed and was readying himself to actually tell Stiles. And then Scott had betrayed Derek's trust, left his pack after using him like a weapon, a tool, in his plan against Gerard Argent. And with Scott, Stiles left the pack too. Derek spent months bitter, deliberately not telling Stiles because he'd felt betrayed by his mate too.

While the Alpha Pack and the darach attacked, him and Stiles grew closer again. When Derek finally learned that Stiles had had no hand in Scott's plans against Gerard, that Stiles hadn't approved of it – that Stiles and Scott even had a fight about it – it was already too late. Scott was a True Alpha and the two packs in the small town were edging on, until Derek conceded and left.

Too many bad memories, too much loss. He wasn't ready to risk his pack in an actual fight against Scott's pack, if it came to that. And the longer they coexisted, the more it felt like that was where things were headed. A fresh start, somewhere new, maybe it'd help them all, was what he'd thought.

With no concrete destination otherwise, he decided to follow his first beta. He'd never gotten the chance to be a proper Alpha to Jackson before Jackson had left. He was glad that the local packs – London was a big city, it housed multiple packs who peacefully coexisted and even had alliances between them – all welcomed them with open arms.

Derek had thought it unfair to tell Stiles just as they were leaving and he saw no point in telling Stiles with the pack living in London, he'd never want to make Stiles feel like he had to choose, between his home where his dad and Scott and all his friends lived, and Derek.

When they returned to Beacon Hills, when they thought Stiles was dying – and Derek's wolf still curled together in pain at the memory of that feeling, at the memory of how small and fragile and exhausted Stiles had been in that hospital – Derek wanted to tell him. He didn't want to lose Stiles without Stiles ever knowing how much he meant to Derek. Before he had the chance to, did they realize that Stiles wasn't dying, not of a human sickness anyway. He was possessed.

After that, with the trauma Stiles had suffered, with the loss of Allison hanging heavily over their heads, it had felt selfish to tell Stiles the truth. He had so much to deal with, he shouldn't have to deal with Derek's feelings, on top of everything else.

And so Derek and his pack had left once more, returning to London. Words left unspoken.

Things were changing though. Lydia was joining their pack, because the betas had graduated high school. Stiles was eighteen now, which had also been part of why Derek kept looking for excuses not to tell Stiles. He never wanted to be like Kate, he never wanted to be unsure if he was coercing Stiles, because Stiles had been young and might feel like he was obligated to do anything just because of a mate-bond he couldn't feel to its full extend – yes, humans could feel the mate-bond, but to a werewolf, it was different, it was so much stronger.

Now, Stiles was a legal adult, he had graduated high school, both of them were in a better place, having worked through at least parts of their respective trauma. Once Lydia was properly settled in, Derek planned on traveling to Beacon Hills to see Stiles and finally tell him.

"Lydia!" Jackson's entire face lit up when he saw his mate.

She grinned and ran up to him, jumping into his arms to be whirled around by Jackson. They kissed, slow and deep and entirely getting inappropriate for the public. Derek cleared his throat, looking away. He understood, they'd last seen each other during spring break. They were mates, they shouldn't be kept apart. It made Derek feel warm, a pleasant sense of comfort at the thought that the two would get to be together now. That his betas would get to be with their mate.

"Put. Her. Down," Erica growled, shoving Jackson. "Share."

Jackson growled back but he still put his mate down so the other betas could get to scent mark and greet her too. Now that she was pack, she needed to smell like pack. Derek smiled to himself, standing back together with Peter and waiting for the pups to get their fill first.

"You smell like Stiles," Isaac noted as he nuzzled Lydia's neck. "Is that the surprise you said you'd bring for the pack? Did you scent-mark Stiles before you came so we can have some Stiles?"

The smile on Derek's lips turned a little softer as he watched Boyd shove his own mate away, not without Erica growling in protest, so he could also scent-mark Lydia and smell Stiles on her. Before coming, Lydia had called Jackson and ominously said she had a surprise for the pack. Derek crossed his arms tightly, trying to keep himself from going to Lydia and pushing the betas out of the way so he could inhale every last trace of his mate on his new pack-member.

"Not exactly. If you want more au de Stiles, she brought you the source."

The pack froze in place – which, in the case of the betas was somewhat a hilarious image, because Boyd was curled against Lydia's back, while Erica and Isaac were in the middle of shoving each other to get the left side of Lydia's neck, Cora nuzzling her cheek against Lydia's right cheek, Jackson in the middle of kissing Lydia. All pausing like some kind of statue. Though Derek couldn't blame them, he was holding his breath too, eyes widening at the sound of that voice. He turned.

Coming up behind Lydia, pushing the cart with so many bags and suitcases, it looked like Lydia had decided to bring all of her belongings onto this flight already, was Stiles. Stiles stopped the cart and stepped around it, aiming a carefree grin at the pack. He was real, this was really Stiles. Wearing skinny-jeans and a blood-red hoodie. His hair was a little longer than the last time Derek had seen him. He looked good, really good. Not so sickly pale anymore, the deep bags beneath his eyes were gone, his cheeks not as hollowed out. Healthy. He looked healthy again, no longer made to believe he was going to die, no longer possessed, but rather recovering. He was beautiful, he was everything, he was right here, in London, just a few meters away from Derek.

"Stiles!" Erica yelled, her voice pitching, before she launched herself at him.

Isaac growled, hot on her heels and also attaching himself to Stiles. Boyd grabbed Isaac by the waist to lift him out of the way so he could get a Stiles hug first. Stiles just laughed, a bright and beautiful sound, as he was being wrapped up by the Hale Pack's three original betas. With a heavy sigh did Lydia smack Jackson's arm to give him the go-ahead and the next moment, Jackson was also nosing Stiles' neck. Lydia used the opportunity to give Cora a proper hug.

"You brought us Stiles," Isaac grinned at Lydia from where he was resting his chin on Stiles' head.

"Can we keep him?" Erica turned large, pleading eyes and a pout on Derek. "Ple—ease, I promise I'll feed him and take him on walks."

"Brats," Stiles heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Okay, okay, enough scent-marking the Stiles in public, people are starting to stare, I feel like they think I have a harem, off, puppies."

Once the betas were all pushed off, Stiles took a tentative step toward Derek, a soft half-smile on his lips as he waved. "Hey, Sourwolf. Miss me?"

Miss me? Derek choked on the emotions bubbling up in him. Missing didn't even begin to cover what Derek had felt. Pure, raw yearning, a longing so overwhelming he was drowning in it. Until this very moment, he hadn't realized just how bad it really was. It had been easier to push down and ignore while he could focus on his pack. Seeing Stiles like this? So close? Close enough that Derek could smell him? It hit him like running head-first into a brick-wall.

With a deep growl rumbling in his chest did Derek stride forward, until Stiles was right in front of him. Those big, warm doe-eyes stared up at him in surprise when Stiles got wrapped up in the Alpha's arms and pulled into a tight, all-consuming hug. The rumbling grew softer, more pleased and content, as Derek buried his nose in Stiles' neck, rubbing it. More content rumbling when his mate readily bared his throat for better access. A small laugh escaped Stiles, his fingers entangling in Derek's shirt, holding onto him too, returning the hug.

"Yeah," Stiles' voice cracked a little. "I missed you too."

"I do think that was enough PDA overall, how about you bring us to the pack house?" Lydia piped up. "We had a dreadfully long flight with even more dreadful food. I need a shower and dinner."

"Actually, seconded," Stiles turned a bit in Derek's arms, regarding the betas. "Uhm. Sourwolf? You would have to let me go so we can leave."

Oh, Derek hated that idea. He would prefer to stand here for another hour or two, simply holding his mate, soaking in that unique scent of honey, chili and lightning. Huffing softly, Stiles gave him a light shove, at which the Alpha reluctantly let go of his mate.

"It's good to see you again, Stiles," Peter said, resting a hand in Stiles' neck. "You look good."

Stiles let him, leaning into the touch some, still grinning. "I feel good."

The betas went to get Lydia and Stiles' luggage – Stiles had luggage, Stiles was here. The only reason Derek had been able to let go of his mate was because he would get to take Stiles home with him, get Stiles into the pack house for the first time, get the pack house to smell like Stiles.

Once in the parking deck, Peter clapped his hands once and turned to stare at the betas expectantly. "Everyone, into the SUVs. No, not everybody can drive with Stiles."

Cora was the first one to willingly get into Peter's SUV, having the least connection to Stiles. Lydia and Jackson joined her, getting into the backseats, mostly because Lydia had gotten to spend so much time with Stiles already and Jackson primarily wanted to be with his mate right now. Derek got into his own car, watching Isaac climb into the passenger seat and smiling a little when Stiles ended up sandwiched between Boyd and Erica, the mated pair rubbing against Stiles from either side. Those three had had a profound bond ever since the basement. Derek's grip on the steering wheel tightened at that thought, the thought of Gerard torturing his betas and his human mate.

"So—o tired," Stiles groaned and leaned his head against Boyd's shoulder. "There was a screaming toddler sitting in the row behind me… Ple—ease tell me your pack house is actually big enough to have a guest room I can crash in because… I had considered calling ahead to ask if I can crash with you, but then I thought a surprise would be much more fun. Lydia said you would have room for me and it wouldn't be a problem, but now that I'm actually here-"

"There will always be room for you," Derek interrupted him lowly.

"Cheesy," Stiles looked utterly pleased. "Awesome. Oh. Oh, you guys totally have to show me around, I've never been to London. I mean. I've never been anywhere aside from Poland."

"You've been to Poland?" Erica asked, dragging her nose over his collarbone.

"Well, not in… a long time," Stiles' smile turned a bit sad. "I went when I was little, with my mom, to visit her family. My grandpa, my actual name sake."

"Mitch-is-love," Isaac dragged it out, the sounds heavy and awkward.

"So close and yet so far," Stiles gave a startled laugh. "You know, it used to bother me, hearing people try and butcher my name, but… it's kind of endearing with you guys. You try."

"It's more of a whaff than a love," Boyd corrected Isaac after a moment.

Stiles hummed, looking so happy as he melted between Boyd and Erica, who were both holding hands on top of Stiles' lap. Derek's heart felt full and warm when he looked at his betas and his mate, all content and together. That hole in his chest, it was slowly filling.

"We're here," Isaac announced when they pulled into their driveway.

"Wow," Stiles whispered in awe, staring at the Hale Villa. "Okay. Lyds was not exaggerating. Damn. It pays to have a Sugar Alpha, huh, guys."

Erica made gagging noises. "Don't ever call him that again or I will throw up."

She shoved Stiles, just making him laugh. As soon as they got out of the car did Derek practically herd Stiles into the house, earning a very amused look from the human. Where did he want Stiles first? Bed. No. Not a realistic place to get Stiles to go. Not yet. But now that he was here, Derek could tell him, could start courting him, could… ask the impossible question. Give Stiles a choice. Because it wasn't about making Stiles choose, it was about giving Stiles a choice.

"Want me in the living room?" Stiles guessed, a knowing smile on his lips. "Make the den smell more like me and give the betas more time to smother me. Sorry, 'scent mark' me."

