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1dcommunityficrecs · 1 month

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Historical AUs!

We have 26 incredible fics submitted to this list, stretching from the fifth century up to the 1990s. We have stories that fit into just over 2,000 words, and others that are more than 200,000! This list includes one LiLo fic, and we also have our first ever non-English rec, with a French language fic -- truly the language of love.

To all my fellow history lovers, it's time to go apeshit. Read, reblog, comment, kudos, bookmark, tell your friends, all that jazz -- your local fanfic writer appreciates it!

Here In The Afterglow by fondleeds (88649, Not Rated, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Violence, bullying, homophobia, slurs

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

Reccer says: The beautifully chosen words, the captivating story, the queer joy!!!

Unrequited by babyhoneyhslt (144000, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Omega Prince Harry is send to France to marry Prince Louis, but instead of the nice boy he knew when they were children, he is met with a cold and distant husband and no idea as to why.

Reccer says: It was so interesting to follow along with this and try to figure out why Louis was behaving this way. And then later see them fall in love. Really liked it and can't recommend it enough.

Danger I can’t hide by CelticSky (227290, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: War, homophobia

Flying Officer Styles and Sergeant Tomlinson would have likely never crossed paths in a time of peace, their lives laid out neatly, predictably before them. But then the world became unrecognisable. Too soon they grew accustomed to fear, surrounded by death and destruction, not even their freedom a certainty any more. Until they found each other. Comfort. Companionship. Understanding. Another person to lose.

Reccer says: It's one of those fics that I'd describe as monumental, masterful, epic. In my opinion, it should be made into a film, and brought to everyone's attention. The script is brilliant and relentless. The characters are subtle and nuanced. The writing is exemplary. A masterpiece.

Secrets in Winter by softfonds (82582, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

Reccer says: I loved the plot and the character development of the main pairing.

A cycle of recycled revenge by Brokenbeaks (103302, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Foxburgh, England, 1983. In the heat of summer, wreathed by pastures, rolling knolls, and thatched-roof cottages, Louis takes on a new job: caretaking for a recently blinded man named Harry. As it begins, what seems like a simple task turns into a quest that costs him every last bit of his pride and tolerance. Harry is, in practice, a two-legged curse. And Louis is just gonna have to put up with it. Or: The one where Harry likes to infuriate Louis almost as much as he enjoys straddling his lap.

Reccer says: Absolutely excellent. I was a bit worried about how Harry's blindness would be handled, but it was done wonderfully. Perfect fic. Perfect writing. Perfect plot.

Through Lonely Streets and Neon Lights by Sweetly_disposed (25107, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

1920's era, Great Gatsby inspired. Harry is a poor boy living in the South Village. Every night he watches the North City come alive and longs of crossing the river to be a part of it and escape his dreary life. The infamous Mr Tomlinson lives across the river from Harry. His parties are the stuff of legend; people on both sides know about them, and all Harry wants is a chance to go to one. When fate swings his way and he finds himself in Mr Tomlinson's house, he gets much more than he could ever have bargained for.

Reccer says:

Chasing empty spaces by Lis (Domesticharry) (79028, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

The year is 1934 and Harry Styles was to inherent the largest tobacco firm in the south. His parents have picked out the “perfect” girl for him to marry and he has the privilege of receiving the highest education possible. The problem was, Harry hadn’t realized he didn’t actually want any part of that future until he met a mechanic named, Louis Tomlinson.

Reccer says: This fic is simply magnificent. A must read

An invincible Summer by Brooklyn_Babylon (44627, Explicit, Harry Styles Louis Tomlinson)

Never content to stay in one place for long, a few months down south researching for his novel seemed like an idyllic, slow-paced summer to Louis. He wasn't ready for the blistering heat, the backbreaking work of watermelon picking, or how stifling the attitudes in rural Georgia would feel. And he definitely hadn’t anticipated falling in love with the farmer’s son. The summer of 1946 would turn out to be everything worth writing about.

Reccer says:

Box of Rain by Indierection (amandamoraisa) (26631, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

1970 AU, Louis is a boxer and Harry a ring boy

Reccer says: The era is well transcribed (the way of life, the music), and the story is very charming.

Cela aussi passera (French-language fic) by Hazzunah (110721, Not Rated, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

1993: Louis is 16. It's summertime, by a lake in France. He meets Harry. 1999: Louis is in Japan; he hasn't seen Harry for 6 years, since that fateful summer. He thought he'd lost him forever.

Reccer says: For years, I've been reading only in English, but there's still the odd French fic that I come across that's really good. "This too shall pass" is one of them. It's set in the 90s, it's beautifully written, it's moving, and the characters are well characterized. For me, it's a gem. So I recommend it. For anyone who can read in French.

You Make The World Taste Better by LiveLaughLoveLarry/loveislarryislove (10000, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Harassment and threats from the rival baker, culminating in physical violence and a grisly end in keeping with the fairy tale

A twist on Hansel and Gretel as a rivalry between bakers, based on Hans Traxler’s fictional non-fictional text "The Truth About Hansel and Gretel"

Reccer says: This fic is such a wild adaptation of a story almost everyone knows, capturing both the sweet (literally, since Harry is a baker haha) elements and also the darkness of the tale.

No One Like You by myownspark (20000, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles were noted painters in the 19th century. Louis was a Neoclassicist, Harry a Romantic -- totally different, nothing in common, no connection. But centuries later, art historians Niall and Liam find something that suggests perhaps the two were more intertwined than people think.

Reccer says: I love the parallel timelines, watching Louis and Harry's relationship develop and fracture and heal at the same time as watching Niall and Liam discover things. We see pieces of history they're trying to puzzle together, and then we see the history as it happened, what it really was and what it meant to them.

Bloom by LadyAJ_13 (28909, Teen, Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Non-graphic violence, period-typical attitudes

In early 1970s Oxford, Detective Sergeant Louis Tomlinson has to deal with the dual pressures of a case that hits too close to home, and the arrival of new colleague Liam Payne.

Reccer says: This was an incredible, atmospheric, moody historical mystery fic. Topped off with a lovely, happy ending that had me tearing up.

Under Electric Candlelight by littleroverlouis (5051, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

In the 1970s, small town veterinarian Louis moves to NYC and meets a beauty at the bar named H who sometimes goes by Lola.

Reccer says: So immersive you feel like you're in 1970s Manhattan. The characters are truly electric and lovely.

this is my jam by disgruntledkittenface (4513, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Harry goes to a gay bathhouse for the first time. 90s AU.

Reccer says: This story is so much more than it first appears. I could feel the atmosphere and the emotion of the moment of the characters finding a freedom that didn't exist for them outside of the bathhouse's walls. It's an absolutely beautiful (and hot) exploration of such a specific time and place. So layered and thoughtful and hopeful and real.

After Dark, After Light by QuickedWeen (71440, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Kidnapping, battlefield

Louis Tomlinson is the mysterious commander of the Sutherland army sent back with Harry on orders from his laird to help shore up Clan Edwards' defenses. As the winter draws nearer by the day, the two are thrown together to prepare for the invasion that they expect as soon as the ground thaws.

Reccer says: This fic just sweeps you away to the Scottish Highlands! Such a fun historical romance!

the sanctity of patience by scrunchyharry (22521, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

When young Lord Harry was chosen by King Louis of Bavaria to become his husband and prince consort, Harry thought all of his dreams had come through. His illusions came crashing down when he understood it meant living in isolation in the alpine castle of Neuschwanstein with a husband who turned out to be far from what he had hoped for.

Reccer says: The writing is gorgeous and immersive. The characters are so vivid and I loved the way their journey to love played out.

Ace of Spades by allwaswell16 (78000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: depictions of violence, drug use

Louis is a pirate, Harry is his captive, and no one is who they say they are.

Reccer says: Once I started reading, I couldn't put it down. The plot twists! The suspense! The intrigue!

Adore You by Isthatyoularry (66979, Mature, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Arrange marriage AU, Harry initially hates Louis and their arrangement but goes along with it for the summer. Louis is perfect for him tho, as much as harry hates to admit it. They last.

Reccer says: The word building. Stubborn harry. Pining louis. Catching feelings. Hate to love.

We Can Find a Place to Feel Good by yeah_alright/uhoh-but-yeah-alright (8000, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

1960s AU inspired by Treat People With Kindness. Harry attends school dances over the years, meeting Louis and learning more about himself and what he loves.

Reccer says: Just so completely sweet and hopeful! Captures the vibe of the song so well!

The Garden Part 1 by Throwthemflowers/hazzabeeforlou (13000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post Warnings: Major character death, war

Biblical AU - 5th Century. A prince (Louis) falls in love with his father’s musician (Harry) in the midst of war.

Reccer says: This story is so hard to describe (it's Part 1 of a truly incredible 3-part series) but it's intense and brilliant and epic. The love here is all consuming and it comes through in the writing. Completely unique.

Ever Since I Tried Your Way by fairytalefemme (25896, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: internalized homophobia

40s/50s AU. Harry leaves his bride-to-be at the altar, runs away from his life, and finds a kind farmer who lets him stay.

Reccer says: Such a sweet, tender exploration of love and self.

With Words Unspoken by jacaranda_bloom (18000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Older Louis and Harry. 50ish Louis returns to a cabin he'd visited many years before and it's a hippie commune type place where he finds Harry.

Reccer says: It just made me SO HAPPY. Peaceful and lovely.

1957: here to take my medicine by zita17/louisandtheaquarian (2652, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) - fic post

Beat poets Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles blow off some steam before a reading.

Reccer says: Literally transports you to this particular time and place. And so so hot.

The murmur of yearning by Mediawhore (93300, Mature, Harry Styles/ Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Rape/non-con attempts, death of character, slurs etc

Harry upon the death of his husband he was forced to marry find companionship and support in the arms of Land steward mr. tomlinson. Together they try to prove harry didnt murder his husband.

Reccer says: Regency era. Dark academia. Mystery and suspense. Forbidden love trope. The angst and mutual pining. Harry in corsets!

Love you in the dark by Perzikze (9225, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) Warnings: Dubious consent i think, loss of virginity

Story of a historical wedding night. Innocent Harry has no idea what goes down during the wedding night; Louis eases him through it.

Reccer says: Innocent harry. Supportive Louis. It's adorable and sexy at once!

Stay tuned for the next list theme! It's similar... but different... ;)

#rec list #category 5 #historical au #one direction #louis tomlinson #harry styles #liam payne #niall horan #zayn malik #1dsource #1dficvillage #ficsfor4am #tracksintheam #trackinghome #allwaswell16 #alwaysxlarrie #1d rare pairs #hlcreators #girl direction source

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99hook · 7 months

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Ghost Hunts

Synopsis: You and Hook get more than you bargained for when you decide to go ghost hunting on Halloween night

Warnings: paranormal activity, cursing, mentions of past deaths, fluff and ghosts doing ghostly activities

A/N: happy spooky season besties 👻 thank you to the anon who requested this to me! i hope you love it! also, hook is tyler in this, just so nobody gets confused about that. also i did tryyy to make this thrilling but i think it turned into a comedy imo, i’ll let y’all be the judge! enjoy!

(the title is lame as hell but i couldn’t think of anything else so here we are😂)

-feel free to send me halloween/spooky season requests and ideas you have! gonna be writing for it the whole month of october 🎃👻🧡

Tyler switched the key in the ignition as he stared ahead at a large, victorian style house you’d been telling him you wanted to visit for months now.

He heard you unbuckle your seatbelt and looked over at you, seeing the excitement in your eyes when you looked back at him.

You always talked his head off about this one specific historical attraction, so he took it upon himself to give the owners a call and see if it was possible for the two of you to get permission to privately tour that apparently haunted place.

The right amount of money permitted you both the approval to spend Halloween night there, and just like many of the tourists that come to visit, you quickly found out why it was named one of the most haunted attractions in the country.

———

“Ready?” You grinned, already having one hand on the door handle.

Tyler unbuckled his seatbelt and nodded before he opened his door and slid out the car. He came around to your side to open up your door like he always does, but you were too excited to wait.

He looked down at you with a half-smirk on his lips as he shut your door and grabbed your hand, leading you towards the stone steps that invited you into that not-so-inviting house.

He stopped when he reached the door and turned back around to face you, rubbing his thumb over the top of your hand.

“I know you’re excited, but I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and feel let down if nothing happens tonight. I still think this is just some old ass house that people pay way too much money to come tour because they think ghosts are gonna pop out at them.”

You shot him a look and rolled your eyes. “Well, just for your information, there’s been countless reports of people seeing shadows and all kinds of stuff here, but I know you won’t believe anything until it’s proven, so let’s go in.”

He couldn’t argue with that, so he just shrugged his shoulders before he spun back around and opened the door.

The creaking of the rusty hinges echoed back to you, along with your slow footsteps the second you stepped inside. There was already an eerie feeling lingering through the air, almost as if you were immediately stepping foot in forbidden territory.

Tyler closed the door and looked around at the large portraits aligned on the walls, and he didn’t particularly like how their eyes seemed to follow him when he walked around.

You took a few steps towards a large room off to the side of the entranceway, and Tyler followed behind you. The first thing he noticed was a wooden rocking chair in the corner by a large bay window, and a little rag doll with button eyes sitting on it.

He tried to stifle his laugh, but it caught your attention. You looked over at him and noticed that he was trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably.

“What are you laughing at?” You asked, following his eyes over to the rocking chair.

“That doll.” He says as he walks over to it. “They really put a rag doll in a rocking chair. They watch too many movies.” He shakes his head as he starts to look around the room.

“And look at this-“ he points up at a set of porcelain dolls sitting on the mantle above the fireplace. “Someone really said, hey, let’s find some of the creepiest dolls ever made and put them on the mantle. Then people will have to believe this place is haunted.”

You shot him a look and waited for him to notice. When he looked back at you, he still had a wide smile plastered across his face.

“Baby, I’m sorry, but I told you what I think. This is just a place for people to make money scamming tourists. I mean, look at all this shit. It looks like a horror movie set, does it not? Who decorates their shit like this?”

“These are items from the first family who ever lived here, Tyler. Remember we read about the family of six who passed away from pneumonia in the 1800’s. This is their stuff.”

“So that family is supposed to be lurking around haunting this place?” He crossed his arms over his chest and you could see the skepticism clear as day on his face.

“They’re not the only ones who have passed away here, Tyler. There’s been people who were working on the roof and fell off. A maid who used to work for the family had a heart attack on the second floor. Not to mention, the fourth floor was used as an infirmary at one point in time too. They don’t even know how many people have actually been buried in the back yard. You’d know all of this if you listened to me when I talk about it.”