Derek gave an affirmative grunt. That was part of what he loved the most about Stiles. Stiles understood Derek, understood him but also his culture. Stiles had always done his research, learned about werewolves and even when he lacked the natural instincts, he never acted like what the wolves did was weird, he accepted it, embraced it, even reciprocated it. Scent-marking them back, without anyone having to explain to him what it was. He knew, he accepted, he understood.

"Stilinski," Jackson grunted as he caught up to them and wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist to pull him close. "The fuck did you not say that you were coming, you asshole."

"Missed you too, Jackass," Stiles laughed, leaning his bead back against Jackson's chest. "It's called a surprise and telling the other party kinda ruins the purpose."

"So you're spending your gap-year traveling then?" Boyd asked curiously. "Made us the first stop?"

The look on Stiles' face turned a little more sober and maybe even an edge of nervous. "No."

Jackson growled a little. "Can't believe I'm saying this, but… use more words, Stilinski."

Stiles wiggled free of the beta and turned to look at Derek, searching the Alpha's face. What for, Derek couldn't guess, but he liked having Stiles' attention. And he liked the way Stiles looked standing in his living room, like he belonged right here, surrounded by the betas.

"Well, that depends on your glorious Alpha," Stiles' grin turned mischievous as he tilted his head, baring his throat to Derek. "Alpha Hale, I, Mieczysław Stilinski, formally ask to join your pack."

The growl ripped from Derek's throat was such a deep, primal sound that it shook the room, his eyes flashing. It wasn't even a conscious decision to step up to Stiles. One second, he was at the other side of the room, the next he had Stiles pinned against the wall, his mouth on Stiles' bared throat. His lips parted, but before he allowed his teeth to scratch soft skin, he paused.

"Stiles-" Derek whispered. "You can't be in two packs. Not fully."

"I know," Stiles' voice broke a little. "I choose you. You're my Alpha, Derek."

What little restrain he had vanished at those words, Derek's wolf taking over as he sank blunt human teeth into soft skin. A soft noise was drawn from Stiles as Derek marked him as pack. There were questions, a hundred questions running through Derek's mind, but all that mattered in that moment was that Stiles was his. Part of his pack, fully, officially, willingly.

"What… just happened," Isaac grunted, blinking slowly. "I mean, I know what happened, but… You left Scott's pack? You? And you're here to stay? For… good?"

"What about your dad?" Erica asked concerned.

Derek pulled away from Stiles, with much difficulty. Now that he was pack, Derek's wolf just wanted to drag Stiles upstairs and make their den smell like their mate. But these were questions that he needed answered too. He'd just claimed Stiles as Hale Pack, which… he had never thought he would get to do, not even if he ever got to claim Stiles as his mate. His unwavering loyalty was what had gotten him dragged into the supernatural to begin with. This had always been the Scott and Stiles Show, everyone else was just on the outside.

"My dads are fine," Stiles chuckled and went to sit on the couch, between Isaac and Jackson. "Two's company, as they say. I… never thought I'd be able to leave Beacon Hills because someone had to take care of my dad, but… now someone is. Chris is watching dad's died like a hawk. Honestly, he might actually worse than me, it's kind of funny. But yeah, I'm… not leaving him alone. And, to be honest, it was kind of Chris who told me to get out of Beacon Hills, to… live, instead of just surviving. Chase my own happiness or something like that."

"And your happiness… led you here?" Isaac's voice was unusually small, filled with hope.

The look on Stiles' face turned more sad as he tilted his head down to stare at his hands, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers linked between them. There was something heavy there.

"I… never wanted to leave the Hale Pack," Stiles whispered. "I left because Scott left. And then Scott became a True Alpha and… But things are different now."

"How," Cora's voice had an edge to it. "How is it so easy to turn your back on your Alpha and your pack, now. Everyone always talks like your loyalty is your biggest plus point."

Derek gave a low warning growl at his sister, but Stiles simply laughed. Shallow and empty.

"Loyalty can break your neck if it's misplaced," Stiles shrugged and looked up, looked at Cora. "I've been training to be an Emissary for one and a half years now. When I started, I was… so sure… that it would be so I could become Scott's Emissary. But at no point did he ask me. I just assumed, it seemed obvious to me – and to everyone else. But he never asked me, he still got Deaton. I used to be Scott's right hand. And then this guy comes into our lives and it's so easy for him to gain Scott's trust and friendship and manipulate him. I'm not Scott's right hand and I'm not his Emissary and… I haven't really been pack, in a while."

Stiles turned his head, no longer looking at any of them, instead fixating a spot on the ground. "Maybe I would have become his Emissary, maybe I would still be his right hand, but… He can hardly look at me anymore, even when he's trying, and he is trying, but… we've never been the same after Allison's death, we've been growing more and more apart and…"

"He's blaming you for Allison's death?" Jackson growled, eyes flashing blue. "I'm gonna kill him."

The twist of Stiles' lips was hardly a smile. Derek noticed the way Stiles was pressing his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers one by one, over and over again. It made Derek's heart sink. He knew this was a habit Stiles had picked up with the possession. Counting his fingers to ground himself, to remind himself that what was happening was real, that he was awake.

"I don't fault him for that," Stiles whispered. "Can't fault him for that. I did kill her."

"Stiles-" Lydia's voice was pained but also exhausted, like she'd had this conversation a lot.

"I did," Stiles shrugged and looked up at her with tired, broken eyes. "I didn't want to, but… I remember it, and I will forever remember it. The fact that I didn't want to doesn't undo it and it won't let me forget it either. I understand the distinction, Lyds. I know I didn't kill her, in the ways that matter, but… I still remember it like I did. I'm doing better now, I've mostly made my peace with it, but I still sometimes see her blood on my hands and… I can't blame Scott for also seeing it. She was his mate and I killed her and it's a miracle we had any semblance of a relationship left after. But I can't live like that anymore. I can't live in a pack with mostly strangers and with a best friend who can barely look at me, I can't live filled with all the memories of the people it hurt while using my body. Chris is right. I've been surviving, I've been treading water to keep above the surface somehow and to keep breathing, but it's time I just… get out of the water. Before I drown."

"So..." Derek's voice wavered. "So you're really here to stay? With us?"

With me? A voice in Derek's head whispered and screamed at the same time, the pull to his mate overwhelmingly strong now that there was a pulsing pack-bond alongside their unsealed mate-bond.

"If you'll have me," Stiles tilted his head with a small grin, showing off the bite on his neck. "Though, I guess now's too late for you to back out. You're stuck with me."

Seeing his mark on Stiles like that, seeing Stiles show it off like that, it did things to Derek, things that went far beyond love, desire or passion. It was a raw, burning fire at the core of his soul and it felt like it was consuming all of him. Yet at the same time he wasn't scared, he was embracing it, letting it warm him.

"Finally!" Erica yelped and threw herself at Stiles. "Always knew you belonged with us, Batman."

"Oh, you have no idea," Stiles muttered beneath his breath, amused.

Muttering was pretty pointless in a room with werewolves though. Curious looks were aimed Stiles' way and a near bashful smile spread over his lips as he ruffled his hair. His cheeks had a red tint to them that Derek found himself appreciating more than he should.

"I have this theory. About why Scott never asked me to be his Emissary," Stiles explained, fidgeting a little and not looking at Derek. "I mean, beyond the way Deaton lives in his head rent-free. My magic... My magic first manifested when I was part of the Hale Pack, the first time I used it, Derek was my Alpha. I think that maybe a subconscious part of Scott's wolf rejects my magic because it's linked to the Hale Pack."

"Fascinating," Peter sounded far too intrigued. "Perhaps Derek's wolf has had a similar, opposite reaction. Considering we've been living in London as an established and respected pack for well over a year now and still don't have an Emissary."

Derek gave a low warning growl. He'd never done that on purpose. It wasn't like he at any point realistically expected for Stiles to move here, so he hadn't kept the position open with the intention of making Stiles his Emissary.

"It's okay," Stiles shook his head. "I didn't come here for that. I came here to join the pack. Besides, you guys... never really... saw my magic, I mean, I mostly started training it when you already left. Let me stick around for a while and prove myself before you even bring that up, mh?"

"Stiles, you really don't have to prove yourself, to any of us," Boyd noted, raising one eyebrow. "I, very confidently, speak for the whole pack there."

The others made noises of agreement and Stiles flushed again, a pleased look on his face. It was Lydia clearing her throat that drew the attention away from Stiles, for which he seemed grateful.

"I was the one who came here to join the pack, you know."

Lydia gave Derek a look for having been ignored, though it was half-hearted at best because she knew how much the pack had missed Stiles and what a huge, positive surprise this was for them all. Still, the Alpha couldn't help but rub his neck sheepishly at having ignored his newest pack-member. Lydia offered him a small, reassuring smile, before she bared her throat to him.

"Alpha Hale, I, Lydia Martin, formally ask to join the Hale Pack."

Derek's eyes flashed on instinct and he approached her to gently bite her neck too. Another pack-bond snapped into place and filled him with warmth. His. They were now his, his pack.

"How about we get you guys settled in?" Cora suggested after a moment. "There was talk about showers and food. I'll show you an empty room, Stiles, and you two can shower and unpack while we organize some food."

Stiles gave a sharp nod. "That sounds perfect."

/break\

Before he had left Beacon Hills for good, he had done four things. He'd hugged his dads, very tight and very long with many manly tears being shed. He'd gone to the cemetery and visited the graves of his mother and Allison, leaving flowers (he also went to the Hale mausoleum and left flowers there too, he always did when visiting the cemetery). He'd gone to Scott and said his final goodbye to his best friend, officially leaving the pack (there was pain in Scott's eyes but also understanding. They both knew they weren't what they used to be). And he'd gone to his trusted tattoo parlor to get one last tattoo in Beacon Hills.

Their first night as members of the Hale Pack, Lydia and Stiles got treated to an obscene amount of pizza (Stiles had tipped the delivery guy fifty bucks for the hard work of carrying thirty pizzas. He took the money out of Peter's wallet though, so there was that). After, the pack had cuddled up in the very cozy den for a pack pile. That was something Stiles had desperately longed for. The McCall Pack never really did that, Scott still fought too much against his own wolfly instincts. Stiles fell asleep with his head on Boyd's chest, his arms around Isaac and Erica spooning him from behind and he had slept better than in months.

The pack was more than enthusiastic to show him around – Lydia had already gotten various tours during her regular stays, but she was more than happy to play additional tour-guide for Stiles and they both enjoyed the bonding experience with their new pack.

They'd been in London for about a week now and Stiles felt... at home. He'd missed them all so much. When he walked out of his room – his room – and downstairs, he found Boyd and Erica snuggled together on the couch, Erica curled together on her mate's chest, napping instead of fully waking up, denying the day its claim on her just yet. Boyd was running his fingers through her hair, gentle and loving and looking fully content just staring at his sleepy mate.

Isaac sat curled together on the arm-chair next to them, a bowl of cereal on his lap that was most likely 95% sugar, while he watched some cartoon. The beta turned toward Stiles to smile and nod at him in greeting when he noticed.

Reaching the kitchen made Stiles smile. While the pack had an actual chores wheel and was very much behind everyone doing their share, it was apparently mostly Derek who cooked. Stepping up to the Alpha, Stiles brushed his arm against Derek's before taking over the pancakes, since Derek seemed busy with the scrambled eggs. Cooking for a pack of hungry wolves was no small feat.

"You don't have to help," Derek mumbled, eyeing him. "I'm fine here."

"As much as I enjoy being spoiled by your cooking, and I totally am, I'm also used to being the only one who does the cooking," Stiles offered a grin. "So, unless you actually mind, I'd like to help."

A grunt. The affirmative, soft kind. Stiles had missed being able to dissect Derek's grunts and growls and his eyebrows. The grunts and growls translated into phone-calls but the eyebrow language, now that he hadn't gotten to watch in far too long.

"What are you going to do now?" Derek asked after a stretch of companionable silence. "You're not meant to just sit around and do nothing. I think you may actually implode."

"First of all, rude," Stiles huffed and hip-checked Derek with a mild glare. "Second of all... true. I... Honestly, I don't know. I'm not ready for college yet, as much as I love learning, I really do think that I need some... time to myself. Also to get used to this place. I want to learn everything about London, its supernatural history and present. Meet all the local packs and Emissaries, I'm dying to know if there's another Spark in London."

"There is," Derek offered. "The Haynes Pack's Emissary, Marge Cotton, is the Spark of London."

Stiles perked up, visibly so. He'd never actually met another Spark, since they were pretty rare nowadays. Magic users, inherently linked to nature, fueled by it. Usually tied to the land. He'd gotten his magic from the Nemeton of Beacon Hills and he would forever be the Spark of Beacon Hills. But then, to him, Derek would forever be the Alpha of Beacon Hills, so he supposed it was okay if they lived in London for now. One day, they would return home. Together.

"What's for breakfast? O—Oh, is Stiles making pancakes?" Erica asked, sniffing the air.

"How could you possibly know that I'm making the pancakes."

"Cinnamon," Isaac, Boyd and Erica all replied right away.

"You put a dash of cinnamon into the batter, it's a distinct smell," added Jackson gruffly.

He looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep once again (him and Lydia were… very busy catching up). Once he reached Stiles, he gently nuzzled against him. Scent-marking. It was ridiculous how much Stiles enjoyed that, enjoyed the casual comfort and touch between the pack.

"How about you guys do something too? Lazy puppies. Set the table, squeeze some oranges, I want fresh juice to go with those pancakes. Shoo. Be useful."

Peter came next, making a beeline to the coffee maker. Which suited Stiles just fine, honestly, in this household, Peter was the only one who seemed to know how to actually use that. Whatever Erica did with it was absolutely not coffee. Isaac only drank hot chocolate. Jackson preferred going out to buy coffee in coffee shops. Boyd only drank tea. And the Hale siblings? Stiles was pretty sure they would drink the most bitter brew possible without flinching. Heathens, the lot of them.

As Derek and Stiles finished up breakfast, the kitchen got much more lively. So much bumping into each other as everyone tried to put one more thing onto the table – milk was missing, where was the butter, there needed to be jam had anyone seen the strawberry jam, why was there no syrup? That last one was what got Stiles, in the end. Erica bumped into him on her way to get the bacon, causing him to stumble back into Isaac, who elbowed Jackson, who lost his balance and spilled the syrup all over Stiles. All Stiles could do was blink and stare down at himself, dripping maple syrup everywhere, before he started laughing. Okay, yeah, he had missed this. This sense of family.

"I am going to get changed, I guess."

"You are going to drip syrup all over the floor," Peter gave him a look of disdain.

"He's right," Lydia's face matched Peter's. "Just, take your shirt off and put it in the sink for now, rinse it out in there later."

Stiles grunted his confirmation. That was a better idea than leaving a trail of syrup all over the place. Turning his back on the pack so he was facing the sink, he pulled his shirt off and put it in. Gasps and growls of varying degrees sounded behind him and oh. Right.

"Stiles-" Derek's voice never sounded more wrecked and Stiles didn't know what to do with that.

"Ri—ight," Stiles cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

"Why would you get that as a tattoo," Cora asked startled.

Stiles braced himself against the sink. Knowing their eyes were on his back tattoo, on the large black fox sitting on it, staring at them right now. He frowned as he considered how to explain it.

"As a physical reminder of what I overcame," Stiles offered after a long silence. "This wasn't like a physical attack that I carried a scar from. It just… Sometimes, in the happy and carefree moments, it nearly feels like it never happened and that frightens me. I needed… I needed a physical reminder that it did happen, and that I survived. That I was stronger than him."

Silence again, but this one loaded with emotions. He could feel it through the pack-bonds. Not pity, but compassion and understanding – maybe not understanding in the sense that they could relate, but that they understood why he needed it. Stiles heaved a sigh.

"Never took you for someone to get a tattoo, at all," Isaac offered softly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," Stiles' voice was a little shaky while he started scrubbing at his shirt. "The first one I got like three months after… after the possession. It's on my wrist. Just… a sentence. To remind me that I'm awake. That this is real. Because finger counting wasn't working and I wasn't always around posters or books… It helped. Helps, still. That I can look at my wrist and read words, know that I am awake because I can read them."

And silence again. He could feel pain through the pack-bonds. Pain on his behalf. Not pity, but sorrow. Frowning, he scrubbed a little harder, not ready to face them to see the looks on their faces.

"I have two more," Stiles offered, because why not. "I got a silver arrow, with the Argent family motto that Allison came up with. Actually, Chris and I got matching tattoos of that."

The compassion and sadness through the bonds was getting suffocating and yet he appreciated it too because they weren't judging him. They knew that this was part of his healing process and they respected that, even if they couldn't relate to it themselves.

"You said four," Lydia spoke up after a moment and he could hear the frown. "I knew about those three. But only those. When did you get a fourth tattoo, Stiles."

Ah. Stiles grinned to himself as he turned around. "Not long before we left Beacon Hills. I figured, the others are all… tied to the past. It's time to look into the future."

Stiles actually startled a little when Derek growled, eyes flashing red. It put a flush on Stiles' cheeks. When he blinked, Derek was all of a sudden right in front of him. Stiles swallowed hard, because Derek was only a breath away and a large hand curled around Stiles' hip, just on top of the triskelion settled on his hip-bone. His heart jumped at the touch, the warmth.

"Mine," Derek whispered, yet that whisper was so forceful it vibrated in Stiles' heart.

A crooked, pleased grin spread over Stiles' lips as he tilted his head and rested a hand atop Derek's. "So, you finally ready to talk about the fact that I'm your mate, then?"

Startled gasps. Not because this was new information to them. Werewolves could smell mate-bonds on mated pairs, Stiles knew that. There was no way the pack didn't know. Derek was staring at him with wide, near fearful eyes, before backing off. A disappointed sigh escaped Stiles at that.

"C'mon, Sourwolf," Stiles' voice had a pleading edge. "I followed you all the way to England. I'm done waiting for you to figure out how to use your words."

"How…" Derek swallowed hard. "How did you figure it out, I…"

"Was being super obvious in your pining?" Stiles raised both eyebrows. "But also, like… I'm magic. I am a supernatural creature too. I can feel the mate-bond myself. Has… that not occurred to you? That me not being human might mean I might also feel the bond?"

Derek flushed at the pining comment, which looked too cute on the Alpha. But, seriously. Derek had gone from wanting to rip Stiles' throat out every time Stiles opened his mouth to being unbearably patient with Stiles even during stressful situations. They'd saved each other's lives so often. It had hurt, at first, when Derek had left, but Stiles also understood why the Hales wanted to leave Beacon Hills behind. Part of him just wished Derek had asked him to come with them. Yet another part of him was grateful Derek hadn't, because Stiles genuinely didn't know how he could have chosen between his mate and his dad. Now, he didn't have to choose anymore. Taking a step toward Derek, Stiles grabbed the Alpha's hand, pulling him closer.

"I get it," Stiles spoke softly. "We were stumbling from one disaster into the next, trauma after trauma, there was never really… time. But now there is. I'm here, you're here. I want…"

Stiles paused, suddenly feeling breathless with the force of emotions he was experiencing. "I want to be happy. I want to live and move on and I want to do all of that with you, Derek."

Lifting his free hand, he rested it on Derek's cheek, gently. The Alpha nuzzled into it, closing his eyes. Leaning in, feeling bolt, Stiles pressed a fleeting kiss against Derek's lips.

"I love you, Sourwolf," Stiles whispered. "And I'm done stepping back, letting my own life and the things I want take a backseat to what others may need or want from me. I want. I want you."

He spoke with all the love and passion he felt for the Alpha and he pushed as much of it through their bond. Bonds. The pack-bond, vibrating warm and gentle next to their mate-bond, a strong, thick tendril of sparkly red that pulsed with want and need, carnal and primal and infinite.

"I'm yours, Derek," Stiles bared his neck to the Alpha. "I'm your pack. I'm your mate. I'll be your Emissary, if you'll have me. I'll be anything you'll take. Please."

"You're everything, Stiles," Derek sounded near desperate, looking at Stiles with gentle eyes. "You're my everything. I always just… It was never the right time. It always felt like it would be unfair to tell you. Make you choose between me and Scott, between my pack and his, between here and Beacon Hills, between… us, and staying with your dad."

"Yeah, but… now I'm here. And I'm yours. And you're mine."

And it was that last word, spoken with all the possessiveness Stiles felt, that finally tipped Derek over into leaning down and kissing him fiercely and passionately. It would have been the perfect first kiss if Jackson wasn't making gagging noises in the background while Erica cheered and Boyd and Isaac argued about who owed whom money. But then that maybe made it even more perfect.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Sterek #Teen Wolf #Sterek Fic #Phoe's Fics #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Fic: London Calling #Stiles Summer Stories 2024

54 notes · View notes

fariesoiree · 6 months

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caution! mdni 13k wrdz, best friend's bother!hobie x black fem! reader, hobie is twenty one, reader is 19, small town in the country, everyone knows everyone, a very brief moment of angst, reader is jealous, misunderstanding troupe (?) but quickly resolved, crybaby reader, kitchen sex w/people in the house, unprotected sex, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus, p in v sex, unprotected sex, facial, cum eating, open ending

miffy's note! this took me like two weeks to write which is so much faster than every other fic i’ve written in a while. i knowwww she has a lot of words but she is my baby and I hope everyone loves her as much as I do. enjoy <3 pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

there’s a waxy smell in the freshly opened soda shop, one that reminds you of the shiny tiles that line the floor of the high school you graduated from, the high school most people graduated from.

highbury high, smack dab in the middle of highbury hills. it’s the only high school for miles, operating on a set curriculum and generic uniforms. fits right in with the small town vibe.

“do you know what you want?” your long-time friend, maise, glances over at you. she’s a darling thing, curly hair braided into pigtails and tied with two white ribbons. her arms are crossed over her stomach, clothed in a white tank top just barely cropped. “there’s so many options, i can’t decide.”

you sniff, eyes glazing over the yellow tinted menu. your tongue skims over your lips, getting a taste of the vanilla flavored lip gloss. “i dunno. i don’t even think i want anything. i’m too nervous, like i’m gonna throw up.”

maise’s deer shaped eyes find yours in sympathetic understanding. “aw, honey. it’ll be okay. it’s been years, now. i doubt he even remembers.” her hands massage the kinks out your tense shoulders in a tight grip. “you were a kid, anyway.”