He vaguely recalled all of that, but didn’t get the chance to say anything back when the sound of rusty hinges creaking from somewhere above you echoed through the room.

His eyes immediately snapped over to the entryway, recognizing that sound as the front door when he opened and closed it earlier, but it was still shut.

He looked back down at you and the look you had on your face that screamed, I told you so.

“This is an old ass house. It’s gonna make noises.” He says, but you just shrugged your shoulders and headed out that room, over towards the staircase.

“Where are you going?” He calls after you when you make your way halfway up to the second floor. You looked back down at where he was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“To explore.” You nodded towards the top of the stairs. “You coming? Or are you too scared?” You teased with a challenging smirk that made his eyes narrow in on you, before he started heading up the stairs after you.

The second floor had a heavier feeling the moment you reached the top step. There was an icy chill in the air that immediately made your whole body shiver.

Tyler crossed his arms over his chest and stepped around you, looking for a window that must have been left open.

“It’s cold as fuck up here.” He muttered as he slowly walks around. “The one time I don’t wear my hoodie.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that as you passed by him. He turned around when he felt you walk by and watched as you headed down one of the long halls.

“Where are you going now?” He asks as he strides towards you, following you into the last room that you knew was the one that belonged to the maid who passed away in it. According to too many articles you’ve read, she sometimes gets spotted sitting on the edge of her bed.

Tyler searched for a light switch as soon as he stepped in that room, but he flipped the switch three times and the lights didn’t come on.

“That’s great. Let’s just hang out in a dark ass room.” You heard him comment as his footsteps draw closer to you. You can see enough with the dim lighting from the hallway illuminating some of the room.

You ran your hand over the quilt neatly spread over the bed, knowing that it was that maid’s quilt that she handmade. You ignored your boyfriend’s mutters under his breath and tried to appreciate the sentimental value that the quilt, along with many other items in the house had to the family that first lived there.

You felt Tyler tap your shoulder three times and looked back, but that’s when you realized he was standing over by the dresser, messing with his hair in the mirror.

You felt an ice cold chill skate down your spine and instantly backed away from the bed, and Tyler noticed your sudden movements.

“What?” He asked, pausing with his hands still in his hair.

You looked over at him, then glanced at your shoulder where you felt the taps of fingers that weren’t his.

“I felt something tap my shoulder and thought it was you, but you were all the way over there.” You tell him.

He drops his hands and walks over to you with a look of disbelief on his face.

“Maybe you just thought you felt something.” He says as he places his hand on your shoulder and rubs his thumb over it. “Or maybe the roof is leaking or something. This house is old as fuck.”

He looked up at the ceiling and held out his hand, but no water droplets fell into his palm. You managed to shrug it off, even though you knew in your heart that you felt what you felt, regardless if Tyler believed it or not.

You decided to take a few steps back from that bed, taking the three taps as a warning not to put your hands on the maid’s belongings.

Tyler ended up wandering over to the closet for some reason, observing some of the clothes that were still hanging in there after who knows how many years, while you were taking in all of the old photos displayed on wooden shelves on the wall.

One picture in particular caught your attention because you recognized it from one of the first articles you’ve read about the house.

“Tyler, come look at this.” You softly called out to him.

“Come look at this first.” He says from somewhere in the closet. You walked over and peeked your head in, but you didn’t take a step further. If it ruffled feathers for you to touch the maid’s quilt, you weren’t daring to touch her clothing.

“Look up here.” He says as he points towards the ceiling where a wooden square door was bolted shut. You would’ve assumed it lead to the attic, but the house had four floors and you were only on the second one.

Tyler glanced over his shoulder at you with a mischievous smirk, and before he even got the chance to say it, you shut that thought down immediately.

“No, Tyler.” You sternly tell him, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s a secret door, Y/n. How do you expect me not to want to go up there?”

“It’s bolted shut for a reason. Don’t disturb anything here, and as a matter of fact, get out of the maid’s closet.”

He let you pull him towards you but made sure to show the dissatisfaction on his face at the same time. You shut the door behind him and rolled your eyes at the annoyed look he threw on his face.

“Come on, there’s still so much to see.” You say as you lead him out the maid’s room.

There was another set of stairs tucked in the corner of that hallway, but as the two of you were heading up to the third floor, a loud slam stopped you in your tracks.

You both froze instantly, looking over at each other with wide eyes and suddenly rapid beating hearts.

“What the fuck was that?” You barely even whispered. Tyler looked up at the top of the stairs that were only four steps away and held his hand out in front of you.

“Stay here. Someone could’ve snuck in when we weren’t paying attention.” He whispered before he slowly, and quietly stepped up the stairs.

You watched him intently until he reached the top and disappeared around a corner, and then you made sure to listen as closely and carefully as you possibly could.

You could hear his footsteps perfectly, thanks to the creaking of the floorboards, but every sound made you jump. You kept getting an unnerving feeling that someone was behind you, but each time you looked down at the bottom of the stairs, nobody was there.

After a couple seconds, Tyler appeared back at the top of the stairs and you could easily see that he was feeling a little shook up, but he was trying not to show it.

“There’s nobody up here.” He says as he looks back over his shoulder, getting the uncomfortable sensation that someone’s watching him. “But I don’t know what the fuck that noise was either.”

You stepped up the stairs faster than you meant to because that feeling that someone’s lingering behind you kept getting stronger and stronger, but part of you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

You instinctively grabbed his hand when you met him at the top of the stairs and he picked up on that immediately, looking down at you with a bit of concern in his dark eyes.

“You okay?” He asks, and you only nodded even though your stomach was starting to twist into the tightest knots.

You looked down the hall and nearly jumped a whole foot back when you saw yours and Tyler’s reflection in a large mirror at the very end of it.

He couldn’t help but to laugh as you were trying to steady the rhythm of your pounding heart, but he slung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

“It’s okay, it’s just a mirror baby. It scared the hell out of me earlier too.” He grins before placing a kiss to your forehead. “Are you ready to leave, or do you wanna keep going?”

You looked up at him when your heart finally started to compose itself and shook your head. This was something you wanted to do for so long, the thought of chickening out halfway through was just simply not an option for you.

“Keep going.” You tell him before you head for the first door that’s in sight.

Tyler’s arm dropped to his side when you brushed past him and he watched you turn the knob on that door, along with three others.

“They’re all locked on this floor. I tried them already.” He says as he looks over his shoulder at yet another set of stairs leading up to the last floor.

“Guess that means we get the pleasure of exploring a creepy ass infirmary now.” He says with a dull tone as he looks back at you.

You walked past him and headed for the last staircase, and upon first glance, it was nothing like all the others.

Tyler made quick strides to catch up to you and just as soon as you placed your foot on the first step, his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back.

“You can’t be serious, Y/n.” He deadpans when you turn around to face him. “Look at those stairs. They are barely even stairs at this point!”

“I think people go up here all the time though.” You say as you look up at the top of the steps that’s quite literally tempting you, because you know that there’s an old infirmary just waiting for you to explore it.

“Well, not us.” He says as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, you guessed as a way to hold his ground.

You rolled your eyes and just ignored him, turning around and heading up those cracked and rotted wooden steps.

“Y/N!” Your name gets shouted so loud his voice echoes, but you continued to avoid him until one step in particular caved right out from under you.

Tyler immediately sprung up and caught you right before you could fall straight through to wherever you’d end up underneath those stairs. He quickly brought you back down to the floor before any of the other steps had a chance to snap in half.

“You okay?” He asked when he was able to catch his breath. You nodded and looked back up at those stairs, specifically at the one that was now missing.

“Don’t even think about it, y/n.” He cups your cheeks with his thumb and two fingers and gently turns your head back to look at him. “Thats exactly why I told you not to go up there in the first place. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you know that?”

You accepted the defeat and simply nodded, still feeling bummed that you couldn’t explore that infirmary, but the fact that Tyler saved you from what could’ve been a really nasty fall was at the forefront of your mind.

You felt his thumb stroke your cheek and looked back into his softened eyes, about to say thank you for saving you from that fall, but the second your lips parted, the sound of the floor boards slowly creaking caused you both to jump back.

Your head snapped towards the stairs at the other end of the hall and you suddenly felt like your feet were nailed to the floor.

Tyler’s breathing was getting heavier even though he was trying to control it as he stared dead at the top of the staircase, waiting for someone to come walking up.

You reached out and grabbed his forearm, clinging onto him tightly. You felt his muscles tense and he instinctively stepped in front of you, blocking you with his own body in case someone was about to show themselves, but after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, nobody ever did.

He turned back to face you, his eyes wide and pupils dilated as pure fear coursed through them. You stared back at him, unsure what to say or do, and scared to hear your own voice at this point.

There was a moment of silent communication between the two of you, both on the same page it seemed, ready to get the hell out of that house, and the sudden sound of something crashing to the floor right above your heads was all the motivation you needed.

“Nah, fuck this” Tyler’s voice trembled slightly before he grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hall. It was hard to keep up with his fast strides thanks to the large contrast between his long legs and your shorter ones, but that adrenaline coursing through your veins helped you manage.

He kept his grip tight as he pulled you down the hall of the second floor, avoiding looking into any of the rooms with the fear that he’d see something standing there. You kept your eyes on his back for the same reason, and did your very best not to let your sights wander anywhere else.

You descended the stairs faster than you thought you ever could without tripping, and wasted no time bolting right out the front door.

Even though it was pitch dark outside, it was sudden relief the second the you shut that door behind you. Tyler nearly skipped three of the front steps on the way out, and only stopped to catch his breath when he finally reached the car.

He placed both hands on the hood and dropped his head, shaking it. His breathing was heavy and uneven but he still managed to say, “Never again, Y/n.”

You leaned against the hood next to him, watching him nearly fight for his life to calm himself down. You looked back at that house for what you knew was going to be the last time, before you looked over at Tyler.

“I support anything you do, baby. Anything except ghost hunting.” he says as he picks his head up and looks at you.

There was a moment that the two of you just stood there, still shaken up with straight adrenaline running hot through your veins, but after you got in the car and pulled out that driveway, you couldn’t help but to look at each other and laugh.

“That was some crazy shit.” He says through the bellowed laughter.

“I told you it was haunted, did I not?” You raise your brows at him, hoping to hear him admit that you were right, but knowing Tyler, he’d rather do anything but say those words.

“I mean, I still think the house was just old and made a lot of noises.” He shrugs one shoulder. “But if it’s job is to scare the shit out of people, I guess it was successful.”

“You guess?” You deadpan on him, but his eyes are focused on the road. “Tyler, you literally ran out of there.” You teased.

“You’re damn right I did!” He exclaims with a higher voice that had no business sounding as funny as it did to you. “That shit was making too many noises for me. Sounded like the whole damn house was about to collapse on us.”

“Speaking of collapse, I need to call the owners first thing in the morning and tell them about the stairs. We’re probably gonna have to pay for the damages.”

“As long as we don’t have to go back to that house, I don’t even care.” He shakes his head before you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. “Next time you wanna go ghost hunting, we’re just gonna have to sit on the couch and watch it on tv. Sorry baby, but i’m not getting involved again. Not after whatever the fuck just happened back there.”

“I think I got it all out of my system. Until next Halloween, anyway.” You smirk, and he looks over just in time to catch it, shaking his head but he can’t help the smile that forms on his lips simply due to your pure stubborn nature.

“So every Halloween you just wanna go visit some haunted places? Why not go to one of those haunted fun houses or something?” He suggests, “At least there you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Why don’t we just go to one of those right now?” You shrug as you glanced at the time on your phone. “It’s still early, and Halloween’s not over yet.”

“After tonight, I’m pretty sure if someone jumped out at me I’d probably end up punching them in the face.” He chuckles as he comes to a stop at stop sign.

He looks both ways before he looks over at you, leaning in for a quick kiss like he always does, and you felt all of that previous adrenaline and wracking nerves suddenly dissipate under his gentle touch.

“Okay” you caved, “Let’s go home. I wanna spend the rest of our halloween another way.”

You felt him smile against you before placing one last kiss to your lips, then pulling away to start driving again.

“Does that mean I get to finally see you in that one costume?” He smirks as he starts to speed a little faster.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile before you reached over and placed your hand gently on his thigh.

“As long as you promise not to literally tear it off me.” you teased, but all he did was glance over at you with a look that you already knew far too well.

“You know I can’t promise you that.”

———

taglist: @madhatterbri @730hook @multi-fandom-things730 @willowgreens @shawtys-things @justdamnpeachy @wickedval @730bliss @theworldofotps @madds-97 @gethooked @benjaminka @5secondsofmoxley @adorestar @cypherpart15 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @littlemissbliss06

(lmk if you wanna be added/removed)

#hook aew #aew hook #aew hook x reader #aew hook fic #aew hook angst #tyler senerchia #hook x reader

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kckt88 · 2 months

Text

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen - SNEAK PEEK!!

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: TBC

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond Targaryen stood before the mirror, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

He had made a vow in a moment of youthful folly, a vow whispered in jest, believing it would never come to pass. But now, as he gazed upon his reflection, he saw something both wondrous and horrifying.

His features were flawless, his skin smooth and unblemished, untouched by the ravages of time. His hair shone like molten silver, cascading perfectly around his shoulders.

Aemond gasped, unable to tear his eyes away from the visage staring back at him. It was as if he had been granted eternal youth and beauty, just as he had foolishly wished for so many years ago.

But then, his gaze drifted to the corner of the room where a portrait hung, concealed beneath a tattered cloth. With a sense of foreboding, he approached it, his heart heavy with dread. As he unveiled the painting, his breath caught in his throat.

There, staring back at him from the canvas, was not the image of youth and beauty he had seen in the mirror, but something twisted and grotesque.

His once proud features were now distorted almost beyond recognition, his skin stretched tight over bone as though pulled by unseen hands.

Deep, jagged lines etched across his face, the scar bisecting his left eye was elongated and festering.

His one blue eye, once filled with life and vitality, was now sunken and hollow, a singular pool of darkness that seemed to swallow the very light around it.

But it was the mouth that truly horrified those who dared to gaze upon the cursed canvas. Lips pulled back in a rictus grin, revealing rows of sharp, pointed teeth that gleamed in the dim light. It was a visage of madness, of unspeakable horror that seemed to seep from every brushstroke.

As Aemond stood before the cursed portrait, a chilling acceptance washed over him. He realized that there was no escaping his affliction, no undoing the bargain he had struck with the devil.

With a resigned sigh, he made a fateful decision – if he was to be condemned, then he would embrace his damnation with open arms.

Turning away from the painting, Aemond cast aside the last vestiges of his morality, surrendering himself to a life of sin and debauchery. He sought out every pleasure the world had to offer, indulging in excesses that would make even the most jaded of souls blanch.