“yeah, maybe.” you offer a small smile in return. you find you’re disinterested in the menu, stomach rolling in its queasiness for the anticipated scenario. “i still don’t think i want anything. i don’t think i could keep it down.”

maise just shrugs and orders a rootbeer float for herself. she gets your anxiety but she’s never been the best at helping you through your emotions, even more so when she can’t relate. maise doesn’t have an older brother, not one with an attractive best friend that she used to have a crush on as a child.

with the acrylic, milkshake cup settled between the fingers of your friend, you both move towards the booths surrounding the perimeter of the retro-styled shop.

it’s really, very cute. quaint with pop music softly wafting from the speakers and a red, white, and blue theme consistent throughout. america’s sweetheart is what this place is known as, although you prefer to think it’s talking about a better, more ethical version of the country.

“you have to admit it’s kind of exciting, though.” despite your claims, maise still pops a second straw into the float and settles the cup between you. “i mean, your brother and hobie are coming home today and you haven’t seen hobie in like, two years. the last time anyone saw him was on graduation day, right? and then he packed up and left town. and your brother! he kept contact this whole time and didn’t tell anyone? doesn’t that bother you a little bit?”

you wait until she’s retreated to grab the straw between your thumb and pointer finger and tap a long, drawn out sip. the sugary sweetness does nothing to quell your nerves but it gives you time to come up with a response. “mm, not really. hobie is quen’s friend. plus, everyone knew he was gonna skip town. he didn’t like it here and he made that very clear.”

although your words convey otherwise, there’s a small seed of discomfort in your tummy. it would have been nice to keep you in loop, especially since you were under the impression that you and hobie were somewhat acquainted with each other. after all, he’s been good friends with quentin since elementary school and has known you for just about the same amount of time.

“okay but you’re not even curious? not even a little?” maise tilts her head inquisitively, lips drawn in a pout. “hobie is coming home after being gone for two whole years and you don’t care at all.”

“i didn't say i don’t care, mai. i do care and it's nice that he’s stopping by for a visit but let’s be serious, it’s hobie. in all the years we’ve known him, when has he ever committed to anything?” you turn your gaze towards your baby pink nails, shiny and just long enough to clack against your phone when you text. “i don’t want you to get excited over a summer romance that hasn’t even happened and won’t happen. we’re friends and barely that. his loyalty is with quen.”

you can feel the change in the atmosphere the longer you sit in silence. you’re hesitant to look her in the eyes and find a sudden interest in the condensation trickling down the side of the glass.

“uh huh. so if you feel all of that, why are you nervous? you don’t like hobie anymore, and he owes you nothing. what’s the problem then?” she rests her cheek in the palm of her hand, supported by the elbow resting on the table.

instead of answering her question, your hand smacks down against the table. it echoes in the empty room, filled by only you two and mr. terry, the owner of the shop.

“you know what, i have to go. it’s almost three and quen should be home soon. you know how punctual he is.” you grab your purse and sling the strap over your shoulder.

“chicken!” maise points a finger at you. she’s glowing with a toothy grin while watching you prepare to bolt for the door. “you can’t avoid it forever, honey.”

you brush off her comment with a hug and a wave. “whatever. love you. i’ll call you tonight with the details, maybe. bye!”

you all but run out of the shop, white sundress blowing with the opposing force of your movement. it’s not quite three o’clock yet but leaving is better than letting maise interrogate you further. she’s a riot but she got you pinned up against the wall and there’s nothing fun about being forced to answer her questions and face the music you’ve been tuning out for weeks. at least now you’d have some time to freshen up before the great arrival.

by the time you’re finished primping and set the hot curler down to refresh your styled silk press, you can hear the engine of your brother's lexus rolling into the driveway.

you lean forward and tug the curtains back in a firm grip to peak out into the driveway. between you and quentin, you received the larger room with the connected bathroom and it offered a perfect view of the front yard. said view is particularly handy for times like these.

you watch the driver door pop open, breath hitched in your throat and refuse to make any movements until you get the answers you're looking for.

a polished sneaker makes its appearance and becomes stationed on the white pavement. a body follows, tall and stocky and unlike the statuesque frame you’re subconsciously excited about.

pushing yourself even more to your feet and across the expanse of your vanity, you flick the latch of your window until it clicks to signal its unlocked. you push it up with such force that it soars much farther than you anticipated but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

“quentin!” you yell from your bedroom with a wide smile and a vigorous wave at your older brother below you.

your voice gets his attention and he snaps his head in your direction. “ ☆ !” he mirrors your expression, arms open wide in a hug as if he expected you to fly down into his embrace. he bumps the car door closed with his side. “i’m coming up.”

quentin’s words don’t stop you from flinging your door open, running down the stairs, fingertips grazing the wooden railing as you go. to some it may seem odd to be so cheery over the reappearance of your sibling but he’s your best friend, a staple part of your life to which you’d be lost without. if you aren’t running to the front door to see him, then there’s clearly a problem.

he’s already in the entryway, though, and peeling off his jacket to hang in the coat closet. the pittering of your feet long alerted quentin of your presence so he’s not shocked when you’re throwing yourself at him. “jeez, girl. did you eat a whole cow? you’re strong as shit.” his arm comes to wrap around your back and become settled between your shoulder blades.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes in return and separate yourself from him. you give him a once over, from the two strand twists at the top of his head, across the gray nike tech, and to the pristine white laces of his shoes. “wow, you really don’t look like you belong here anymore. that’s crazy, quen. you’re all grown up.”

“yeah well,” he pushes the closet door closed, waiting for its creaking hinges to silence before continuing his sentence, “gotta get out of this town someday. not you, though. you can stay. it suits you.” quentin’s eyes are filled with a brotherly fondness while giving you a similar once over. “where’s ma?”

you follow him to the bathroom to watch him wash his hands. “at work. dad, too. told me to text them when you get home but, uh, where’s all your stuff?”

quentin flicks his wrists into the sink and side-steps you. he rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge and popping it open. “oh, it’s at hobie’s place. i figured i’d leave the extra shit there since he has his own crib. do you know what mom’s making for dinner?”

you’re still trailing behind him, now leaned against the countertop with your arms crossed over your chest. when you’re face to face with the source of your turmoil, it’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist. “so he really is back in town, huh.” it's not a question with the way you say it, staring at your fluffy sandals designated for wearing inside the house.

“mhm. forgot how talkative people here are. news spreads fast.” he pulls out a container of last night's leftovers and sets it beside you, already closing the fridge and moving on to find a plate. when his eyes find their way back to you, he’s surprised to see you glaring at him. “why are you looking at me like that?”

“because i’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me he was coming home. i get it if he didn’t want to draw attention to himself but it’s just me. i thought we were all cool.”

“we are all cool. it just slipped my mind, swear.” quentin bounces around the kitchen. he’s still engaged in your conversation though his sole focus is getting some food in his system but every now and then, he’ll glance at you while scooping fried rice onto a plate. “i didn’t intentionally not tell you. i just had a lot to do with the packing and the whole coming home thing. plus, you just finished your first year of college so i didn’t think you’d care so much. which you also still have to tell me how it went,” he puts the fork in his mouth and sticks the plate in the microwave.

“quentin,” you’re tempted to stomp your foot, no matter how childish it will come across.

“i didn’t exclude you on purpose, ☆ . i forgot and i’m sorry. next time, i’ll tell you as soon as i know.”

you’re somewhat pacified with his response, tossing his words over and over in your head until your concerns are soothed and the gloomy feeling dissipates. “fine but you have no idea what i had to go through with maise today. i swear she had all these theories and speculations about what its going to be like that i could have avoided if you told me.”

the microwave beeps, ringing its alarm that the timer has finished all throughout the kitchen. quentin is quick to take out his steaming plate and make his way towards the table with you still in tow. “oh, maise! how is she? i haven’t seen her in a minute.”

“she’s good. good grades, likes her college, majoring in child development. who cares, though. i want to know about hobie. it’s been two years.” you sit next to him, even going as far as pushing the chairs closer as if the topic needed it, as if hobie is a taboo subject.

“he’s great. he’ll be by later, said he wanted to stop by and see you and then he has to make his rounds.” quen shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. he’s eyeing his plate with an almost blank stare. you’re too close for him to feel comfortable looking at you, expectantly. as if he’s going to drop some big news about hobie’s return.

he's not an idiot. he knows, knew, about your crush on his best friend. it was obvious watching you go through all the childish phases, giggling to clinging onto to him to trying to play it cool. quentin has seen it all and he doesn’t think he can handle watching your excitement grow and dull when hobie ultimately makes his decision to leave. “he’s got that place he rents out when he’s not here. don’t know how long he plans on staying, though. when i asked, hobie said two months so i guess we’ll see.”

you’re blissfully unaware of the idea that quentin’s words are for your sanity, to calm the budding excitement as you gather strands of your hair between the tips of your fingers and stare at the freshly trimmed ends. “that’s nice. maybe he’ll come to the summer festival in a few days.”

that elicits a scoff out of your brother. “fat chance. hobie brown? he’s not showing his face at those things. he thinks they’re capitalistic holidays that prey on children. personally, i think he just really hates this town and is coming up with a bullshit excuse not to go.”

you let the bundle of hair between your fingers go and it drops back towards your shoulder in a soft heap. “did he say that or are you speaking for him?”

“he doesn’t have to say it, stupid. i just know.” quentin points his fork at you, flinging grains of cooked rice in your direction. despite the gross reaction that flashes across your face, all he does is laugh. genuine laughter with his head tilted back, clearly delighted to have bothered his dear sister. “it was an accident. i didn’t mean to.”

“get away from me.” you scrunch your face in disgust and shove the chair away from the table. it screeches against the floorboards with each movement. “you don’t point your fork at someone, dumbass. that’s fucking gross.” you say as you rise to your feet and make your exit, rolling your eyes on the way out.

it’s futile to pretend you aren’t looking forward to hobie pulling into the driveway. behind the closed door of your room, you barely watch the virgin suicides. the volume to the movie is turned down so low, you can almost hear your neighbor’s dog trotting on the pavement enjoying its walk. you’ve even gone as far as to open your window just in case you’d be too preoccupied to hear him as is.

you haven’t bothered to change out of the pretty dress, wanting to give off the best first impression you possibly could. after all these years have passed, it’s nearly critical that hobie sees you as you are, an adult. not because you still harbor feelings for him, but because that’s what you are now. you’re all grown up, just as he is.

quentin’s asleep in his room and offering you no answers as to when his friend is actually arriving nor did he request you to wake up when he does so. it’s only right to assume he’d rather stay asleep when hobie arrives then, isn’t it? especially after such a long trip.

hence why when the sound of hobie’s motorcycle reverberates through the glass pane of your window, you roll off your bed and to your feet with a sudden quickness. contrary to the excitement you greeted your brother with from your upstairs bedroom, you close the window the moment you reach it.

as soon as the white latch clinks shut, you’re flying out the door and down the stairs. the tips of your fingers graze the railing, only truly grasping it when you find yourself losing your balance at the speed you’re moving. if only maise could see you now.

you pull the front door open before hobie has a chance to ring the doorbell with such force, he flinches. there’s still a finger hanging in the air, adorned in silver rings and what seems to be a hand tattoo. that same hand is connected to a body, just as tall as you remember. your eyes trail as far as his shoulders, gaze already tilted upwards and too nervous to continue. it never occurred to you what being face to face with hobie would mean, would entail.

you didn’t think about him and his pine scent, paired with the natural musk of being outside. not once did you even think about the possible changes he’d go through within the past two years. even without looking at his face, you can already point out differences. he’s leaner, more muscles protruding from his tank top. grungier too, with dark wash baggy jorts sitting so low on his waist, you can see the calvin klein boxers peeking through the bottom. if you thought seeing hobie show off his toned stomach was a lot, the sight of the ink on his arm has you at a loss for words. a full sleeve of various line art and doodles.

you’re sick to your stomach.