He reveled in the company of courtesans and thieves, losing himself in the heady haze of wine and opium. He gambled away fortunes on games of chance, caring not for the consequences of his reckless abandon. His once noble demeanor crumbled away, replaced by a ruthless ambition fueled by his insatiable hunger for power and pleasure.

The people whispered of his descent into madness, of the dark shadow that seemed to cling to him wherever he went. But Aemond paid them no heed, for he had long since forsaken the opinions of others. He was a creature of his own making now, a slave to his basest desires.

And as the years passed, the cursed portrait grew ever more grotesque, mirroring the depths of his depravity with chilling accuracy. Yet Aemond welcomed its macabre reflection, for it served as a constant reminder of the price he had paid for his eternal youth and beauty.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #hotd smut

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prpfs · 2 months

Note

hello! i’m a twenty-nine year old writer. i’ve been writing for 10+ years and currently looking for someone to write with for a femdom-centric plot. ideally, this would feature dark/mature subject matter along with smut, however it will also feature a lot of plot/story.

overall, looking for someone who loves to plot/headcanon/friendly banter/and ideally, do this long-term. i would describe my writing style as casually lit to novella and enjoy writing something that might be 2-4 paragraphs long or longer. i’m here for all your nitty gritty details and also love good prose. also happy to match but not really into anything too short. i can share writing samples and hope you can too. i can post anything from 1-3 times a week.

i would like an m x f pairing, with myself playing the dominant female character. i have an oc who is malleable but i also enjoy making oc’s on the spot.

here are some plots i was thinking about (hope you find these fun and feel free to change/elaborate. they’re just fun tropes to use as a jump-off point):

1. mob daughter x bodyguard - he’s looking to move up in the family and is assigned to watch over her. however, it’s more than he’s bargained for. or perhaps, it’s unlocked things he wasn’t sure he ever liked.

2. victorian governess or ward or maid x master of the house - something vibey in the foggy english moors, where someone can get spanked with a riding crop in a hedge maze. here for stilted conversations, trying to be polite/keep up decorum, but overall messy sex in a huge manor akin to saltburn

3. popular gregarious type guy x cold icy girl - all over my tiktok is the golden retriever boyfriend who’s happy, excitable, and fun. what if behind closed doors, despite being “the man,” he’s really just her bitch

4. coworkers - he could be the boss at the day job, but by night…

5. local cop x stripper / prostitute / teacher etc. - he could be a bad cop, he could be a good cop, either way, he’s being cuffed to the bed

6. virgin male x dominatrix - ideally, the male character has fantasized about this for a long time and has hired someone to do the job

7. teen idol (female) x serious hollywood actor - he’s an action star, no one should know he’s nothing like the characters he plays on tv

8. vampire hunter x vampire / werewolf hunter etc.

honestly, very open minded. things i would be open to incorporate: cock rings, pegging, fucking machines, toys, romance, shame, societal expectations, subversions to gender norms / roles, messy feelings and emotions, hurt/comfort, secret relationships, cheating infidelity, age gaps, dead dove content, a/b/o tropes, and feel free to suggest.

please leave a like and i’ll reach out with my discord info. 🕊️

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

#oc roleplay #oc rp #oc x oc #m/f #dead dove

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miryum · 1 year

Text

The Witch and the Spirit (Newt x Reader)

Warnings: angst with happy ending, someone dies for a brief amount of time, witchyness, spells and magic, talk of death (cause, ya know, they’re ghosts), fluff

Word Count: 6.4k

I worked so hard on this fic and I hope you guys like it. It was requested (a while back,) by @the-bibliophile-public-library and here’s the summary: Reader is an eclectic witch that moves into a decrepit, Victorian Home, which is filled with spirits, while she befriends, and encounters love on the way with Newtie!!! Alongside Newt, Thomas, Minho, Teresa, Gally, Chuck, ect. are spirits that perished in the home throughout the century and have been roaming through its damp walls ever since.

“Are you sure this is the best decision?” Sonya asked, lugging a box in the house.

“Why not?” Y/n shrugged.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Brenda said sarcastically, “maybe it’s just that this house is haunted?”

“You really believe those stories?” Y/n asked. “It’s all folklore. There’s no evidence to back it up.”

“You of all people should believe it.” Brenda said, referring to Y/n’s practice of witchcraft.

“Well, maybe I do.” Y/n said, “but the best thing about this is that it came at a very low price.” She looked up into the large house, crying out, “I mean, look how big it is!”

“It was a good bargain,” Sonya agreed.

Brenda sighed, “just don’t come running to us when the lights start to flicker ominously.”

“Ooooooo!” Sonya moaned like a ghost, waving her fingers towards her friend.

“Oh, shut up!” Y/n laughed, “If there are any ghosts, then I’ll befriend them!”

Chuck gasped. “Did you hear that?!” he grabbed at Thomas’s arm. “A new friend!”

“It’s not like she can see us,” Gally grumped. “And why would we be friends with a living? We’re so much cooler.”

Watching the three living friends move in were seven ghosts. True to the rumours, the old mansion was haunted. Thomas, Teresa, Minho, Newt, Alby, Gally, and Chuck were the resident spirits.

“At least she’s young.” Thomas said, shrugging. “Not like the other old grandpa we were all afraid was going to die and then we’d have to be around him forever.”

“She’s young?” Minho asked from his game of chess with Newt. His floating piece dropped to the ground.

“It’s a girl?” Newt looked up as well. The chess could wait; he was already beating Minho at the game and he wanted to see this girl.

Alby, Minho, and Newt joined their friends at the railing. “Wow.” Alby commented, “I’m surprised she has the guts to move in.”

“Probably just a daredevil college student,” Gally sighed. “She’ll be outta here in a week. Not before throwing a huge party and messing everything up.”

“Ooh, a party!” Chuck squealed, “that’ll be fun!”

“Do you remember the tricks I taught you to scare someone?” Minho grinned.

“Of course!” Chuck replied, “I could try them out on drunk college students!” Minho high- fived him.

“What bedroom are you gonna take?” Brenda asked Y/n, carrying in a heavy, clothed- filled box. “I’m gonna drop this soon.”

“Um, the one next to the library.” Y/n directed her.

“Are the books still there?” Sonya asked, following Brenda with another box.

“I think so. Won’t it be so cool to read books from a hundred years ago or something?” Y/n smiled widely. “I wonder what stories they have in them.”

“You nerd,” Brenda rolled her eyes.

“Newt,” Alby started, “isn’t that the room you use? Your study or reading room?”

“Uh, yeah.” Newt stifled a cough. “Guess I’ll have to move for the time being.”

The spirits followed the three girls into Newt’s study- now Y/n’s bedroom. Y/n opened the boxes and while Brenda and Sonya helped put away her clothes in the antique dressers, Y/n started pulling out crystals and candles by the dozen.

“Still don’t know why you collect those heavy- ass things,” Brenda muttered. “Being the one to carry them up, I have a deep hatred for them.”

“It helps calm me!” Y/n protested, meticulously setting them up.

“Are you sure you have enough stuff to fill this mansion?” Sonya asked.

Y/n shrugged. “I’m just glad it came with the furniture. I didn't have to go out shopping for like, eight dining tables.”

“Oh,” Chuck drifted closer to the crystals. “What are those?” He reached out to touch a swirling blue and green one, wanting to see his hand wave through it, and surprisingly, his hand didn’t wave through it. Chuck reeled backwards with a scream, knocking the crystal down with a clatter.

Y/n’s head whipped towards it, eyes narrowed. She hummed thoughtfully, gently setting the crystal upright.

“What was that?!” Chuck screamed out, backing into the other distressed ghosts.

“He touched that!” Minho yelled out, “he touched that!”

“Alby, what does that mean?” Gally asked hurriedly. Alby and Newt shared a glance. Teresa slowly approached the crystal and poked it with a finger, not using her ghost- powers. It wobbled at her contact, but she didn’t let it fall.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Alby whispered.

Newt wondered out loud, “could she be another of… magical descent?”

“Remember when Teresa died?” Alby said, mostly to Newt. The others listened in. “She spoke of people that called themselves witches. But not like my witches- kind ones. Ones that practised it for the better. They used crystals and candles and cards. There were different kinds too. Like, moon witches or garden witches.”

“Yeah,” Teresa inputted, “one of my friends was friends with someone who just used nature or plants to make themselves feel better. They talked a lot about appreciating Mother Earth.”

“Do you think this new girl would classify herself as a witch?” Newt asked.

“A modern one, maybe.” Teresa said, “but not like the ones the media portrays.”

“The media?” Gally was confused.

“Remember? I told you about TV’s, computers, and other things.”

“I’m sorry,” Gally held up his hands, “but all I had was the radio.”

“So if she’s a witch- but let’s not jump to conclusions,” Newt said, “then maybe we could contact her. Chuck’s already proven that we can touch her materials. Maybe she’ll call out to us with an Ouija board or something.”

Teresa muttered something about old souls. Newt frowned at her words but Thomas and Minho stifled laughter.

Y/n lit her candles, joking, “I need to cleanse this house. Who knows what evil spirits are here?” Sonya and Brenda laughed, but the ghosts were worried

“Evil spirits?” Chuck worried. “We’re spirits.”

“But we’re not evil,” Alby countered.

“Well, Gally is.” Thomas shrugged. Gally swung a punch at him, but Thomas just giggled as it connected with his transparent body, not harming him at all.

Y/n placed the lit candles around the room, softly humming to herself. The ghosts waited for a moment, but none of them disappeared. They all sighed in relief.

“Well,” Sonya said, “we’ll leave you to get settled in and come back in a couple days?” The last part was a question. Y/n nodded, showed the girls out with many hugs and cheek kisses, and then entered her room again, finalising the finishing touches.

Newt watched her curiously while the rest seemed kind of bored, rummaging through the new humans’ things. Y/n put up pictures of her family and friends, Newt following close behind. He saw a picture of her and a boy that seemed to be her age. Was that her brother or boyfriend? Something ugly stirred deep inside him.

Oddly, then Y/n sat cross legged on the floor, holding some smaller crystals in her hands. She started rocking back and forth slightly. Breathing steadily, she closed her eyes. Something had seemed off about this house, even before she bought it. Something called to her, so she knew she had to buy it. Taking in deep breaths, slightly unsure if it would work but desperately hoping, Y/n called to the spirits she knew were there. She had never tried such an intense spell before; usually her spells were simple things such as warding off evil spirits, bringing good luck, or willing the anxiety to leave her. Such a powerful spell such as seeing spirits or ghosts was something she had never considered.

When she felt the magic come to a calm, Y/n slowly opened her eyes. Sitting in front of her, mirroring her criss-crossed stance, was a fair haired translucent boy, staring at her inquisitively. Y/n screamed loudly, jumping backwards. Newt startled, standing up as well.

“Why is she screaming?” Thomas asked. Y/n whipped around and when she saw him poking at her boxes, screamed again.

“Wait,” Alby started towards her, “can you see us?”

“Who are you people?!” Y/n shrieked, backing up into a corner and answering Alby’s question. “How did you get in my house?”

“Your house?” Gally scoffed, “we’ve been living here far longer. Wait,” he stopped, “you can see us.”

“Yes I can see you!” Y/n cried, “What do you mean?! And how did you get in here!? Get out now!”

“We can’t,” Teresa said, “We’re tied to this house. How can you see us?”

“Are you ghosts?” Y/n asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Newt answered, examining her.

“Then I guess the spell I said made you visible to me?” Y/n shrugged, “I have no idea.” She sat down. “I can’t believe you guys are spirits!”

“We are,” Newt affirmed.

“How did that happen?”

New sat down on the bed next to her. “We don’t know. The first one to die on this property was Alby. He died right after the Salem Witch trials. Minho then bought this property and died when he got ran over by one of his bulls.”

“Really?!” Y/n snorted.

Minho rolled his eyes and said, “At least I didn’t die of being cold!” Chuck gaped at him. Thomas patted the boy's head reassuringly.

Newt elaborated, “Chuck died when he was young- younger than all of us. Of hypothermia, or as Minho calls it, ‘being a wuss to coldness’.”

Minho chuckled, ruffling Chuck’s hair. “Still love you, little bro.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chuck waved him away, smiling.

“Next, I died,” Newt continued, “and then Thomas by a gunshot wound. After five dead children, people began to suspect the property was haunted.”

“How did you die, if you don’t mind me asking?” Y/n cautiously ventured.

“Doesn't matter,” Newt evaded the question, waving her away. He felt bad for not telling the truth, but he would tell her later. “No one lived on if for a while, and that’s when the five of us became really close. Gally’s wealthy family were the ones to build this house around World War One. He was just a kid then, but died in World War Two of wounds after he came back home. His family lived out their days, but none of them died here. Other people came and went, but the rumours and suspicions still surrounded this place. It didn’t help that Thomas, Chuck, and Minho made it there goal to terrorise anyone who stepped foot in here. Teresa, around your age when she moved in, died a few months later of cancer. She would’ve been in the hospital, but she refused. And that’s how we got our final seventh member.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of information to take in.” Y/n said, running a hand through her hair. “So, what things can you guys do as ghosts?”

“We can’t really touch anything.” Thomas waves a hand through one of Y/n’s boxes of clothes, his limb travelling right through it.

“But it was you guys who knocked over my crystal?”

“Yeah…” Chuck looked guilty, “that was me.”

“It’s okay!” Y/n quickly said, picking up on his shift in mood. “I just wanna know how you did it.”

“Not sure.” Teresa said, “Usually we can touch things if we try really hard- or at least bend inanimate objects to our will. For example, we really like playing chess and can make the pieces float to where they need to go. However, if we’re not concentrating, then we kinda just pass through things.”

“So are you all concentrating on not falling though this floor?”

Alby explained, “Not really. At first, yes, a ghost has to learn how to work their new abilities, but after a while it becomes second- hand nature.”

Y/n nodded, finally getting a grasp on it all. “And you all just live here? Together?”

“Yep!” Minho said happily, “We’re like one big, happy, family!”

“You’re actually in Newt’s room right now.” Thomas offered, not helping in the slightest. Newt shot him a look.

“Oh my gosh!” Y/n stood, “I’m so sorry! I can pick another room or something if you’d like.”

“No no!” Newt was quick to reassure her, “It’s completely fine! I don’t sleep in this room- none of us need to sleep if we don’t want to. I just like to use it because it’s next to the library and it’s easier to read if Minho and Thomas aren’t rushing through it on their weird adventures or dares.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Newt smiled.

Y/n slowly sat back down, laughing sheepishly. “I actually chose this room because it’s next to the library. I would love it if you could give me recommendations.”

“I would love to!” Newt beamed, not telling her that he knew of her desire to choose this room as they had all been listening in before. “Teresa and I swap recommendations all the time, though she’s more into the non- fictions and I like fantasy, science- fiction books more.”

“He also likes romance.” Chuck added.

If Newt could blush, he would be. The boys all cackled at his embarrassed face, but Y/n simply smiled kindly. “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, “sometimes I like romance too.”

“Okay!” Newt was relieved. “Actually, I can show you some of my favourites now! Come on.” He bobbed up from the bed and slowly floated out of the door, showing Y/n to the library. He was considerate of not going through the walls as he normally did, instead showing her the way.

The rest of the ghosts stared after them.

“Is it possible,” Gally started, “that Newt has feelings for a living girl?”

“Um,” Teresa scrunched her eyebrows. “I think it’s very possible.”

“I would say a bad word,” Minho groaned, “but Chuck’s here.”

“I’m literally older than half the spirits here!” Chuck cried.

Meanwhile, Newt glided down the hall, showing Y/n to the massive library. Books covered the walls and ornate carvings on the shelves. Three stories high, it was an impressive sight to behold.

Y/n, after admiring the rows and rows of books, couldn’t stop staring at the space between Newt’s floating feet and the floor.

“Are you admiring my floating?” Newt chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Y/n hummed. “I’m also wondering if I should tell my friends about you and the others. I’m still half convinced I’m crazy and you’re all a hallucination.”

“I promise we’re not.” Newt said.

“Exactly what a hallucination would say.” Y/n countered.

“True,” Newt laughed at that.

“I’m also just really proud that I could summon you guys,” Y/n said, “that’s a pretty big step for a witch. And the fact that I can see you, talk to you, and you back, without some sort of interference is amazing!” Newt grinned at her excitedness. “So, what books would you recommend?” Y/n sucked in a breath filled with exhilarating nervousness.

“Well, what genres do you enjoy?”

“Just give me your favourite book.” Y/n said, “I like reading someone else’s favourite book as it weirdly makes me feel closer to them. Like I understand them better. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” Newt looked at her like she was the only thing in the whole world. “I completely understand.”

“So, what’s your favourite book?” Y/n prompted him after the slightly awkward silence.

“Well, I like anything Shakespeare has written. And there are so many classic fairy tales that people don’t appreciate anymore. I would recommend Romeo and Juliet if you haven’t read it already, but also The Time- Traveler’s Wife is fantastic.”

“Ooh, I would love to read both. Where are they?”

“I actually have a shelf that I like to keep all my favourites on,” Newt explained. “Unfortunately, Alby was cleaning a little while ago and had to move them. They're up on a higher shelf.”

“Is there a ladder that I could use?” Y/n looked around.

“Oh, no.” Newt scratched his neck. “You see, we don’t have a need for ladders cause we can… you know, float.” Newt flew up a couple feet to prove his point.

Y/n chuckled. “I guess so. Could you go get them? I wanna see your powers.”

Newt nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about his fear of heights. He hadn’t always been afraid of heights, but ever since his death, he had been avoiding them. “Yeah,” he swallowed his fear and said, “I can get them for you.” Newt drifted upwards towards the top shelf where Alby had stored his books until he was done cleaning. If Alby had known Newt wanted to reach them, he would’ve never put them up so high, but what can you do? New quickly plucked out Romeo and Juliet and The Time Traveler’s Wife for Y/n, before quickly floating back down. He handed them to Y/n, the tip of her finger brushing through his.

“Thanks,” Y/n’s smile made it all worth it. “I’ll get started on them right away.”

“Well, don’t you wanna explore your new house?” Newt asked, “Chuck and Minho know all the secret passageways. Alby can tell you the entire history behind this property. Thomas can help you decorate. Weirdly, he has a good eye for that kind of thing. Gally can fix anything that’s not working. He may need to get the shower up and running again. Teresa knows all the nooks and crannies. She can also whip up a couple of mean muffins.”

“You guys can eat?”

“We don’t have to, but it’s nice every once in a while to be reminded of what ice cream tastes like.”

“And what do you do in the house?”

Newt hesitated. “I guess I just make sure everything’s running smoothly. While Alby insists everyone needs a schedule to make sure we’re not bored as hell, I’m the person that makes sure people stay on their schedule and help them if need be.”

“So you’re a very important part of this house?” Y/n asked with a hint of a tease.

Newt breathed a laugh, waving her away. “No, not really.”

“You are,” Y/n insisted. “It sounds like you do the things no one else wants to do.”

“I guess.”

“Hey,” Y/n’s eyes lit up, “why don’t we celebrate my moving in and making several new apparition friends by having a movie night? I can help Teresa make cupcakes or something, we could pop a couple bags of popcorn, pick three movies and get to know each other better? I mean, I’m essentially becoming your guy’s roommate who just showed up. I didn’t ask for your permission to move here- I just did. This could be my ‘thank you’ for letting me stay.”

“That sounds awesome.” Newt said, “I’ll go tell the others.” He happily drifted through the wall before remembering Y/n couldn’t pass through solids, popping his head back out the wall, smiling sheepishly, and returning to her.

Y/n and her ghost friends had been getting along splendidly for the last few weeks. Teresa would make Y/n a nice breakfast in the morning, more if the others wanted some, before Y/n woke up. Then when Y/n went to work, the spirits did their Alby- mandated chores as always. Gally was busy human- proofing the house and Thomas had already helped Y/n unbox everything and decorate Newt’s study as her bedroom. Newt had graciously moved his reading room to the room right next to hers. When Y/n came home, Chuck greeted her with a strong hug and Minho with a ruffling of her hair. Newt always watched from the foyer. And Y/n always noticed him and pulled him into a long hug. While making dinner, Y/n and Teresa pulled everyone else into help. Chuck usually stirred something or snuck some unbaked food. Minho washed dishes while Gally dried them. Alby handled the oven and Thomas the chopping of fruits and vegetables. Y/n and Teresa worked on the main meal and Newt flittered around doing whatever else needed to be done, causally brushing up against Y/n.

After dinner they settled for either a game night or movie night if Y/n didn’t need to spend some more time working. When Y/n needed to work, Newt would sit by her and make sure she wasn’t overworking. However, sometimes Newt would find Y/n pacing her room, whispering away on her phone or pouring over a book. He would keep his findings to himself, although wondering what she was doing. Other times, Y/n would be found in her room, surrounded by candles meditating.

“Hey Y/n?” Newt approached her one night while she was on the phone.

“I’ll call you back,” Y/n said quickly. After a second, she softly rolled her eyes and said, “I love you too.”

Newt frowned but continued, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we were wondering if you wanted to come down?”

“Of course!” Y/n nodded.

“May I ask who you were calling?” Newt wondered as he walked her down the staircase.

“My grandma,” Y/n explained, “I was hoping to get some… counselling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Y/n looked around for any of the other ghosts before gesturing for Newt to follow her. She led him to an unused room and turned to him, excited. “I’ve been looking around and talking to my grandma, who’s also a witch, and reading some books. With a little magic,” the girl looked hesitant yet hopeful, “I may be able to bring you guys back.”

Newt reeled backwards. “What do you mean you can bring us back?!”

“Okay, well, it’s not a little magic,” Y/n conceded the truth, “it’s a lot of complicated magic. And some of it may be black magic. But it’s for the greater good! So it cancels out. My grandma warned me about it, but I think after I-”

“Y/n.” Newt steeled her. “No. You can’t do that. Trust me, it won’t work. Listen…” he took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. “You’re not the first witch to live here. Before Gally died, there was another who lived here. Her name was Ava Paige. As a young witch back then, she thought she could do anything. She was indeed powerful, but we got a little too close to her. We trusted her too much. She wanted to bring us back, like you, so she dipped into the dark arts. It- It didn’t turn out well. By just brushing into the darker arts, her soul was consumed and she be- became inhuman. It was terrible.” Newt ran a hand through his hair. It fluffed up because of it. “Thomas had to pick up a shotgun and kill her. You don’t see her here because something evil was inside of her. She didn’t return after she died. I don’t want that to happen to you, Y/n.” For the first time since he started talking, Newt looked into her eyes.

“Newt,” Y/n’s voice broke, “how did you die?”

“I killed myself.” Newt revealed. “I died by suicide. Alby and Minho kept trying to stop me but I couldn’t see them until it was too late. I woke up as a ghost with three boys I didn’t know staring down at me.”

“Oh, Newt.” Y/n lunges forward to hug him, but Newt, not expecting it, lets her tumble through him and put the other side. Y/n sighed, unable to comfort him. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. I wish I could hug you.”

“Just- please don’t try to bring us back.” Newt cautioned her, “I don’t want you disappearing into a blackness that only death could pull you out of. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. I don’t want you to die.”

“But then I could be with you.” Y/n whispered, “Eternally.”

“Don’t you dare,” Newt shook his head. “I will not let you. Stay alive for as long as you can. Love your life to the fullest. I will not have that gift ripped away from you.”

“Newt,” Y/n’s voice trailed off as Newt hurridley floated away, once again running a hand through his hair, despair haunting his face. Y/n’s jaw tightened as she took out her phone and dialled her grandma. “Grandma,” she started, “hi. I was wondering if you could send me the book?” After quiet, urging words on the other end of the phone, Y/n said, “Then maybe we can come to a compromise. When’s the next full moon?”

With her Grandma’s book in hand, the full moon overhead, and surrounded by all her candles and crystals and plants, Y/n sat cross- legged. She had drawn a circle around herself and had gotten everything ready.

She only hoped that the ghosts wouldn’t figure out what was going on until it was too late.

Y/n started chanting slowly, fixating on the words from the book. Her chanting grew louder, the candles flickering and wind starting to howl outside. She called upon any deity she could think of, using all the different types of magic her grandma had taught her.

From downstairs, Newt glanced up from his book, something troubling him.

Y/n took a deep breath before chanting the second line of the spell. Then the third line, and back to the first. If she were to open her eyes or break her concentration, she would find the candles all blown out and the book laid closed before her. As Y/n repeated the first line, something bubbled from deep inside her. Something dangerous she instantly knew should never have been touched. However, she pushed through. Dark veins started crawling up her arms, the punishment for crossing the dark line of witchcraft. They climbed higher and higher eventually reaching her elbows before-

The door slammed open and Newt, along with the others rushed through. “Y/n!” Newt cried once he saw her state.

Y/n’s eyes flew open and for a second Newt swore they were pitch black. An animalistic rage buzzed with her glare. Then the spell broke and they turned back to her normal, e/c colour.

“What were you doing?!” he screamed. Alby, Thomas, Gally, and Minho rushed into the room, tossing out the candles, cleansing the crystals, and erasing the circle as Teresa held Chuck back.

“Why did you do that?!” Y/n yelled back. “I was so close! I would’ve done it!”

“Look at your arms!” Newt cried, rushing to her, “A few more seconds and you would’ve been gone!”

“I wasn’t completing the full spell!” Y/n argued, “I had everything prepared. I was doing it under the full moon and altering it so you guys would only be human again when the moon was at its most powerful! It wasn’t like Ava, I promise!”

The rest of the spirits froze at the name. “How does she know about that?” Alby asked, voice dangerously low.

“She told me about her plan so I told her of Ava to warn her,” Newt replied slowly.

Alby took a deep breath before saying, “Newt, I understand you feel for this human, but we have no control over them. We promised never to speak of Ava again.”

“I’m sorry, Alby,” Newt said, “but I couldn't let her do this. I just couldn’t.”

Y/n rubbed at her black veins. Why did they scar if the spell didn’t work?

“Newt,” Y/n whispered, “I think it might’ve worked.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, distracted.

“I completed the spell. But I told you, I didn’t go all the way. I modified it so you would only return to living humans under the full moon. Well, it’s the full moon and I think it worked.”

Chuck interrupted the conversation by jumping loudly up and down. “Oh my god,” he beamed, “I don’t go through the floor!”

“Chuck,” Teresa chastised, “you’ve been practising your whole life. Of course you don’t fall through the floor.”

“Yeah,” Gally said, “but Minho, Alby, Thomas, and I just picked everything up without having to think about it.”

Y/n looked hopefully at Newt. He glanced back at her, worried. Then, Y/n leapt forward and engulfed Newt in a hug. Newt stumbled back, surprised. “I caught you,” he whispered.

“It worked!” Thomas cried. The others started jumping around and shouting, overwhelmed by the newfound realisation. Teresa used a small knife to cut open her arm, eyes growing large when blood started to blink out. Minho and Thomas embraced, clapping each other on the back and Chuck flopped onto Y/n’s bed, feeling the comfort of a blanket once more. Alby stood in the middle of the room, tears brimming his eyes. Was he actually alive? Gally couldn’t stop yelling, grasping all his friends in a tight hug.

Newt and Y/n just kept hugging each other. Newt squeezed her tightly, afraid it was all a dream and she was going to disappear. Real tears, which he had not been able to conjure since death, slipped down his face and he took joy in feeling them. He gripped Y/n even tighter, her shirt bunching up underneath his fists. Y/n hugged him back, knowing that she shouldn’t let go. Overcome with so much emotion, Newt simply buried his face into the crook of her neck, quietly sobbing.

“Newt?” Y/n gently pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. Her thumb swiped away his tears. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better than okay, love.” Newt’s voice broke. “I’m fantastic.”

“It’s only during the full moon,” Y/n looked ashamed, “I’m sorry I couldn’t extend it longer, but everyone will be spirits except for one day a month.”

“It’s perfect,” Newt swallowed. “Bloody perfect. You’re bloody perfect.”

Y/n scoffed and shook her head. “I could’ve done better. It’s not-” Newt cut off her worries with a kiss.

Y/n startled backwards and Newt immediately felt terrible. “I’m so sorry!” he started rambling, cheeks coating with an embarrassed blush. “I should’ve asked but I didn’t. I just messed everything up by not asking and I’m so sorry-”

Y/n didn’t say anything except pull him close and kiss him again. “Just caught me off guard,” she mumbled. Newt beamed before bending down and pressing his lips to hers.

Minho was first to notice, letting out a loud ‘whoop’ that gained everyone else’s attention. Thomas wolf- whistled which only made the lovers smile and deepen the kiss. Gally hid his blush at the display and Teresa grinned. Alby laughed out of pure delight for them and Chuck made a gagging noise, burying himself in the blanket.

Newt slowly pulled away, smiling wildly. Life was certainly going to change.

While life continued as normal in the ‘haunted mansion’, there was an air of happiness ever present that wasn’t there before. Teresa would hum to herself while baking and Alby was seen laughing more often. Even Gally was caught smirking whenever he found something amusing.