“you’re back in town!” you finally gain the courage to look him in his eyes and nearly fall to your knees. “and you pierced your face!” your eyes dart between the nose piercing, the lip piercing, and the eyebrow piercing. slowly, you soak it all in, including the shoulder length locs tied into a ponytail. only after all of that do you look him in his eyes, filled with the same warmth and wonder as they were two years ago.

“ ☆ !” hobie’s face lights up with the same childlike glee as before, too. it’s like nothing has changed when he throws his arms around you to envelop you into a tight hug. “you noticed, did you?” he chuckles, deep and smooth right in your ear. unfortunately for you, it sends spirals into your stomach.

“do you like them? i want to get my tongue pierced this summer, too.” he finally pulls away and reveals his toothy grin, full of dazzling white teeth that can only come from regularly visiting a dentist. “but how have you been? i haven’t seen you in forever. you’re so . . .” he gives you his own once-over, much shorter than the one you gave him, “not a little kid anymore.”

you aren’t too sure what to make of that but you step aside anyway to welcome him into your home. suddenly, you’re far more nervous than you were at the mere thought of hobie coming over. he was intimidating just as a concept but in person? he’s even worse. he’s too pretty and composed. “i’m so not a little kid anymore?” you try to offset your awkwardness by turning the situation back to him.

“yeah. i mean, you look nice, ☆ .” hobie stands with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile. there’s not one ounce of embarrassment or hesitation written on his face. however, it oozes out of you. “so, where’s your brother at? he’s supposed to be going around town with me. it makes it less weird if we’re both there.”

“oh, quen fell asleep a few minutes ago.” you say with your back to hobie, disguising your reluctance as a sudden interest in turning the lock rather slowly. “you’re welcome to wait until he wakes up but he’s out cold.”

hobie clicks his tongue with a sigh, eyeing the walls of your childhood home. it’s still lined with the same family portraits and kindergarten crafts. there’s even his own graduation picture on the mantle, sandwiched between yours and quentin’s. he snorts at the sight, dressed in the same black graduation cap and gown but missing some of the cords adorned by the others. not only was hobie not too involved in the community, but he merely did what he had to in school with the exception of a few clubs and hobbies. “no, he’ll probably be knocked for a while. i’ll just do it later, i guess.”

you nod, hugging yourself in a tight grip. your act to self soothe during your one-on-one isn’t very effective. the air feels thick with tension. you have the impression that it’s one-sided because hobie turns to face you.

“how about you come with me instead? we can ride around and go to that one park we used to go to as kids.”

for a moment, your heart drops to your feet. staring into his eyes does nothing good for your nervous system. as much as you attempted to convince both maise and yourself that you harbor no feelings towards hobie at all, everything in you is screaming otherwise.

your eyes settle on the floorboards and you sniff. “i don’t know. i don’t think i’d feel comfortable on your bike. don’t you have to wear gear and stuff?”

“well, yeah i’m supposed to.” he shrugs. his head is tilted to one side. “i don’t, though. not here at least. if i’m on the highway or in a big city then yeah but not here. nothing ever happens here.” parts of the hobie you subconsciously fear appear as a shadow on his face. the corners of his mouth twitch downwards and his eyes become clouded, but only for a second. “we can take your car if you’d like. i saw it in the driveway. it’s cute.”

he’s referring to the little volkswagen beetle parked just outside with a tan exterior and a decorated interior. it’s full of flower vent clips, pink seat covers, and scented with gain car air freshener.

“um,” you busy yourself by smoothing your hands over the skirt of your dress. suddenly, you’re reflecting on the fact that you are somewhat dressed up. sure, you curl your hair and wear cute dresses on the regular but never have you worn a cute dress, curled your hair, waited for someone to come over, and beat them to the door before they could announce their arrival. “sure. i guess we can do that. i don’t want you to think you have to, though. you came for quentin and he’s asleep so don’t force yourself.”

you’re surprised when hobie laughs, nose wrinkling with genuine enjoyment. he shakes his head and places his hand on your shoulder. it engulfs your skin like a warm blanket and gives you a squeeze. “never change, okay? you’re so sweet. get your keys and let’s go.”

there’s a strawberry field just across the park guarded by a wire fence. some kids gather around the edges and pluck the berries off the overgrown branches that poke just close enough for them to reach with their little fingers.

the breeze carries the sounds of high-pitched laughter and squeals from the children running about. with school just recently letting out, the park is well occupied. it’s a surprise to no one to see a crowd of elementary schoolers running around the slides and pushing each other on the swing.

you sit at a bench. the metal is warmed from the sunlight beaming down. you have your phone in your hand, pumping out back to back texts to maise filled with terrible grammar and even worse spelling. to say you're panicked would be an understatement. you’re more than panicked. you feel so wrong about being here, more or less alone with your brother’s best friend. the same best friend that you’ve had the biggest crush on for years, only for him to disappear and for you to assume everything you’ve ever felt and thought would be gone with him. the same best friend who’s return brought back the juvenile feelings from your youth.

he’s gone to the ice cream truck parked in the parking lot to buy you both popsicles and therefore, giving you about five minutes to figure out your game plan. maise is no help. most her texts consist of “i told you so” and laughing at your inevitable demise. you feel just about ready to melt into the pavement and through your phone across the park, in no particular order. your nails just might break your screen with the amount of force between each push.

“are you mad at someone?”

you're quick to turn your phone off in the amount of time it takes for you to look up at hobie, standing in front of you with two popsicles, one in each hand. “huh? oh, no. it’s just maise. she’s being so stupid.” the frustration has yet to dissipate and your face shows it, huffing a breath of annoyance. “you’d think you ask someone for advice and they’d actually give it to you instead of making fun of you.”

“mm,” hobie has a seat next to you. he hands you the powerpuff girls popsicle, very obviously supposed to be styled after bubbles. its still in it’s wrapper and it’s a good thing at that. already the popsicle began to get a little soft in the summer heat. “advice about what?” he, himself, holds one of those spongebob ones that never come out right. for a moment, you consider that perhaps he’s reminiscing about the days where you, quentin, and hobie would run out at the sound of the ice cream truck and get the silly cartoon popsicles, only to compare who’s looks the worst.

“oh, just about my classes. i don’t know if i want to take one of my electives or not.” you spit out the lie faster than you can really process it. you peel the wrapper off the popsicle and stick it in your mouth to give you an excuse not to speak.

“i definitely can’t help you with that. i didn’t go to college so i really wouldn’t know.” for a brief moment, hobie finds humor in the distorted face of his spongebob popsicle before taking a small bite of the cold corner. “what’s it like? do you like it?”

the question makes you sigh. there really is no response you can give him that would push the conversation forward, especially when you have been asked the very same thing so many times by almost every adult in your life. “um, it’s okay. it’s hard, y’know, to find the motivation to make myself go to class and there’s always some sort of drama going on between someone and someone else.” you reminisce on the boy and friend drama you’ve both witnessed and experienced from a bittersweet perspective.

hobie nods, watching a group of giggling ten year olds run by. they seem to be participating in a game of tag, their cheeks rosy and eyes glistening with what can only be found in childhood. “can’t believe you’re in college now. that used to be us, playing at the park and then going to your house to have dinner.”

you don’t mention that hobie didn’t come to your graduation. instead, you kick a rock by your foot and change the topic of the conversation. “so, if you don't go to college, what do you do?”

“i’m a server at a restaurant. it makes pretty good money, actually. i can afford a one bedroom apartment in the city so i don’t mind. i’m in a band now too and sometimes i make stuff to sell.” he pulls out his phone for a split second to check the notification that vibrated in his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

you’re grateful that he doesn’t outright tell you what he makes so you’re able to participate in the conversation and ask him, “what kind of stuff?”

“oh, like paintings, crochet stuff, stuff like that. arts and crafts that people like to buy. it does pretty well since that kind of thing is trending.”

the conversation falls a bit flat after that. you fault yourself, too self conscious to relax around him. a part of you is overjoyed to have him back and another part of you feels like a neglected afterthought. all this time, hobie was doing just fine. he was living his life and choosing who to keep contact with. it hurts your heart that he didn’t consider you at all but is so comfortable with returning and acting like nothing has changed. perhaps he didn’t take you as seriously as you would like.

“oh, that’s cool.” you try not to sound too sour when you say it. “it’s great that you made a life you enjoy.” you watch a blue drop of melted popsicle roll down and drip onto the white plastic gripped between your fingers. gravity continues to pull the droplet down towards the stick and it stains the wood blue.

hobie glances at you, eyebrows knitted together. he takes in your expression and the subtext behind it. it’s obvious what he’s doing behind his scrutinizing gaze. “yeah? you can be honest. you know that, right?”

“mhm,” you nod with a hum. you’re not interested in engaging any further with the topic. instead, you eye a ladybug crawling on the bench armrest. it’s not like you planned on discussing your deep emotional feelings with him anyway, especially not here. “i’m happy for you, really.”

you can still feel hobie’s eyes boring into the side of your face but the feeling does nothing to capture your attention and turn your head back towards him. instead, you nearly praise whatever higher power caused your conversation to be interrupted by an onlooker.

“oh my gosh, hobie brown!”

you both turn your head to the perpetrator. hobie is just as surprised as you are to see magnolia, from high school, walking up to you both. you don’t know her very well considering she was in the same graduating class as your brother but you’re aware of her.

truthfully, you’ve never liked her very much during your younger years. you despised the way she’d cling onto hobie and quentin, often forcing her way into their circle. at least, you’d consider it forcing. quentin always told you not to worry about it.

here she is again, forcing herself into your hangout with your supposed friend who’s there with you. she’s grinning as she walks up to you both, hands planted on her waist. you so badly want to judge her for her outfit choice but you know you can’t. it’s not like you don’t know what type of person magnolia is and how much she pushes the social standards most people operate with. still, something vile twists inside you and even more so when you catch hobie’s eyes wandering across her body.

that is also no surprise because you know their history. of course hobie wouldn’t be able to deny himself from staring at magnolia like this when she’s wearing daisy dukes, a tiny shirt, and so ready to reopen the book of their past.

“look at you. can’t believe you didn’t come by the moment you got back,” she teasingly smacks his arm with a tinkling laugh. her eyes briefly drift to your direction and she smiles out of politeness. “oh hey, sugar. tell your brother i said hi, would you?”

you nod and pull your lips tight. suddenly, what interest you did have died a painful death and you turn back to the ladybug as your only comfort. unfortunately, that too is gone and you’re left with nothing but the ability to listen in on a conversation you want nothing to do with.

“aw, maggie. don’t worry, i’m still planning on it. you’ll get a very special and personal visit, just for you.”

“promise?”

you nearly choke, face scrunching up in disgust. you’re not five and can read between the very obvious lines. you feel the need to remind them that you are quite literally right there and swallow the green monster making a nice home in your heart. “i don’t mean to interrupt but i have to get home and get ready for dinner. do you want me to give you a ride, hobie, or are you good?”

you try to hide your disappointment before hobie can say anything. you can tell by his hesitation and expression what decision he’s going to make, glancing between both you and magnolia. he’s going to spend some quality time with her. “i think i’m good but you should get back. drive safe, okay? text me when you get home.”

“okay. then, i’ll see you later.” you rise to your feet and dig your hand into your purse, searching for the keys to your car. “bye magnolia. it was nice seeing you again.” her words of the returned gesture fall on deaf ears as you turn and head back to the parking lot. there’s a frown etched on your face and you dump the mostly-eaten popsicle into the trash.

it never crossed your mind that you’re not the only one who is looking forward to hobie back around. you’ve been so used to viewing yourself as the center of the universe that not once did you think about literally anyone else who has been involved in hobie’s past.

you pull the door open of your car and get inside, staring out of the windshield. you feel so teenage girl romcom movie but you don’t know what to do about it. one half of you wants to sob and rot in your bed and claim your heart is broken and the other part of you just wants to go home, eat dinner, and call maise.

you sit there like that for a few minutes before eventually turning on your car and starting the drive home. sza blares through the radio and is your only solace on your lonely drive home.

“no! and then she just shows up and takes him?” maise pulls out two small boxes of sour patch kids out of the plastic grocery bags on the counter. her eyes are wide and she’s hanging on to every part of your story.

it’s been about a week and a half since that time in the park with hobie and you’re still reveling in the emotions of it. you have yet to make a decision on how to conduct yourself around him and as a result, have begun to avoid him. you find it’s better not to be near him at all than to stand there and know that he wanted you to leave him so he could probably have mind blowing sex with his small-town fling.

“she just walks right over and he basically starts drooling.” you’re also unloading various snacks and a liter of soda from the grocery bags. tonight, you both plan to watch movies and eat junk food until your tummies are threatening to burst and you’re both ready to pass out from exhaustion. “i’m so stupid. i should have known. we weren’t even in the same crowd back then. why did i think anything would be different now?”

maise pities you just a bit. she sympathetically presses her lips into a pouty frown and reaches over the counter to grab your hand. “poor baby. in your defense, you have more of a southern belle, sweetest girl in town thing going for you and hobie is the exact opposite. it makes sense why he’d go for magnolia. you two have nothing in common and you’re virtually inexperienced.”

“i have experience!” you begin to pile the various snacks into the bin you brought down from your room just for the special occasion. “i have plenty of experience.”

“you had one situationship for half of your first year of college that treated you like shit. that’s not experience, babe. that’s trauma.”

you whip your head to give maise a pointed glare at bringing up what you’re trying so hard to forget. that chapter of your life is over and it died the moment the academic year ended. “okay but the point is, i am not a baby and i bet i could fuck just as good as she can. he just sees me as a little girl and i can never change that.”

“so what are you going to do?” your friend leans against the counter on the opposing side of you. she crosses her arms over her chest after adjusting her black leggings as they have risen above her ankles.

“nothing,” you say with a sigh. you grab the basket and hoist it onto your hips. “like i said, he sees me as a child. i’m just going to do what i’ve been doing, nothing. ignore him. just keep my distance until he goes home and forget all about him.”

what you don’t tell maise is that magnolia isn’t the only one. sometimes, the habits from your childhood return and you sit yourself at quentin’s door with your ear pressed up against the wood. you listen to his conversations with hobie, sometimes on the phone and sometimes in person, about his recent endeavors with the locals in town. so far, there has been at least one other girl since magnolia. whether he bounces between spending his nights with the two, you’re unsure and you don’t think you even want to know.

maise begins to open her mouth to say something but snaps it shut at the sound of the front door opening. there’s an irregular pattern that comes from two people coming through the door and for a moment, your face flashes with panic.

“i’m beginning to hate going out with you. every single time there’s always some girl ready to — oh hey.” quentin stops in the middle of his sentence as soon as he spots you standing in the kitchen. he jumps a bit, not having expected to see both you girls watching him walk into the house. “what are you doing here, maise?”

“we’re having a movie night.”she rises to standing and positions herself at your side.

“the sun is still out.” quentin lifts a finger to point to the window with the blinds open. sunlight streams through the trees of your backyard and reaches the living room.

“yeah. we just came back from the store and now we’re pregaming by talking shit.” she throws an arm around your shoulder, taking notice of your silence and lack of movement. it’s almost like you’re not breathing and it’s definitely because hobie is standing right there in all his glory, smiling right at you. maise using her grip on you to subtly nudge some sort of humanity back in you.

“anyway,” you clear your throat and take a sudden interest in reorganizing the bin of snacks, “we’re going to get going. we have a lot of girl stuff to talk about so see you later.” you take maise’s hand and take the lead in walking past the two and up the stairs of your house. you don’t miss the quizzical looks from both men at your hastiness to get out of being around them.

frankly, this isn’t the first time you’ve made a bolt to get out of being in the same room as them, but only when hobie is around. however, no one makes a move to question it and lets you do as you please. to quentin, it’s a sign you’re no longer hung up over his best friend and is far better than getting your hopes up for nothing. to hobie, you’re abhorrently avoiding him for some reason and he can’t stand it at all.

it makes him antsy, as if there’s some big impending doom coming that he won’t be able to stop. it makes him uncomfortable to see you get along so well with others and flee the moment he steps into the room and oddly enough, it’s only ever started happening since that one day. was it something he said or did? surely it can’t be because he didn’t accompany you back home. after all, you did text him to let him know you made it safely like he requested so he thought everything was fine. what is going on with you?

it’s somewhere between the hours of two and three am when you make the decision to trek downstairs for a cold glass of water. maise had fallen asleep on the left side of your bed a half hour ago and you had beaten her. you won by staying out longer than she did and decide to reward yourself with a neutral drink to wash the syrupy taste out your mouth.

the house feels awfully cold during such hours of the night and you regret leaving the warmth of your room in your oversized shirt and little pink shorts. both of your parents came home hours ago, wished you a fun night and retired to their beds in preparation for work the next day. you’re assuming no one else is awake with the only other options being quentin and hobie, if hobie is even here.

you sniff and rub your hands along your arms as you round the corner and enter the catch. in the darkness of night and with your squinting eyes, you use what spatial awareness you have to guide your way to the glasses in the cabinet.

you just manage to wrap your fingers around it before there’s some sort of shuffling behind you. you’re unnerved, almost dropping the glass in the time it takes you to look over your shoulder at the perpetrator. “hello?” you try to make out the form in the dark and find purchase in the knife drawer in front of you.

“it’s just me.” the voice is gruff and familiar and washes over you like a relaxing wave of warm water. “sorry, i wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“hobie?” you lean towards him to make out his figure in the shadows. the moonlight does little to aid in visibility. there is only a pale light struggling to come through the window. you have to reach over and turn on the stove light just to see him since your eyes have yet to adjust. “i thought you went home?”

“i did. i went to see my parents and it went just about as well as i thought.” hobie takes a seat at the bar stools behind the aisle. he seems strained, running his hand over his face with a sigh. “so i came back because i like it here more.”

“why didn’t you just go to your own house?” you feel a little underdressed in your attire all of the sudden. sure, you are preparing to go to sleep and in the comfort of your own house but you’d hate to give off the impression that you’re walking around without pants on.

“because i like it here more. pretty sure i said that,” now he’s rubbing his eyes, sitting up to lean against the back of the chair. “if you’re getting a glass of water, can you get me one too?” hobie’s lips turn up into a small, sad smile. his eyes look tired, worn out from whatever went down at his parents’ house.

you forgot all about the glass in your hand, looking down at it as if it’s appeared from the ether. “oh, you can just have mine. i’m probably going to go back to bed.” you’re still dead set on ignoring hobie. for one, it makes it so much easier to get used to the feeling of disappointment that he doesn’t see you when you literally don’t have to see him. not to mention, it’s difficult enough to look him in his eyes but to be alone with him and look him in the eyes? you have to go.

you set the glass down on the island and slide it over to him, prepared to take a quick and silent walk back to the safety of your room and your best friend asleep on your bed. “goodnight, hobie.”

you don’t make it very far before hobie is speaking to you, again. his gaze is following your attempt at escaping him and it’s annoying him that this is probably the thousandth time you’ve evaded him. “what is up with you? i’m clearly going through something and would benefit from talking about it with someone. i literally just left your house and showed up again and you’re not even going to ask me how i got in?”

you try to not huff when you turn to face him with an eyebrow quirked. “what are you talking about?” you clench your hands into small fists, only to flex them and release what tension you carry.

“what am i talking about? you speak like, five words to me now. i don’t know what i did to make this happen and i’m sorry but you’re literally avoiding me. you came down here for what, a glass of water? you gave me yours before you even got one and now you’re going back upstairs so you don’t have to talk to me. what did i do?”

you shake your head at his words. he’s not wrong. you have been avoiding him and looking for any way out not to speak or be around him more than you need to. still, hobie doesn’t have to bring it up. he shouldn't have brought it up. what are you going to do now? “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. i haven’t done anything to avoid you. i just don’t want water anymore and i want to go back to sleep.”

hobie presses his lips together. he’s doing his best not to stare at you with hardened eyes so he turns away, looking at the countertop instead. his frustration is palpable but he’s sensible enough to restrain himself, to keep himself from turning it into an argument. “okay, go to sleep then. goodnight.” he taps his nails against the side of the glass, listening to the little plinks ro distract himself from the unrest in his soul.

you stand there, staring at the back of hobie’s head even though he’s dismissed you. you’re free to go with no repercussions but the guilt from doing so while knowing he wanted to talk about whatever is plaguing him is too much to handle. “oh my god, fine. what is it? what happened at your parents'?”

your feet drag all the way towards the island and you sit on the bench beside him. you rest your hands in your lap and stare at the numbers reading back the time on the stove. they’re green and a great source of something to look at that isn’t hobie.

“no, it’s okay. you don’t want to hear about my problems because it’s such an inconvenience to you. i’m just going to sit here and mope, maybe cry, and go home.”

“don’t piss me off.” you tsk, picking a strand of string off your shirt. your eyes cut to him in a sideways glare, urging him to talk and quickly before you change your mind. “what’s wrong? what happened?”

hobie pokes his cheek with his tongue. he stares at the ceiling before slowly closing his eyes. “i dunno, man. it was so bad. they think i’m a disappointment or somethin’. it’s written all over their faces.”

“that’s not true. they probably were just overwhelmed that you came home.” you do your best to reassure him but even you know that’s probably a lie. hobie’s parents disapprove of him, everyone knows it. they’re embarrassed their only son turned out to be some sort of punk neanderthal and actively denounce him in public.

“don’t kid yourself, dove. my parents hate me and you know it. we all know it. i went over and they practically screamed it in my face. we had dinner for five seconds and got into a screamin’ match about how i let everyone down by runnin’ wild in the streets.” he’s squinting now. “when have i ever run wild in the streets?”

you can only shrug, unable to give him a response. you don’t know what to say to him. there is no denying what he experienced. all you can do is listen and shrug. “i’m sorry about that. you’re not a disappointment. they just can’t understand why they like it here so much and why you don’t. that can’t be easy to understand.”