Y/n would come home from work as always, but it was Newt she greeted first and then Chuck and Minho.

In the days leading up to the full moon, the house got livelier and livelier. Thomas would chase Chuck around before Newt would call out in warning. Chuck would yell something about himself being indestructible and Minho would swoop in, lifting him high into the air.

When the fateful day came, the spirits did whatever came to mind. Gally challenged Ably to a duelling match, each poking and prodding each other with dull swords, oddly relishing in the fact that blood could be spilt. Teresa conducted experiments in the kitchen, excited to actually be able to smell the chemicals or accidentally cover herself in pink dye. Thomas and Minho would dare each other to complete life- defying stunts such as jumping out a window or drinking Teresa’s new concoction. Chuck always followed closely behind, a little scared that something may happen, but also willing himself to be brave enough to do what the older boys did.

Newt and Y/n would always disappear, either into the library or her room as the full moon declared their date night. The others knew not to disturb them, mostly out of kindness, but also Y/n’s strong glare whenever one brought it up teasingly. None of them really knew what they did (although Thomas jokingly thought they dramatically reenacted Shakespeare while Minho wiggled his eyebrows; though he couldn’t say his thoughts in front of Chuck. Chuck, however, made a point to not jump on Y/n’s bed anymore unless he was certain the sheets had been cleaned). Truth be told, the couple did whatever they pleased; whether it was calmly watch a movie, curl up and reading together, having an indoor picnic, or something else. Whatever it was, Newt would always absentmindedly stroke Y/n’s blacked veins, forever grateful of her sacrifice. Y/n woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, plagued with nightmares, but Newt was quick to comfort her. It was always worse the closer they got to the full moon. Nonetheless, everyone in the house, dead or alive, were content and happier than they had ever been.

However, people do get older. While Y/n grew up, the spirits stayed the same. Newt was always worried she would move on to another house, but she never did. She never got married, either. Sonya’s children would come over, along with Y/n’s nieces and nephews, begging to hear stories from their auntie. Y/n would sit them down, alcohol in hand (forever loving her and Brenda’s role as the wine aunts,) and tell them stories of witchery, spirits, monsters, and her still black veins. The children would watch with large eyes, terrified, yet enamoured. After each story was done, the never ending questions of “was it real?!” came forth. Y/n would simply laugh and raise a toast to her spirit friends watching from the kitchen. Newt would raise his glass back, smiling. But a small part of him felt guilty while watching his love be surrounded by kids. Did he take that away from her?

Yet, the tradition of dying young in that house didn’t stop. While in a heated discussion with Teresa one day, at the age of twenty- one, Y/n slipped on the stairs, tumbling down and hitting her head on the polished wood. Teresa let out a scream, signalling to the others that something was wrong. But they were too late. Y/n lay in a growing puddle of her blood.

If Newt could cry, he would’ve. A hollow scream left his lips as he stared at his beloved. He crashed to the ground next to Y/n, cursing every god he knew. Frantic, and not thinking clearly, his translucent hands swept through her, willing Y/n to just wake up. Minho gripped his shoulder firmly, reminding him it would be okay. It would all be okay. Alby slowly drifted towards the phone, a deep aching feeling of melancholy in his chest. He called the hospital.

When the paramedics came and found the body with no sight of who called, the police were called in. Pictures were taken with an invisible boy weeping over the body of his lost love.

Alby knelt down next to him. “It’ll be okay,” he reminded Newt, a sharp edge to his voice.

“I kept her from having a good life!” Newt cried out, his true thoughts coming through. “She stayed here because of me! I’ve cursed her to stay here for all eternity!”

“Newt.” Alby tried to talk sense into him. “Y/n loved it here. She loved you. She loves you. She’ll be back.”

“Look at her,” Newt whispered, gently running a hand over Y/n’s cold face. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, lifeless. The colour had drained from her body, leaving Y/n as white as the ghosts.

“She dabbled in black magic,” Gally said quietly so Newt couldn’t hear her. Even if he could, he was in his own little world. “Are we sure she’s going to come back?” Alby and Minho shot him a glare, telling him to shut up. Thomas shook his head.

Eventually, after crime scene photos for a forever-to-be-opened case were taken, the paramedics gently lifted Y/n’s body onto a stretcher, draped a white cloth over her, and took her away. In her place, laid a translucent outline of Y/n. Newt gasped in relief, pulling Y/n’s spirit up into a hug. Slowly, Y/n opened her eyes.

“What happened?” she groaned. “Why does my head hurt?”

“You died,” Minho said bluntly. After Teresa hit him over the head, Minho quietly apologised.

“What does he mean, Newt?” Y/n looked at the boy, only then realising that she could see through her hands. “Holy fu…” Her eyes widened and she started hyperventilating. “I died? I can’t die. I shouldn’t die. I’m a ghost? I- I- wait? Newt?” She turned to him for answers, but Newt was only grinning.

“I’m so happy you’re not dead!” He yanked her in for another hug, then elaborated, “I mean, you are dead, but I was worried you may not come back as a spirit. I’m sorry you died. It’ll take a lot of getting used to, but we’ll help you to adjust. I- I feel terrible though.”

“Why?” Y/n asked him, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

“I kept you in here for so long. You didn’t get to see the world. And now you’re trapped in this house forever. I’m so sorry.” Y/n wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying; she just kept running her hands through his hair. “What are you doing?” Newt asked, swatting her hands away.

“I can touch you.” Y/n laughed softly. “I can actually touch you. M- My hand doesn’t go through you anymore. I can touch you!” She laughed louder, and Newt, perplexed but just happy she was smiling, laughed along with her. “Newt,” Y/n reassured his concerns, “I don’t care about that. I saw the world before I moved here. And now, my world is you.”

Minho pretended to gag behind their backs. Thomas laughed but Teresa pushed the both of them over.

“I was just so worried you were gone.” Newt said softly. He swallowed, trying to keep everything at bay.

“I’m not,” Y/n reassured him, “I’m here. And everything will be okay.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 1)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Friday, March 8th, 1889

***Nesta***

The rain had let up by the time 25-year old Nesta Archeron stepped out of the St. John’s Wood Road station. Taking the family carriage was preferable to clustering with all the grimy plebeians, but riding the Metropolitan Railway was considered en vogue for young adults in 1889. Besides, showing up to a suffragist meeting in a fancy carriage wasn’t very humble.

Political disagreements—revolving around Prime Minister Gladstone and Irish Home Rule—had left the budding suffragist movement in disarray. Still, Nesta’s particular group of women’s activists managed to meet every Friday. Which was why, even on freezing March days like this, Nesta was committed to trekking out to central London.

Central London itself was a veritable sludge of shit, coal soot, and rot. But she’d rather be wading through the mucky Victorian streets than walking up the front steps of the Archerons’ house. Nesta didn’t have issues with the four-story building crafted from warm red brick, with its ample windows and three full-time staff to attend to their needs. The home was even outfitted with running water—what more could she ask for?

Nesta had issues with her mother’s disagreeable presence.

Nesta hadn’t minded being her mother’s favorite child when she was younger, for it meant receiving pretty dresses, compliments, and plenty of dance lessons. But as Nesta grew older, she realized Isabella Archeron cared only about social status. And once Nesta joined the suffragist movement, it became abundantly clear that her mother saw her as a marriage mart project—and never as an actual person.

Isabella Archeron had fallen ill last spring. Her health failed to improve at their country home, at the southern coast, and even at the hands of their family doctor. So shortly before Christmas, Nesta’s father returned the family to London.

“The pollution is not ideal, but there will be better doctors in London,” he’d reasoned. “And better chances of finding a husband for you, Nesta.” Nesta had agreed to the move, but not because she wanted to get married. If she couldn’t go to Manchester, where the beating heart of the suffrage movement lay, she would find like-minded women in London.

Society in the country moved at a snail’s pace, as things often did when the closest neighbors were a carriage ride away. Women’s suffrage was met with blank stares, and then revulsion once Nesta explained it in simple terms. Really, did no one find it illogical that in a family with three daughters, the father was the only individual with any say in matters of politics? The women in the family outnumbered him four to one!

“Miss Archeron.” A maid dusting the vases in the front foyer gave a little bow as Nesta entered. Her brown eyes lingered on Nesta’s muddy boots. Though the servants turned a blind eye to Nesta’s comings and goings, she was certain they gossiped amongst themselves.

“Hello, Bridley.” Nesta gave the maid a nod. Poor, poor Bridley, a sweet girl married at such a young age to a boorish man who drank and gambled away into the night. This was precisely why Nesta had no intention of getting married, for upper-class men were hardly any better.

“Your mother called for you several minutes ago. I tried to borrow time, saying you were in a bath, but—”

“Yes, yes, I know. I must make haste.” Nesta waved Bridley off and ran up the stairs. She felt a bit guilty for tracking in street grime, but her mother was a woman who did not appreciate being kept waiting.

Nesta hastily threw on a tea gown and undid her braid, making sure there was no dirt on her face before opening the door to her mother’s bedroom. “You called, Mother?” Nesta greeted cautiously.

“Nesta, dear.” Only Isabella Archeron could make terms of endearment sound unpleasantly cold. “Come, sit by me.” Nesta entered and perched delicately on the edge of the four-poster bed. “Sit up straight, Nesta. You won’t attract any aristocrats with that slouch. And goodness, I know you just got out of the bath, but there is no reason for your hair to be undone,” her mother chided sharply.

Nesta automatically tilted her chin up and squared her shoulders. Surely even Queen Victoria would not meet her mother’s standards for appearances and proper etiquette. “My apologies,” Nesta gritted out.

“Hmm…I just purchased the scarlet dress for you from the catalog.” Her mother’s attention flitted from one topic to the next like a butterfly, and she waved a ladies’ fashion pamphlet at Nesta.

“Mother, I have five dresses that have not been worn in public yet. The scarlet dress is hardly a necessary purchase,” Nesta protested. Prices in those catalogs were astronomically expensive, but of course Isabella Archeron loved spending money like it grew on trees.

Nesta refused to balk at her mother’s icy look. “Yet two of those dresses have already fallen out of fashion! You must make a stunning entrance at the Beddor’s gala next week. It’s the debut event of the season, and I heard that several families from the House of Lords will be there, with sons of marrying age.”

Nesta suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s obsession with marrying up in society. Didn’t she realize that most courtships these days were based on love—not social and economic value? Did she ever think about how much potential was wasted when women were limited to marriage, children, and managing households? Clearly not.

Her mother continued chatting. “...and Tomas Mandray should be a fine option. Did you know that Lord Mandray’s wealth increased by 40 percent since last year? He was so smart for investing in those railways…”

“With the Beddors hosting, it would be poor taste for me to upstage Clare,” Nesta said carefully.

“Clare? Upstage her? Why, Nesta, that poor girl is so plain, even Bridley could upstage her in last season’s frock.” Her mother chuckled cruelly. “Oh, don’t give me that cross look. You know it’s true.”

Nesta suppressed the urge to defend Clare. Perhaps Clare lacked remarkable features, but at least she didn’t possess a nasty personality like her stunning mother. Besides, vying for attention from men was as close to pathetic as one could get. “But Mother, how am I to attend the gala if you are unwell and Father is still away?”

Isabella Archeron bristled. “Unwell? My dear girl, I am just a bit under the weather. I will be in perfect health to accompany you to the Beddors.”

Nesta highly doubted her mother’s chronic illness would magically clear up in a week, but she chose not to say anything.

Her mother pressed a pair of garnet and gold earrings into Nesta’s hand. “Wear these earrings to the gala, Nesta. They were your grandmother’s, and they will surely catch the eye of every man in the room. I know this to be true, because your father asked me for our first dance when I wore these 27 years ago.” Icy gray-blue eyes glinted with cunning.

It was nauseating. What kind of mother expressed affection in the form of social-climbing strategy and materialistic goods? Where were the hugs, kisses, or warm words of comfort? Although the earrings were beautiful, they reminded Nesta of her fate: you will marry, just like the generations of women who came before you.

“Thank you,” Nesta managed to say, closing her fist.

“You may take your leave now, my dear. And tell your sister Feyre to join me for afternoon tea.” Isabella Archeron’s placid tone indicated she’d grown bored already.

“Yes, Mother.” Nesta closed the door, gripping the earrings so tightly that the metal backings left pricks of pain in her palm. Days like this drove her to dance away her self-loathing in the parlor downstairs. The waltz, the tango, the metal pole…Nesta was a master—or should she say, mistress—of these forms. But first, Nesta needed to find Feyre.

***Elain***

A colossal structure of wrought-iron stretched up, up, and up into the twinkling night sky. What a magnificent building! If Elain craned her neck, she could barely make out the tricolor flag of France fluttering from the upper viewing terrace. The grand lawn before her, a bursting promenade of shops, exhibits, and worldly wonders, invited her to explore at a leisurely pace.

A solid arm looped over her shoulder, drawing her close to a warm body. Elain gasped, startled at the rush of sensations he—for the person was definitely a man—elicited. She felt warm, like she was sitting by a toasty fire. Secure, as if she’d come home. Elated, like champagne bubbles rushing through her body. Elain glanced to her right, trying to see who the stranger was…

Knock, knock, knock. Sharp raps on her door woke Elain from her nap. “Elain! Elain!” Her younger sister’s muffled cries sounded from the hall. “Are you in there?”

Elain stifled the urge to snap at Feyre when she opened the door. She was fairly certain her dream had featured the Tour Eiffel: the architectural wonder waiting to be unveiled this summer at the Exposition Universelle. Photographs of the attraction had been kept hush hush, but if Elain had just seen it in its full glory…that meant it wasn’t just any dream. It was a premonition.

“Elain, look what I managed to get!” Feyre was excitedly waving three slips of paper in Elain’s face. With her mismatched servant’s clothes and faint smell of coal, Feyre must have been wandering the slums of London again.

Elain blinked, trying to regain her post-nap bearings. “What is that?” She took the shimmering crimson slips of paper from Feyre’s hands. In gold lettering, the paper read:

Admit One | Prythian’s Fantasia

A magical night awaits you at the greatest show this side of Earth…

“Three tickets to see Prythian’s Fantasia!” Feyre gushed breathlessly, her blue-gray eyes shining with excitement. “Remember, the circus that arrived last week?” Ah, yes. The circus that Feyre had been raving about every spare minute.

“This side of earth?” Elain repeated. A craggy mountain with two branches of magenta amaranth flowers crossing below it was printed on the ticket. A strange choice of imagery for a circus. “What does that even mean?”