“yeah well, i’ll get over it. i’ll just stay away from them and they can stay away from me and we can all pretend we aren’t related.” hobie doesn’t sound bitter, he sounds defeated. he sounds like he’s been down this road many times before and expected an outcome no different than before. however, it’s only natural for a child to wish for their parents to understand them. “anyway . . .,” his head lolls to the side until he’s looking at you, staring at you, “why are you avoiding’ me?”

your lips curl into themselves and you feel the need to excuse yourself. “i’m not avoiding you. if you’re done with your rant, i’m going to go to sleep now.” you go to rise to your feet but your attempt is short-lived when hobie catches you with his hands on your shoulders.

“yes, you are. look. you’re trying to do it right now. you’re tryin’ to leave because i’m confrontin’ you about it. i’m not going to stop pressin’ you about it until you tell me.”

one look in his eyes and you can tell he’s serious. hobie has caught you alone in the dead of night. he’s got you face-to-face and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it but lie or tell the truth, neither of which would work here.

“i’m not avoiding you, hobie. i just –,” you avert your gaze until you’re looking at literally anything else, “– i just think it’s best if we keep a distance and remain cordial. we don’t have to be friends because you're friends with quentin. you don’t have to feel like you have to be friends with me.”

“what?” the man lets you go. his arms drop back into his lap and he’s looking at you as if you’ve just proclaimed your undying love for present day denzel washington. “where is this coming from? you’ve always been a friend of mine. we grew up together. just because i’m closer to quentin doesn’t mean we aren’t close at all.”

you rack your brain to find a way around the real reason by cherry picking the words until they form a sentence that makes sense. “well, yes but i’m not like you. i don’t think there’s anything you – i just – we aren’t the same. we’re in very different crowds and i don’t want you to force yourself to get along with me.”

“okay, we’re in different crowds. what’s that supposed to mean? i’m friends with you because you are different from me. if i didn’t want to be around you or anyone who isn’t the exact same as me, i wouldn’t have come home. you’ve never been insecure about our friendship before so what’s going on?”

you’ve just about reached the end of the line. you’re frazzled and unable to keep pumping out excuses. he’s just going to disprove every single one and deny you a reason to run away. he doesn’t get it and he won’t get it. there’s only one option left to do. every ounce of your soul is screaming at you not to, already burning from the humiliation but as far as you’re concerned, you have no other option. “you don’t get it. jeez, hobie, you’re so stupid. obviously, i’m avoiding you because i have feelings for you and you don’t feel the same. i don’t want to be around you when i know you’re just going to go out and fuck every girl in town.”

your little spiel is followed by silence. while what weight was lifted off your chest, your hands are beginning to sweat from the anxiousness. still, you’ve already said it and you can’t back down so you sit firm in your decision. your eyes still begin to water from the overwhelming emotion that comes with speaking your mind like that and being met with absolutely nothing.

finally, hobie tilts his head. “fuck every girl in town? what are you talking about? is that what people are saying about me?”

you burst into tears, partly because you took that as rejection and partly because you think he doesn’t care. he just brushed off everything you said to talk about his sexual endeavors. “you’re so mean. you’re so mean and you hate me and you want me to die,” you blubber through a watery gargle. your hands are unable to keep up with the tears that stream down your face. by the time you brush one away, there’s another one that takes its place.

“oh my god.” hobie’s eyes widened in shock at your immediate reaction. it happened faster than he can blink and he’s terrified that someone is going to wake up, find you crying, and blame it all on him. “why are you crying?” he pulls you into an embrace, tucking your head beneath his chin and into his chest. despite what many would think, his skin is awfully warm to the touch and it would have been comforting if he didn’t stomp on your heart.

“because i just spilled my deepest, darkest secret to you and you don’t care. you’re bragging about how many times you got laid instead of having human emotions.” you only sob louder as he runs his fingers along your spine in what’s supposed to be a soothing manner.

“i’m not bragging about anything. i haven’t even fucked anyone since i’ve been here. where are you getting your information from?” hobie can’t decide whether or not he’s concerned or humored. he lifts your head, but only briefly, to wipe the tears on your cheeks. the moment he sees your lip tremble, he allows you to go back into the comfort of hiding against him.

“i don’t have to get my information from someone. i just know. you literally left me for magnolia and i know that you’ve been seeing some other girl. plus, quen was saying something about every girl and you when you walked in.” your words are muffled in his shirt. you feel a little guilty because of how wet it is but then you think about how hobie wronged you and wish you soaked it with your sobs.

“okay, first of all, i did not fuck magnolia. i’d have to bash my head with a brick to consider doing that. second of all, i’m not seeing anyone. i’m trying to get a temporary job while i’m still here and i have to suck up to the manager because she doesn’t like me. and why is it my fault that people like me? i can’t stop them from liking me and i can’t stop someone else from talking about it. you’ve misunderstood every single thing and now you’re yelling at me.”

you sniffle and tilt your head up. there is suspicion and doubt written all over your face. “so if you don’t like magnolia like that, then why were you looking at her like that? like you were thinking about taking her clothes off.”

hobie reels his head back, giving you a similar mystified expression. “girl, what are you talking about? if i was looking at her any sort of way it was probably because she was standing in front of the actual sun and I couldn't see. i wear contacts and i forgot to put them in. you know i wear contacts so now i’m confused.”

for a moment, you don’t say anything. you sit there and replay his explanations over and over again, searching for any holes in his story. you slowly run your tongue over your lip as the embarrassment slowly sets in. he’s right, he does wear contacts. he got them senior year of high school and you suppose you just forgot. you forgot and cried and went on him for no reason.

hobie watches you come to the realization. he can tell it’s dawning on you when your face relaxes and forms into one of mortification. this is where he decides it’s humorous to him. it’s even more hilarious when he adds the cherry on top. “and your deepest, darkest secret? i already knew. it’s not really a secret if everyone knows.”

that brings you an entire new wave of waterworks but instead, they build and build in your waterline until they eventually spill over in an occasional spill. “so you knew this whole time and let me embarrass myself? and you’re rejecting me?”

hobie reaches off and tears a paper towel square off the roll. he shakes his head, bending the square into a smaller one. he uses it to dab your cheek with a tut of his tongue. “you have to stop crying. i can’t talk to you when you’re refusing to listen to me. at least cry silently or ask questions that i can actually answer.”

“no,” you take the square from his fingers. really, you snatch it and use it to clean your dribbling nose. “i’m so mad at you. i don’t want to talk anymore.” you take this chance to get off the bar stool and move towards the trash can. you’re still sniffling and occasionally gasping for air while you clean yourself up. “you knew this entire time and didn’t say anything? i’d rather you turn me down from the beginning than give me this false sense of security. you led me on.”

“no. no, i didn’t.” hobie watches you rinse your face with water. hearing his denial just makes you angrier.

“yes you did. you knew and you said nothing.”

“no i did not. you didn’t even ask me –”

“i don’t have to ask you because i already know. you’re the worst person alive and you only care about yourself –”

“ ☆ , listen. you’ve been assuming things for weeks and look where that got you. just, stop talking and let me speak, please.” his firm tone knocks any thought out of your brain and gets you to tighten up, real quick.

you look over your shoulder, not yet ready to look at him but finally ready to accept that you just might be wrong. you lift the neckline of your shirt over your face and use it as a method to dry it.

“in order for me to have led you on, you’d have to actually confess your feelings to me. at what point do you think i should have just walked up to you and say ‘hey, i know you have feelings for me that you aren’t ready to talk about yet but i just wanted to let you know that i’m not interested’? why do you assume that i don’t feel anything towards you, anyway? maybe i do but i don’t say anything because i know it’s not going to work. let’s think about it, i rarely ever come into town. you love town. at what point would i ever come along and see you?”

“you would get your ass on your bike and drive here like you did this time,” you mumble under your breath. you stand by the sink for a moment to gather your thoughts. you’re gaining clarity through the fog but now you’re drained. you’re tired and you don’t have the energy to feel displeased over whatever he has to say. it doesn’t matter what he has to say because in the end, it’s all going to be a no. “but whatever you say. we don’t work, okay. you’re leaving soon, okay. if that’s all, i’d like to go to bed now.”

“are you mad at me?” he asks from behind you, softly. he almost purrs it and it tugs at your will. you want so badly to let him in but he doesn’t want that and so you must persevere.

you shake your head with a breath. “no. i’m not mad at you. you’re entitled to your own opinion.” you put on the blankest expression you can manage and turn to face him. you cross your arms over your chest and manage to maintain what little composure you have.

he quips a brow at you, obviously not believing your claim and even more so when you don’t say anything to confirm it. “come here for a second.”

you shift your weight until your weight is all on your right side and your hip is popped. “hobie . . .”

“just for a second,” he outstretched his hand as an offer for you.

reluctantly, you take it and give no resistance when hobie pulls you into his personal space. his hands find your cheeks and squish them together until your lips are forced into a pout. “be honest with me, baby. are you mad at me?”

he doesn’t act surprised when you pause before nodding in response. “are you still going to be mad at me if i kiss you?”

hobie watches the thought go through your mind. you consider it and the consequences that come with it. it’s going to be a meaningless kiss because hobie has drawn the line. he can’t be attached to anything from this town and you know that. still, it’s an incredible opportunity to just pass up because of morality.

you shake your head.

hobie’s lips are soft against yours. there’s a subtly sweet taste but it’s possible you’re high off oxytocin. again, you clench your hands into fists but this time it’s to restrain yourself from holding onto him and pulling him tighter. you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s a meaningless kiss.

it’s even harder to maintain that thought when hobie’s mouth fits so perfectly against yours. he doesn’t move his hands from your cheeks but the kiss grows heated, regardless. his tongue, wet and warm, runs over the expanse of your bottom lip before worming its way into your mouth.

you mewl when it finds yours and sucks. you have to tuck your hands behind your back to hold onto your composure. your feet betray you, though, by bringing you even closer into him and in turn, into his lips.

“are you done cryin’?” he kisses the corner of your mouth and jumps to the skin along your jawline. like before, he kisses and sucks the trail of skin from there to your neck. “because it wouldn’t be right if i just left you here.”

you squirm in your spot and do your best to conceal the whines that threaten to bubble up out of your throat. “hobie, you said – you –” you finally rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in is getting more and more convincing with each passing second.

“what did i say?” he pauses his ministrations to catch his breath and give you a second to find yours. he isn’t sure how the conversation took this turn but he isn’t complaining. if anything, he’s hoping it’ll never end.

you stare at him in the yellow light from the stove. there’s still a chill in the air but you’re buzzed with need. suddenly, you’re hot. it’s sweltering even without the heat being on. you need to find a solution to your lust and quick. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back into you, deciding the solution right there in the moment.

your lips crash against each other with a burning passion. hobie stands up out of the bar stool, his hands circling around your waist. he takes steps forward and forces you back against the counter across from you. you don’t mind, entangling your hands within his scalp. you’re willing to let him do whatever he wants to you and it shows.

hobie turns you around and presses his hardening cock against the plumpness of your ass. you gasp at the feeling of him rutting against you with his breath fanning over your shoulder, warm and sticky. there’s something that takes over, a horny little monster that throws all your inhibitions out the window. you’re equally as turned on, rolling your hips back on his in tandem with him.