Nesta’s angular face appeared behind Feyre like a ghostly apparition. “Feyre! You’ve been out of the house again, haven’t you?” Nesta accused sharply. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been robbed, stabbed, kidnapped, or caught some venereal disease!”

Feyre’s expression soured. “Says the one who went to a suffragist meeting today!”

“Be quiet.” Nesta whipped her head around anxiously. “Unless you want me telling Mother about your dalliances.”

“Look, Nesta,” Elain tried to diffuse the situation. “Feyre got us tickets to Prythian’s Fantasia.”

Nesta’s icy eyes narrowed at Elain’s hand. “Where’d you get those from? Isaac Hale?” She spat his name like a bitter root on her tongue. Elain winced. Isaac Hale, the butcher’s son in the seedier side of town, was Feyre’s paramour. She’d met the man once, and found him relatively handsome and well-mannered. But she privately agreed with Nesta: Feyre could do better.

“He gave them to me for free.” Feyre crossed her arms indignantly. “Why are you in such a mood today?”

“Nothing in this world is free. Especially between men and women,” Nesta scoffed.

“Well, they’re for tonight’s show. Eight o’clock. Do you want to go or not?” Feyre jutted her chin out stubbornly. Eldest and youngest Archeron sisters faced off, like a viper versus a wolf, their matching blue eyes blazing. Elain held her breath, preparing to intervene again.

“Fine.” Nesta was the one who relented. “By the way, Mother asked to see you for afternoon tea.”

“How is she?” Feyre asked, cooling down quickly from their verbal exchange.

“As superficial as she always is.” With that, Nesta turned and left. She didn’t have to specify that their mother only wanted to see Feyre. Isabella Archeron rarely asked for Elain.

Perhaps all middle children were simply doomed to be forgotten.

It was always like this: Elain meekly sandwiched between Nesta and Feyre, the two rebellious and squabbling women of the Archeron house. Nesta, who openly derided the male species and passionately spoke about women's rights. Feyre, who renounced high society by excelling at archery and sneaking off to the seedier parts of London.

While Feyre’s artistic talent was her only refined hobby, Elain seemed the perfect lady, all agreeable manners and poised like a princess.

But it was all a defense mechanism. Excelling as a high society lady prevented her cruel mother’s scrutiny. And if the peerage saw Elain as a docile, conventional woman, they would not suspect her of seeing the future. For what man would marry a woman who fell into fitful dreams, one who could predict his death and misfortunes?

At least Elain’s visions only came when she lulled herself into a meditative state or dreamed. If she fell into random, episodic trances, she would definitely be sent off to an asylum for insanity. The future came in flashes and snippets, always cryptic but never subject to change. And with the number of startling—and sometimes horrific—premonitions she received outnumbering the pleasant ones, Elain would hardly call her ability a “gift”.

“Any news from Papa?” Feyre asked Elain. Reginald Archeron, a renowned merchant who sailed to the four corners of the earth to do business, had set off for Continental Europe just after Christmas. He still had not returned.

Elain shook her head. “The postman didn’t have any correspondence.”

“It’s unusual for him to be gone so long, and not send any word.” Feyre chewed her lip worriedly. “Perhaps we should alert the authorities?”

“What good will that do?” Elain replied shortly. “We don’t even know what country Father is in.”

“I don’t see how you can be so calm about this.”

Elain blinked, trying to keep her expression neutral. Why worry about her father, when he was probably having the time of his life cheating on their mother? The terrible premonition arrived three years ago: Reginald Archeron kissing a woman with dark hair and emerald green eyes in a continental-style opera house. Possibly in Moscow. Or perhaps it was Berlin.

The most striking detail was the ornate golden locket that had glinted in the woman’s hands. Elain went rooting through her father’s study when he returned from his trip, and she found the exact same locket, complete with the woman’s picture in it. Holding the offensive jewelry piece in her very hands had Elain tasting bile.

Elain had been 21 years old and well aware that not all marriages were pleasant. Still, the realization that her own father was unfaithful had been a shock. That her loving Papa was one of those types of husbands. But Elain didn’t dare breathe a word of her findings to her sisters, who knew nothing of her abilities. Nesta…Nesta would probably tear their father apart with words alone. Feyre…Feyre, who valued their family unit more than anything, would be crushed.

Feyre sighed, not waiting to hear Elain’s response. “Well, I’ll see what Mother wants. Be ready for the circus by seven. We need to travel to the south bank.” Elain nodded, closing the door distractedly.

Elain’s mind returned to that mysterious man from her vision. Oh, how she longed to return to that hazy dream, so warm and tantalizing it was! He existed somewhere. He had to. Elain didn’t catch any of his features, but she felt so sure that he wasn’t anyone she knew at that moment. The man was waiting for her in the future. In Paris, too!

Oh, Paris! The Continent! As her father’s favorite child, Elain was shown the goods he’d help procure, like beautiful fabrics, spices, rough-cut gems, and wood carvings. She had fond memories of spending hours in his office, staring at the large maps on the walls and devouring books about foreign lands. “I’ll bring you to the continent next year, Elain,” Reginald Archeron had promised. Then he promised again, the next year. And again, the following. Many years passed, a slew of broken promises in their wake.

Not that she would ever want to explore the continent with her father now, knowing that he spent those trips canoodling with mysterious women. But the London gloom outside her window had Elain wishing her life was different.

If Nesta and Feyre were shamelessly carving their own unconventional paths, why couldn’t she do the same? She didn’t need to wait for her father to take her to the continent; she was 24 years old, a modern woman with the means to travel the world.

As if an answer to her thoughts, the mystery man’s phantom touch seemed to linger on her shoulder, urging Elain to make her way to the Exposition Universelle. To find him in real life.

***Feyre***

Isabella Archeron had been a formidable woman just two years ago. Her golden-brown hair had been a luscious mane that shimmered even under England’s clouds. Her back had been ramrod straight, the sharp lines of her cheeks and jaw had nary a wrinkle. Flitting from one party to the next, Isabella Archeron was truly London’s finest social butterflies.

But her mother’s hair turned limpid, even gray. The pale hue of her skin was almost sickly, and the angles of her face only made her look hollowed out, older. Now, Isabella Archeron spent most of her time confined to the bed or the bath.

Watching her mother’s chest rattle with phlegm-filled coughs and her frail hands tremble, Feyre wondered if something swift and sure like cholera would have been better. It would’ve been better than this gradual chipping away at life over the months.

“How are you feeling, Mother?” Feyre asked cautiously when she entered the room. Although illness had dulled Isabella Archeron’s quick mind, it soured her temperament, leaving her prone to mood swings.

“Feyre. Pour me a cup of tea, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.” Feyre dutifully placed a sugar cube into the dainty china cup, and poured steaming tea from the ornate teapot.

She was about to stir the sugar and cream with a spoon, when her mother snapped, “And do not stir the tea. I may be ill, but I am not invalid.” Feyre set the spoon down cautiously and dutifully walked towards her mother’s bed, hating how her shaky hands rattled the cup and saucer.

“Have you heard from your father?”

“No, Mother.”

The difficult pregnancy had meant that Feyre would be the last Archeron child. Feyre suspected her parents hoped she would be a son who could inherit the family business and lead the household while Reginald Archeron was away for work. Feyre wasn’t a son, but her parents still expected her to be the “most responsible” of her sisters since early childhood.

For example, ever since she was 16, her father assigned her to managing their bank statements while he was abroad. All Feyre had to do was sign the checks and record the transactions in the balance book, but at this point, she could forge Reginald Archeron’s signature in her sleep. Feyre had also tended her sisters whenever they got sick, bringing them warm soup and administering tonics. Thanks to those years of “experience”, Feyre was now charged with managing the rotating circle of doctors, household expenses, and servants ever since her mother fell ill.

Perhaps she was assigned this role of “caretaker” because her parents were reluctant to change their attitudes toward her sisters. Nesta, the first-born, could have easily been taught the tools of the trade. But Isabella Archeron was keen on shaping Nesta to be the wife of a lord or a prince, not a merchant’s apprentice. Then came Elain, who took after their father and automatically became his princess to dote on.

That left Feyre at the scrutiny of both, but without the love from either parent.

“Hmm. I’m feeling rather abysmal today. I fear these doctors are not helping me whatsoever.” Her mother gestured to the array of tonics and powders on the bedside table. Feyre’s eyes widened in alarm when she noticed a pile of brown-stained handkerchiefs.

“Are you coughing up blood?” she said in alarm.

“Don’t be silly. Why would I be coughing up blood? I just spilled my tea.” Her mother sounded like she even believed it herself. But Feyre was doubtful; she’d seen those tell-tale colors on Isaac’s work apron numerous times. “Do write to your Aunt Ripleigh and ask if she could send some more of that rose and daisy tea. It was delightful.”

Aunt Ripleigh had been dead for six years now. There was no rose and daisy tea in the house, either.

“Of course, Mother.” She made a mental note to ask Nesta if their mother had experienced another bout of memory loss during their session together. Isabella Archeron’s diminishing moments of lucidity were concerning.

“Well, Feyre. You’d better hurry along and get ready for Watson's charity ball. I’ve already told Mrs. Watson that I’ve fallen ill, but your father should be able to accompany you three.” Isabella Archeron’s blue-gray eyes closed, and within moments, she’d fallen asleep.

The charity ball her mother spoke of had occurred two seasons ago.

Hopefully she would sleep past supper and continue assuming her daughters were at a charity ball instead of a circus. Isabella Archeron considered anything below the opera or classical music hall a lowly performance unfit for their presence. Laughable, considering the Archerons were only wealthy merchants, not the aristocracy.

“Yes, Mother.” Feyre said, even though she couldn’t hear her. She touched her mother’s hand before she left the room. It was deathly cold. Feyre didn’t love her mother, but she didn’t want her to die. Despair rose within her like the tide, as if it was her fault Isabella Archeron wasn’t getting any better.

It was rumored that Amarantha, the circus ringmaster, was a powerful witch doctor. Apparently she learned her craft from the natives in the tropical latitudes and left a trail of miracles from town to town. Feyre had nearly laughed in Isaac’s face when he told her that.

A female ringmaster? Impossible. And a witch? Those were from the Dark Ages.

But now, Feyre was desperate. If modern science could not cure her mother, why not try other methods? The Archerons had money. Jewels. Exotic antiques. Feyre was quite confident she could pay Amarantha for a little healing spell.

Nesta was wholly focused on the suffragist movement. Elain was swept away by the pageantry of fancy dinners and shows in London. Both seemed rather ambivalent about their mother’s health and their father’s suspicious silence over the last few months. Once again, it fell on Feyre to do something, anything that would keep her dysfunctional family together.

Tonight, she would see for herself what this Amarantha was all about. Even if the ringmaster turned out to be a dud, at least she got a famed circus show out of it.

✨

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#feysand #nessian #elucien #acotar #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfic #nessian fanfic #elucien fanfic #Prythian's Fantasia

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spine-buster · 1 year

Text

Lost in the Memory | Ryan O'Reilly | Volume I

gif credit @/mitchmarner

A/N: Well, here it is...the first instalment of a very inspired plot bunny that appeared the day that ROR became a Leaf! Hope you all enjoy what is basically porn without plot :)

TW: sibling death

“We have an MLSE-owned condo that you can both go to take a few moments before the game – get that nap in – before coming back here.”

Ryan let Noel take it. He made up something on the spot, that he already owned a condo somewhere near here as an investment, and it was sitting empty, so he’d just go to that to get his pre-game nap in. Nobody was the wiser. After Noel was handed the keys to the condo, Ryan ordered an Uber to take him to Summerhill.

As he approached the front door of the original Victorian semi, he admired the bay-and-gable architecture that reminded him so much of the house the Napier kids grew up in. It was why Whitney loved it so much in the first place, and why Ryan bought it for her without giving it a second thought. Original stained-glass windows. Hardwood floors and trim. Original wood-burning fireplaces, still working after being built in the 1890s. Old but cozy. Grand but homey. Four bedrooms, just like there was in her house growing up, one for each of the kids, and of course one for her parents. Ryan could still remember where all the kids’ bedrooms were on the second floor, for various reasons.

Owen was the eldest Napier child, born in 1986 just like Cal. He was the smartest of all the Napier and O’Reilly kids too, save for probably Tara, and his job as a surgeon out in Kelowna proved it. He and Cal played a lot of hockey together, but when Owen decided to get serious about science, he quit. He and Cal drifted apart slightly, but they were still good friends and still kept in touch a lot. Tara came next in 1988, and Ryan and Gareth followed three years later in 1991, within weeks of each other. The two boys were inseparable, whether they were riding their bikes, on their skateboards or rollerblades or scooters, zooming down hills on toboggans – not to mention on the ice. They were always playing together on the same teams, until Ryan left for Toronto and then the OHL. But even then, Gareth would get himself to any game Ryan was playing that was even remotely close to their hometown. Whitney was born four years later in 1995. Owen and Gareth weren’t too excited to get a baby sister – they would have obviously preferred a brother – but Ryan still remembered the day she was brought home from the hospital. Shannon came in 1997, and the group was complete.

When Ryan got drafted, the Napier family were there celebrating with his. Even all of his foster siblings – almost 50 of them – loved the Napier family. When he was drafted and moved to Colorado, they’d make a trip with his parents once a year to watch him play. When he moved to Buffalo, they would drive down multiple times a year to catch a game and support him, knowing what he was going through there. His house was their house. Their house was his house. Their joys were his joys, and their tragedies were his tragedies.

He heard the door unlock. When it opened, he saw Whitney standing on the other side in a pair of Lululemon tights and a crop top. She seemed surprised to see him, even though they’d texted before he got on the plane.

“I thought you’d be taking your pre-game nap,” she said.

Ryan stepped into the house. He didn’t want to waste time. “I’ve got two hours until I have to be back at the arena,” he said, closing the door behind him and locking it without even looking.

In one swift movement, he wrapped an arm around Whitney and pulled her against his body. She let a giggle out. “We can get up to a lot in two hours, can’t we,” she whispered, her voice husky as she looked up at him. It was only then she realized he was wearing a stereotypical Canadian tuxedo, and she wasn’t holding up her end of the bargain. “And look at me. I’m not even wearing what I promised for you.”

“You know I don’t care about that right now. I like you better like this anyway,” his voice was just as husky as hers. His hands travelled down over her ass and he picked her up, just as he had countless times before, and she wrapped her legs around his torso, just like she had countless times before. There was no hesitation on either end when their lips and tongues met hungrily, not bothering with pleasantries or soft beginning kisses. That was for those who were unsure or perhaps didn’t know what they were doing, and Ryan and Whitney had been doing this for over ten years.

Ryan was big and strong. He always had been, even as kids – when he’d pick her up and carry her to her room kicking and screaming so he and Gareth could play video games in peace without her annoying them as kids; when he’d push her on the swing in the park and she’d go higher than all the other kids, making them jealous; when she wasn’t so little anymore and she’d pair up with him in pool fights where he’d let her get on his shoulders and he was as solid as concrete foundation. Hockey had only made him bigger and stronger. All the training he did throughout the year, and in the summers with his dad, only meant that his body was always overpowering in its size and stature, but not in a bad way. The first time they’d done this he’d been so gentle with her, but it only took until the second time for Whitney to want to feel his entire body against hers, and for him to use it to his full advantage (and to hers, if she was being honest). They hadn’t looked back since.

Ryan wasted no time carrying Whitney up the stairs, climbing them like it was nothing and leading her to her bedroom. When he placed her down on the bed, their lips didn’t even leave each other’s until she began to grasp at his jean jacket. “Take this off,” she breathed out. “I want to feel your body, Snook.”

Whitney pushed the jacket off his shoulders, and he tugged at the sleeves and pulled it off, throwing it off the bed. She snuck her hands underneath his top, the firmness of his body beneath her fingertips once again. It didn’t matter how many times it happened; it invigorated her every time. There was no other body on this earth that felt like Ryan’s – she was sure of that. And it didn’t matter if they were in bed, in the backseat of his car, in a pool or hot tub, or anywhere else, the feeling of his physical body so close to hers reminded her constantly that Ryan’s body was made for her, and her body was made for Ryan.

Before she could take off his shirt, Ryan began leaving a trail of kisses down her body, dragging his lips and tongue along areas until he pushed her crop top up, exposing her bra. “Take this off, baby,” he mumbled against her skin. “I need to see you.”

Whitney leaned forward so Ryan’s giant hands could slip underneath the fabric and pull her top off, and she followed quickly in pulling her sports bra over her head, lying back down on the bed with her arms above her head. When she felt Ryan clasping his hands over hers, applying pressure to keep them from moving, she grinded her hips up against his. “Fuck,” he let out quickly, quietly, biting his bottom lip. He crashed his lips against Whitney’s, sticking his tongue down her throat and causing her to mewl in pleasure, her hips grinding against his once more.

He could already feel himself getting hard – it never took long with Whitney. He moved down to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Her little sighs and moans were what he got lost in; the same little sighs and moans he would think about when she was on the other side of the dinner table or deck in front of their friends or family and he couldn’t touch her like he could behind closed doors. The thought of them clouded his judgement so much sometimes that he’d tune out what everyone was saying around him and remember a time where he’d pinned her body under his and all they felt was ecstasy.

He began to place big, open-mouth kisses down her chest and stomach, getting achingly slow around her belly button. When he set her hands free, they immediately went to gathering the fabric of his shirt into her fists, pulling it off him quickly so they were both topless. His lips returned dangerously close to the waistband of her leggings. “Not now, Snook,” Whitney said. “Later. I want to feel you inside me. It’s been so long.”

Ryan could barely think straight. “Later?”

“Later,” she nodded, her hands moving down to the button and zipper of his jeans, unfastening them in record speed. “I need to feel you fill me up like you love to.”

She helped him wiggle out of his jeans, and he pulled her tights and underwear off. When he was back on top of her, he grabbed one of her thighs and hooked her leg around his torso. He squeezed at the flesh of her thighs, both their chests heaving up and down. “D’you still have your IUD?”

“Of course.”

The way Whitney closed her eyes as she felt Ryan enter her – every time – still got to Ryan – every time. The way her eyelashes fluttered, then closed shut, then the inhalation of breath. He could feel her nails digging into the skin on his shoulder blades. “Look at me,” he said, almost demanded. Whitney’s eyes fluttered open to do as she was told, even though he was still pushing himself inside her. “You look so beautiful under me like this,” he told her.

“You’re so good to me, Ry,” she called him the pet name only she was allowed. He was called Snook by his entire family. He was called Ryan by everybody else. But only Whitney could call him Ry. “God, you feel so good inside me.” By this point Ryan was fully inside her, basking in the feeling he knew all too well. With one of Whitney’s legs still hooked around his torso, he began moving in and out of her at a steady pace, making her eyes roll to the back of her head from the pleasure. She brought her hands around and cradled his face, her thumbs grazing over his lips. “You love having me like this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Legs wide open, ready for you.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think about this when you were alone in St. Louis?”

She knew the answer to that question. She just wanted to hear him say how desperately he needed her. “Yes,” he huffed out, feeling her hips push into his again. “All the time.”

“Now that you’re in Toronto we can do this all the time,” she said. He watched as the slightest of smiles adorned her face, biting at her bottom lip. “You’ll be over a lot, won’t you Ry. Having me like this. Getting me on my hands and knees for you.”

The thought of it was heaven. If he could play hockey in Toronto and make love to Whitney in some sort of alternating schedule…well, that was his idea of paradise. “D’you need me like I need you?”

“Yes,” Whitney said without hesitation. “God Ry, you feel so good. Keep doing that. I want it to last as long as possible.”

Ryan grabbed her hands again, holding her wrists together above her head with just one hand. It was a while before he released them, and a while that they were back on his shoulder blades, digging deep into his skin. He couldn’t surmise how long they’d been going for, but he knew it had been a while, judging by the sweat on his body and how flushed red Whitney’s skin was, not to mention how puffy her lips were from all their kissing. He could feel himself getting close, and judging by the sighs and moans escaping Whitney, which he knew all too well, she was close too. “Look at me, Whit,” he said again, watching as she looked him in the eye.

“I want you to come inside me, Ry,” she breathed out. “Think about your cum in me while you win against the Habs.” He grunted at the thought. That would make him go crazy. “And when you get back home I’ll be waiting for you – waiting for you to fill me up again.”

Another loud grunt from him. She knew exactly what to say. “Fuckin’ love you, Whit.”

“Love you too Ry. Ever since we were kids.”

No more words were exchanged. Instead, laboured breaths, solid moans, and passionate cries filled the room until they came together, the feeling of Whitney tightening around his cock sending Ryan over the edge, and the feeling of Ryan coming inside of her, just as she wanted, sending Whitney over the edge too. He went for as long as he could, pumping in and out of her slowly as he felt her body shivering with pleasure, until even he was too tired. He collapsed onto her slowly, and she immediately wrapped her arms around his body, holding him close. They kissed for a while, slowly and passionately until they breathing returned to normal, with Ryan still inside her. Eventually, they lay together on their sides, holding each other.

Ryan’s eyes were getting droopy, and he was having a hard time staying awake. With the whirlwind 12 hours he’d just gone through, Whitney didn’t blame him. She began running her fingers through his hair, letting her nails massage his scalp. “Do you like how I redecorated the place?”

Ryan let out a tired smile. “Didn’t get to see it. But I bet it looks good. Not that my opinion matters.”

“Why not? You own the house.”

“I may have bought it but it’s your house,” he said. Her told her that all the time. He nestled his head into the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath in before exhaling. Whitney could feel his entire body relax in her arms, and she knew he was going to fall asleep any second. “I made a promise to your brother that I’d take care of you,” he continued, “and I’m not gonna break that promise.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d told Whitney that, either. “I know. I remember you saying that to Gareth as he lay in his casket.”

“I’ll always take care of you, Whit,” were Ryan’s last words before Whitney felt his breathing steady as he fell asleep.

Gareth passed away in the summer of 2013, when he was 22 years old. Whitney was just 18, about to move to Toronto and enter her first year of university at Ryerson to study communications. After hopping over to Russia, signing an offer sheet with Calgary, and then signing again with Colorado, Ryan was home early for the summer because the team hadn’t made the playoffs. Gareth, Ryan, and a bunch of their buddies had gone to the beaches near Goderich for a day of some fun and paddleboarding. One by one they had left, until Gareth was the only one. He was supposed to be back out again at 8 that night for a party, but he never showed up. That’s when everyone started to worry.

She remembered texting Ryan first, of course. They spoke every day.

did gareth go your house to get ready for that party?

i left the beach at 2 cuz i was getting sun stroke gareth was still there with jonesy, , john, ben, burnsy, and trent why?

he never came home he’s not answering his phone can you please come over ry

The specific details remained a blur to Whitney. She remembered little pockets of what happened, such as Ryan bursting through the front door. She remembered the kind police officer begging her and her parents to get some rest before the search resumed in the morning but being unable to, despite Ryan in her bedroom with her, holding her and rocking her back and forth, telling her that everything was going to be okay. She remembered not being able to stomach Bonnie O’Reilly’s broccoli chicken casserole even though it was one of her favourites. She remembered Ryan squeezing her hand under the table.

At some point, Whitney remembered hearing the worst news of her life: Gareth’s body had been found washed up on the shore of Lake Huron near Blue Water Beach and had been immediately transported to the hospital. So much water had gotten into his lungs that he’d developed an anoxic brain injury.

She remembered when she first stepped into his hospital room and felt physically sick by how many tubes he was hooked up to, including the ventilator. She remembered the doctors telling them that Gareth had drowned, that he was brain dead, and that they would have to make the choice as to when to remove the ventilator. They waited by his bedside for two days before Owen made it back from British Columbia.

On June 5th, at 3:30 in the afternoon, Gareth James Napier passed away.

Whitney doesn’t speak about his funeral.

***

When Ryan woke up an hour later, he and Whitney were still in the same position, nestled together in her bed. Her hand was still in his hair, their limbs entangled with one another’s. He groaned slightly, knowing that he had to leave but not exactly wanting to. He looked at his watch.

“You should take a shower before you leave,” he heard Whitney’s voice.

“Come with me.”

“Ryyyyyy,” she elongated his name, giggling slightly at the end. “You can’t have sex when you’re trying to wash the smell of sex off of you.”

“You said later, Whit,” his lips grazed against her skin. “It’s later.”

Whitney would never be able to forget how Ryan’s beard felt between her legs. After kissing and washing each other and Ryan eating her out within an inch of her life (seriously, he had to use his hands to hold her up because her legs turned into fucking jello and Ryan wasn’t about to let her fall in her own bathtub and get a concussion), they stood together at her front door, kissing, waiting for his Uber to arrive.

“We fly out to Chicago after the game, and then from there we fly to Buffalo,” he informed her in between kisses.

Whitney already knew. She’d looked up the schedule. “D’you want me to be in Buffalo, Snook?” she asked. He hesitated. “I can be there. I know it’s gonna feel…interesting for you.”

“I can let you know which hotel we’ll be in,” he acquiesced. “If—if you can even come that early. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Whit.”

“I don’t want you feeling alone in Buffalo. I know how much of a mindfuck it can be for you being there,” she wasn’t having any of it. “I can hang out with all the Leaf fans.”

He smiled. “I’m gonna have to get you a jersey.”

“Only if it has your name on the back,” she said, running her hands up and down his chest. “You can fuck me in it after.”

Ryan groaned, leaning his head down to kiss her. A car honked outside. “If you drive home fast enough that night, we’ll be able to. We won’t have to wait.”

Another kiss, this time more urgent. And another. And another. And another. “I’ll see you in Buffalo, Snook,” Whitney finally said her goodbye.

Another kiss. This time, Ryan bit her bottom lip between his teeth and pulled it along with him as he moved away. A soft mewl left Whitney’s lips. “See you in Buffalo.”

***

When Ryan played in Buffalo, Whitney would drive down to see him play. She wouldn’t tell anybody where she was going or what she was doing because it was their little secret. Sometimes she’d go just for a game and to be with Ryan afterwards, and she’d drive home the next morning to make it in time for her 10am class; sometimes if Ryan had a particularly long home stretch, she’d stay over longer and they would stay holed up in his house, making love in every room and on every surface imaginable. In between she would finish school work.

It wasn’t as frequent when Ryan first got to Buffalo. He’d signed a seven-year contract extension for an absurd amount of money – $52.5 million – and was putting up good numbers. But the team kept losing. And losing. And losing. It started to take a toll on him mentally. He’d call to talk with her and their conversations would last hours. Sometimes he’d get really emotional. Sometime he’d even cry, and her heart would break over the fact that he was feeling this way and she couldn’t be there to comfort him. He admitted to her long before he said it in the media that he’d felt like he lost the love of the game multiple times throughout the season. He didn’t need to say it in the media for her to know.

The most heartbreaking moment for Whitney came during a rainy night in Buffalo. It was her last night staying with Ryan until he had to leave for a whopping 14-day road trip with the team. He’d been grasping on to her the whole last day, as if she’d float away back to Toronto without saying goodbye. When they were cuddled in bed together, just kissing, she could feel fresh tears roll down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Snook?”

“What’s wrong with me, Whit? Why can’t I win? I—”

“Snook, you can’t put that pressure on yourself. The team doesn’t start and end with you—”

“First with Colorado, now with Buffalo…everywhere I go I feel like a cancer.”

Whitney remembered having a sick feeling in her stomach as Ryan said those words. She remembered wiping his tears away with her thumbs and with her kisses, begging him to realize he was worth so much more than what he thought. She remembered telling him over and over how much she loved him, hoping that it would calm him down, but it didn’t help much. He was too far into his own head. The next morning, as he showered and finished his packing, Whitney was scared to let go of him. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want him to be away from her when he was so vulnerable. She made him promise to call her every day, even though they already spoke every day through text.

He kept his promise.

That summer, Ryan was traded to St. Louis. On the one hand, Whitney was sad because he wasn’t close anymore. There was no way she could just drive to see him so often now. On the other hand, she was happy he was traded out of a situation that made him lose his love of the game. She still visited him in St. Louis, but much less often. They still got up to their fun.

She parked in the same spot as she always did, and navigated the Keybank Centre like the back of her hand. She joined the legion of Leafs fans watching the warm-ups, getting as close to the glass as possible. She wasn’t wearing a Leafs jersey, so realistically, she’d stick out like a sore thumb. Despite her family being Leafs fans, she only ever wore Ryan’s jerseys.

Ryan saw her during warm up. Whitney knew he did because there was a cute little smile on his face for a few minutes, and there was a cute little smile on her face for a few minutes, watching him out there in a Leafs jersey shooting pucks and skating around. The days when her mother would haul her to arenas for Gareth and Ryan’s hockey games were long over, but the dream was alive for him: he was a Stanley Cup Champion. He was a Conn Smythe winner. And now he was a Toronto Maple Leaf. She only wished Gareth was here to see it all in person, even though she knew he was watching from above.

As she went to her seat after warm ups, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

You look beautiful.

She couldn’t help but smile.

Focus on the game you pervert.