“fuck, okay. don’t get too loud.” he whispers under the sound of the fabrics moving together. out of he corner of your eye, you barely get a glimpse of him shoving his fingers in his mouth before sliding underneath your clothing. he pulls your shirt up in a balled up fist and watches his hand disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts and elastic of your panties.

they waste no time finding your clit, sticky and growing swollen from your insatiable desire. “already so fuckin’ wet.” he rubs the nub in little circles, growing accustomed to your body and what you like most. occasionally, his fingers slip and unintentionally fall too close to your entrance.

your mouth falls open in a tiny “o”. you throw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and grinding against both his dick and his fingers. you’re sandwiched between pleasure and doing your best to keep your moans limited to a whisper. you grip the edge of the counter and you’re actually grateful for it. it’s the solace that’s keeping you grounded to reality because without it, you’re sure you would have soared to the sky. “d – don’t tease,” you pant. you reach behind you searching for hobie’s dick and you find it easily. it’s hard to miss with the hard feeling of it against your skin and you swear you feel it grow harder when you wrap your fingers around it, still clothed over his sweats.

“sorry, dove. whatever you want,” hobie flattens his palm against your pussy. his middle finger prod at your sticky entrance to test your reaction but it slips right in, much to your pleasure. he has to take it slow with your sensitivity but hobie savors every moment. he’s not in a rush, especially when your fingers squeeze and rub at his clothed cock. he’s ready to stick it in now if he truly wanted but hobie wants this moment to last. he wants to burn the memory into his head and stain his life with whatever effects you have on him.

“mmm,” you hum, spreading your legs farther to accommodate his size. just one of his fingers could make you feel so full that you’re nearly satisfied like this. you have to close your lips and run your tongue along the inside of your cheeks to wet them again. “that feels so good.”

“yeah?” hobie asks. he’s so focused on you, he doesn’t notice how you’ve also managed to get your hand under the waistband of his boxers. he only realized what’s happening when your hand brushes against the stubble of his pubes and wraps around his shaft. “oh baby,” he whines in your ear. you can feel his dick twitch and jump at the tightness of your palm. he nearly falls over your frame when your thumb begins to circle around his tip.

hobie’s fingers stutter inside you. they push farther, deeper, making contact with your g-spot accidentally. he hasn’t gotten a chance to stick another finger in before you’re whimpering and nearly finger fucking yourself with his hand. “oh my gosh, right there. right there, right there!”

if hobie could have laughed at you, he would have. however, he has better things to worry about. like how your voice is beginning to rise in volume and he just cannot have that happen. “shhh,” is all he can manage throughout his full-body shudders. he uses his other hand to drop your shirt and instead stick his fingers in your mouth. they serve the purpose he intended, muffling your noises. he didn’t anticipate for you to suckle on them as if it’s the last thing you’d ever have in your mouth.

that, paired with the handjob and your gushing pussy around his fingers, he could have came right then and there. he could have exploded in his pants and made you cum and end it there but he didn’t. instead, he forces himself to pay attention to you. he puts his pleasure on the back burner and pushes his finger deeper, even going as far as to stretch you farther by adding a second one.

with his fingers deep in your throat and drool pouring out the corner of your mouth, your legs begin to shake. your chest rises and falls with each heaved breath. if you weren’t forced into somewhat silence, you’re sure you would have been calling out hobie’s name, drunk of him and him alone.

he has no idea what words you’re gurgling but unless you’re chanting about how you’re on the verge of cumming, he doesn’t care. luckily for him, it’s almost certain that you were and it’s evident with how your body falls slack in his arms and your cunt spasms around his fingers. the sight is an ultimate turn on.

hobie pulls his fingers out of your mouth and wipes the saliva over your cheek. he takes the opportunity to yank your bottoms down until they’re confined to your ankles. you step out of them and turn around, reconnecting your lips with his.

once again, you’re kissing hobie as an act of hunger, pushing your lips so hard together that they nearly swell. you cup the back of his head to draw him in. you’re delighted to feel his hands on the globes on your cheeks and set you onto the counter. it’s cold on your skin and so you flinch but it becomes a faint thought when hobie’s hands are anchored on the backs of your thighs. he pushes them back until your feet are flat on the counter and your glistening pussy is all on display, still creamy from your recent orgasm.

“just gotta get a taste,” he mumbles, mostly to himself as he eyes the shining cunt open and throbbing for him. he wastes no time wrapping his lips around your puffy clit, slurping at your slick. he enjoys the sapidity that’s unique to you, tangy and a bit sweet, like a refreshing dessert he could eat for the rest of his life.

he can feel the juices drip down his chin and coat the lower half of his face but that doesn’t stop him from eating your pussy like a starved man. you have to bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the moans, watching the hobie lick between your folds and lap at your clit. your eyes are ready to roll back when hobie’s tongue pokes at your entrance. you want so badly to scream, to pull hobie’s head even closer to your aching pussy but you can’t. you can’t risk moving your hand off your mouth, knowing that the moment you do, you’ll wake up the whole house.

you compromise by using your other hand to support your weight and shift toward, putting yourself a little more onto your toes. in this new position, you’re able to move your cunt along his face. you push farther, going as far as to brush your clit along hobie’s nose.

his response is to tug your body to the edge of the counter and wrap your legs over his shoulders. your lower body is solely held up by him, his shoulder, and his hands. he swallows every ounce of your slick and sears your clit with a kiss.

it doesn’t take long before you’re finding yourself closer to the edge of a second orgasm. you ball your shirt up and shove the jumbled mess into your own mouth. your brain is foggy. you can’t think of a single thought that isn’t full of hobie, the pleasure, and the need to cum, immediately.

“mmmf,” you wrap your legs around his neck. dig your fingers into his hair, and tug just in time for another gush of cum to come flowing out of your pussy. every muscle in your body has relaxed and become putty by now. you’re at hobie’s disposal and you love that.

“you’re so perfect, i’m devastated.” he kisses your inner thigh, continuing to trail those kisses up your stomach, between your tits, and onto your lips. he doesn’t wipe the cum off his face as he does it. instead, he makes you taste it, wrapping his tongue around yours and wetting your cheeks with the stickiness as your arousal as he does it.

“no you’re not. you won’t stay for me.” you whisper between kisses, running your hands along his bare chest under his shirt. you grab the hem and pull it up until hobie inevitably allows you to pull it off. it’s discarded and tossed onto the floor.

“i won’t stay for anyone. you know this.” he disconnects from the kiss, but only for a moment. during this time, he drops his pants to pull out his cock, raging from watching you cum not once, but twice. in the darkness, you can make out an outline of it, long and skinny with a mushroom tip and bulging veins. he’s been straining this whole time but hadn’t complained at all, loving every second of pleasing you. he could do it for hours if he had the time.

you resort to pouting as hobie sets your feet back onto the ground. with his hands on his hips, he turns you back around until your back is pressed against his chest, once again. “just say you hate me.”

“keep saying that and i’ll shove my dick in your mouth.” he says, aligning his tip with his sticky entrance. you don’t mention how his threat holds no weight if you’d enjoy it. instead, you play into it and huff, resting your hands flat on the counter.

you brace yourself when hobie begins to push deep into you. the stretch is painful at first, enough that you have to grit your teeth and will yourself to relax through the shallow thrusts to ease his way into you. it only takes a few seconds before the pain is blooming into satisfaction.

he fits so well inside you, filling you as if he was created solely for this purpose. you reach up, resting your hand on his cheek for a source of intimacy in the slow thrusts. you use the leverage of the counter to push your ass back to meet his thrusts.

you don’t know how much willpower you have to continue standing on your own when hobie is doing such a good job of fucking you dumb. even with the slow pace, you have to give in, leaning over the counter. to hobie, this is leverage for him to take control of the situation. he slots a large hand over your mouth and the other rests on the small of your back.

almost instantly, his thrusts increase tenfold. you’re certain if this was done on a bed, it would have been rocking with such an intensity against the wall. you grasp his hand covering your mouth with yours, almost screaming into his hand.

“shh, you’ll w – wake someone u – up.” he leans over you. hobie doesn’t compensate for the sound of skin slapping against each other by speaking louder. instead, he gets closer to you and because of that, angles his dick deeper into your cunt.

in this new state, you can hear every soft moan and whimper that leaves his mouth. he’s not rough about it, almost singing in your ear. his breath feels moist on your skin and adds to the fire burning in your core. “just t – take it, baby.”

you almost sob, rising onto your toes and writhe underneath him. it didn’t occur to you that you’d be overstimulated by the time you’ve reached this point. as much of your fault as it is, you like to blame most of it on hobie for pushing it this far. you wouldn’t be tempted to push him away, feeling as though he would be forcing another one out of you, if he didn’t.

you’re still, almost stuck in place. he’s too good at delivering. your body craves more and less of him at the same time. you’re certain you can feel him in your throat, ready to pop out the other side and through your mouth if this continues long enough. it’s driving you crazy, so crazy you squeeze your legs together.

it doesn’t last long because coincidentally, hobie hooks his hand under your leg and pushes it onto the counter. your cunt squelches as it swallows his size greedily. he’s obsessed with watching his length disappear inside you and the white sheen that surrounds the base. “shit, you’re gettin’ tight. gonna make me cum.”

you can only wail at his words and press your forehead against the granite. your legs have begun to quiver for the second time that night and you’re almost certain your insides are about to explode. you’re unsure what is building up inside you but it’s drawing from somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach and you’re getting nervous. there’s not much you can do about it, nor can you think about it too much because hobie’s fingers are rolling your clit between them.

the bud is all swollen and practically hot to the touch. you’re dripping down your own thighs at this point. there’s a musk that accompanies sex in the air, thick and sending you into a daze. your eyes flutter closed before they roll back. you let loose, weak streams of squirt falling into the floor beneath you.

“holy fuckin’ shit,” hobie pulls out of you so fast, you whine and crumple onto the floor. he, as the kind gentleman he is, don’t force your weak body to move positions again. instead, he steps to your side and turns your head with a hand under your chin. “open your mouth for me. atta’ girl.”

you watch him through half lidded eyes jerk his swollen cock in front of your face until he’s spurting cum all over it. your tongue dangles open and catches what remnants dribble downwards into your mouth.

hobie’s equally sensitive body stands there for a moment to catch his breath. he slowly lowers himself onto the ground until he’s able to run his thumb over your cum-covered face to collect some of it on the pad of his finger and swipe it over your tongue. “how do you feel? want water or something?”

you wordlessly shake your head and crawl into his arms, despite the fact that your face is ultimately covered in his nut. you don’t mention that what you really want to know is what happens now. “just want to shower and sleep.”

he looks at you, half asleep against him, and then around the kitchen and the few pieces of evidence left behind. for one, the scent has got to go. “i’ll get you into the bath and i’ll handle the cleanup, okay? you just rest your pretty little head.”

you’ve already beat him to it, humming in response and envisioning the comfort of your queen sized bed. if you considered things awkward before, just what until you see how you try to navigate it in the morning.

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