She eventually took her seat, only about ten rows up from the ice. Barely four minutes into the game, she got her first gift: Ryan scored his first goal as a Toronto Maple Leaf. The only other time she thought she was as loud was when he won the Stanley Cup. A grand total of thirty-seven seconds later, he scored again.

Whitney knew she was going to be in for a hell of a game.

When he finished his hat trick at the end of the game, she cried a little. It was made all the more emotional by the fact they were in Buffalo – she had to admit that. But once the buzzer rang, and the Leafs won 6-3, she pulled out her phone instinctively, just as she had countless times before.

Leaving now. If you get home before me let yourself in. I’m so happy for you. And I’m so fucking excited for later.

It was when she got to her car that she received a reply. She thought he probably had to handle some post-game press which is why it took him so long.

That was for you. And you better be fucking excited.

***

At just before midnight, Whitney and Ryan’s lips crashed against one another’s in the privacy of her home. Their kisses were frantic, their hands, too. They almost knocked down the vase at the front entrance, and almost tripped going up the stairs to. But when they finally got to her bedroom, Whitney pushed Ryan to sit down on the edge of her bed. He watched as she dropped down to her knees in front of him.

She unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down expertly. She knew how to get into every pair of pants he wore. “You like what you see, Snook?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, helping her wiggle his pants off of him. “You always look so pretty when you’re on your knees for me.” He brought his hands forward to cup her face, guiding her up slightly so he could place another sloppy kiss on her lips. “All that tonight was for you, baby,” he told her.

“You don’t have to butter me up Snook, I’m gonna suck your dick regardless.”

Ryan let out a chuckle. When he felt her hand over his growing length, he groaned slightly. He kissed her again. “You’re sweetness. That’s what you are, Whit. Sweetness.”

That was a nickname he had called her time and time again. And not just in bed. In the morning, when they would make coffee together; at dinner, when he was pouring her a glass of wine; when she was on the couch and he was in the kitchen as he would ask if she wanted more popcorn. The first time he called her that, they were still teens, and he was still using it to this day. Snook and Sweetness.

Whitney bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know if you should be calling me sweetness before what we’re going to do.” Ryan could feel his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he watched her free his dick from his underwear. She stroked him a few times before giving him one last look. “You wanna come down my throat?” she asked.

He nodded.

She licked the underside of his cock, causing him to hiss. She placed a few kisses along his head before she began sucking, only lightly, teasing him into oblivion. When she was satisfied with the number of curse words that left his mouth, without warning, she took more of his cock into her mouth. He leaned his head back in pleasure, and when he felt her take even more, a new string of expletives left his mouth. “God Whit, you’re so fucking good.”

She hummed in response, the vibration allowing for a new sensation. He could feel her swirl her tongue as he watched her bob her head up and down his shaft, taking more and more into his mouth with each passing moment. He pushed her hair out of her face and gathered it in his hands. He watched with eyes wide as she took all of him down her throat. He felt the back of her throat with the tip of his cock and grunted. She took him like that a few more times, with his help, his chest heaving up and down.

“Whit—”

“Hmmm?”

“Gimme your fingers.”

Whitney brought one of her hands up. Ryan grabbed it and brought it towards his mouth, sucking her index and middle fingers. He took them out of his mouth but kept them close, spitting on them before looking at her. “Touch yourself.”

Whitney whimpered at the command and did what she was told, sticking her hand down her underwear and placing them directly on her already wet pussy. She touched herself for a while as she kept taking Ryan’s cock down her throat again and again, even going so far as to spit on its head when she came back up once. Ryan couldn’t do anything else but curse, taking a while before he could finally formulate something else to say. “Look at me, Whit.”

She looked up at him with her beady eyes, popping his cock out of her mouth. “Yeah Ry?”

“You were fuckin’ made for me, you know that?” he huffed, bringing the hand that was in her hair around her face so he could wipe the spit off her lips with his thumb.

Whitney nodded quickly. “You were made for me too.”

“This pretty little mouth was made for me,” Ryan continued, “and your pretty little pussy too.”

“All for you,” Whitney agreed. “All for you.”

When Whitney continued sucking his dick, Ryan knew he was getting close. The moaning and sucking sounds definitely didn’t help, and he let Whitney know by saying it out loud. She took him all the way down to the back of her throat a few times more before Ryan bucked his hips and felt his hot cum release in her mouth and down her throat. He was gasping for air, his mouth wide open at the sensation; Whitney moaned in pleasure at the feeling and taste of him, as it had been so long since the last time. She continued to suck every last drop until she could feel his dick soften; only then did she finally stop.

Ryan pulled her up by gently tugging on her hair. His lips crashed on to hers and he pulled her body against his, falling onto the bed together. They wasted no time in removing each other of their clothes. When Whitney slid out of her underwear, Ryan got a look at how wet her pussy already was, covered in her own juices and his spit, and practically had a heart palpitation. “Come sit on my face, sweetness.”

She crawled over his body and sat on his face. He wrapped his arms around her thigs and pinned her down so she could barely move – just enough to grind if she wanted to, or if Ryan let her. It took no time at all for Ryan to start lapping at her pussy, starting with one long lick from bottom to top and sucking on her clit for good measure.

Whitney ran her hands through Ryan’s hair and gripped on to it. She knew she’d get beard burn, but she didn’t care – she wanted this to last as long as possible. Even though she was anticipating what would happen after this – all the positions they’d tangle themselves in, how many times he’d make her come, how much Ryan would leave her wanting more – the thought of Ryan between her thighs using only his tongue and lips to make her come was something she thought of way too often, especially on lonely nights when she was desperate to see him, or nights where they’d have phone sex and only her fingers could do. She had to have an active imagination because only the real thing – the real Ryan – could ever make her feel as good as he made her feel. Nothing was better than Ryan, because nothing or no-one loved her more than Ryan.

“Just like that, Ry,” she signed out, cupping her breasts in her hands and pinching at her nipples before having to grip the headboard.

“Tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” Ryan mumbled against the lips of her pussy, sucking at her clit right afterwards.

Her moans and mewls got louder. She knew her voice would be coarse tomorrow because of it – and he hadn’t even made her scream yet. That was still coming. She couldn’t help but tug on his hair and make him moan in the process. When she began grinding on his face slightly, she could feel his hands grip at her hips and help guide her – she knew she’d have marks there tomorrow, but she didn’t care.

After a while, when Whitney couldn’t hold it in any longer, she cried out his name over and over again as she came on his face, her entire body shaking on top of him. The only reason why she didn’t completely collapse was the headboard and Ryan’s strong hands. Eventually she shifted her body down, so she could see Ryan’s face, only to see that it was wet and covered in her juices.

“Holy fucking shit,” she blurted.

“I’m ready t—"

Ryan didn’t get to finish his sentence. Whitney acted fast, crashing her lips onto his so she could taste herself on his face. “Holy fuck,” she mumbled in between kisses.

“See how good you taste? How sweet?” Ryan mumbled in between kisses. “I could get drunk on you. I could eat you out all fucking night.”

“Tell me how you want me, Ry.”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Whitney inhaled sharply. She did as she was told. She always did with Ryan. So did he. That’s what made everything so…nice. That’s what made everything so unbelievable. She faced away from him, but she could feel him watching her, getting a full look of how ready she was for him. When she felt him grab her hips again, she readied herself to feel his cock deep inside her pussy.

Instead, she felt Ryan’s body hover over hers. She closed her eyes, oblivious to what was going to happen next, until she could feel him placing light kisses at the back of her neck and across her shoulder blades. He was taking his time, being gentle, savouring the moment before they lost themselves into each other. “I love you, Whit,” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you too Snook,” she said.

“I’ve loved you forever.”

Whitney took another deep breath. He kissed along her ear. She turned her head so they could make eye contact. “It doesn’t feel like this with anyone else.”

“I know. It doesn’t.”

“I only ever feel like this with you, Ry. Nobody else can make me feel good like you do.”

“Same, Whit.”

There was a moment of silence between them, knowing what was about to happen. “Will you fuck me how you know I like it?” Whitney asked, her voice as sweet as how she tasted.

Ryan didn’t bother to answer. He continued his soft kisses down her spine instead, before placing a final kiss at the base of it and grabbing her hips. He could tell how giddy she was in anticipation. “Face down, ass up, sweetness.”

Whitney whimpered just at the command. In one swift movement she moved her body, and before she could say anything else, she felt Ryan’s cock teasing at her entrance. He was going to make her beg because she loved to beg, because she asked him to fuck her the way she liked it and this is how she liked to be fucked. She liked every way with him, but special moments like this deserved something special, and he was going to give it to her. When they made love, like the afternoon he arrived in Toronto…that was different. It was soft, and it was passionate, and it was the physical encapsulation of the conversation they’d just had, but what was about to happen next was anything but.

“Tell me how much you need me, sweetness.”

“I need your cock, Ry. Fill me up,” she begged.

“Beg. Beg.”

Whitney bit at her bottom lip. “Please Ry, pleeeease. I need to feel your cock inside me. I need you to fill me up. I need you so bad, Ry. I need what only you can give me.”

Ryan entered her in one swift movement, and her pussy was so slick that he slid right in and bottomed out. Whitney cried out in pleasure, and it didn’t take long for him to start pounding in and out of her, hearing her get louder and louder as he became rougher. Instinctively she would try to rise every so often, and Ryan would push her back down, making her cry out even louder for how he was controlling her pleasure. At some points, even her knees began to buckle and spread from under her, bringing her closer to the bed, and Ryan would have to pull her hips back up. He’d lost track at how many times he felt her walls tighten around his pulsating cock, lost track at how many times she cried out his name.

He pulled her hair so that her body was flush against his chest, bringing one hand around to tease her clit, and another to wrap itself at the base of her neck. He wasn’t choking her, because she didn’t like that, but this was their alternative. She brought her own hand up and placed it over his, trying as best as possible to intertwine their fingers.

“Fucking hell, Ry,” Whitney managed to get out. “Feels so fucking good.”

“D’you love it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Tell me how good it feels. Use your words, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t believe him. She also couldn’t believe she would oblige. “You feel so fucking big,” she began, heavy breaths punctuating every thought. “You stretch me out, and my pussy…my pussy feels so full. I can’t wait until you come inside me. Can you feel how wet my pussy is?”

“How many times did you come?”

“I—I don’t know. I always lose count with you.”

Ryan leaned back and took Whitney with him, so she was lying down on top of him with one hand at the base of her neck and another on her pussy, his cock still buried deep in her. “Ry—”

“Take it Whit. Take it like the good girl you are for me.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Whitney’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Ryan pumped in and out of her in this new position, hitting an angle that was sending her even quicker over the edge than before, which she didn’t think was possible. “Ry…Ry…fuck Ry…” her nails dug into the back of his hand. Her heartbeat was out of control.

She didn’t even know how much time had passed in that position – how could she? – before she heard Ryan utter the magic words. “I’m fucking close, Whit.”

“I wanna face you when you come, Ry. Can you—”

Before she knew what was happening, he slid out of her and got on top of her. Though she whimpered at the loss of his cock inside her, he spread her legs and hiked one around his torso and entered her again. Though it felt like she had been having just one continuous orgasm for the last several minutes, she was desperate to feel him come inside her, to feel one last wave of pleasure throughout her body. They looked each other in the eye; Whitney could see a fire in his that he reserved only for her.

“Tell me how much you need me, Whit,” he huffed.

“I need you more than anything, Snook,” she told him, because it was the truth.

“Am I the only one that gets to come inside of you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she bit her bottom lip. “You’re the only one. The only one that gets to come in pussy, because it’s all yours, Ry. All yours.”

He buried his face into the crook of her neck, thrusting into her so forcefully that she cried out his name over and over. When she felt him come inside her, she grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck. Her finally orgasm rushed throughout her entire body like a title wave, hers and Ryan’s breathing the only thing to be heard in the bedroom. His breathing was so frantic it almost sounded high-pitched, almost like he was going through an asthma attack. His face was still buried in the crook of her neck as he collapsed on top of her. When he rolled over to the side, his cock left her pussy for the first time (for more than, like, five whole damn seconds) in what felt like hours. Whitney’s body was still shivering from her orgasms. Ryan was having a hard time catching his breath.

It was a few minutes before either of them felt even 0.0001% semblance of normalcy. Ryan was the first to look over at Whitney, who was still staring up at the ceiling. “Are you okay, Whit?” he asked.

“I’m better than okay,” she whispered – it was the loudest her voice could get.

Ryan couldn’t help but smile. “Ready for round two?”

Whitney whipped her head to the side to look at him, only to see him smirking and giggling like a little school girl. “I don’t think I’ll have a voice tomorrow. I don’t even think I’m going to be able to walk tomorrow,” she chastised.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, outstretching his arm so she could roll into his body. When she was tucked into him, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for being in Buffalo tonight.”

“It was nothing,” she said. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I love you, Whit.”

“I love you too, Snook.”

***

There was a long road trip coming up to the west coast. Seattle, Edmonton, Calgary, Vancouver, and then to New Jersey, before finally coming home again to face Edmonton during a Hockey Night in Canada. This meant that Friday was a good a time as ever for Ryan’s parents and Whitney’s parents to drive to Toronto to watch the game against Minnesota. Ryan had secured them tickets and access to the family room – as family members, of course. Whitney would have to be on her best behaviour.

They all had lunch earlier that day, before Ryan usually went down for his pre-game nap. Whitney met up with the parents at their hotel before the game, getting her friends and family pass from her mom before she walked with them to the arena. After giving their names and passes to a man named Omar, they were led to the family lounge, where there was at least half of the women Whitney assumed to be the partners of the men on the team. There weren’t any parents around, though, which Whitney thought would make them stick out like a sore thumb.

They weren’t there long before Whitney noticed a woman balancing a toddler on her hip approaching them with a big smile.

“Hello! You must be the O’Reilly family?” she asked.

“That’s us! And friends!” Brian said.

“It’s very nice to meet you. Welcome to the Toronto Maple Leafs!” she extended her free hand to shake everyone’s. “I’m Aryne Tavares, John’s wife, and this is my son Axton.”

Bonnie waved at him and he waved back. “We’re the O’Reillys,” she pointed at herself and her husband, “and these are our friends and neighbours, James and Alice Napier and their daughter Whitney. Whitney and Ryan grew up together.”

“Come take a seat, please – Ryan mentioned to John that you were all coming tonight. Can we get you any food? Whitney, follow me, you can meet some of the partners…”

It was a bit of a blur for Whitney, if only because she was meeting so many people associated with the players on the team that it was hard to keep track of them all. She met Bee McTavish, who was getting married to Morgan Rielly this summer; Aberdeen Bloom, who was with William Nylander (Whitney had read her book and had loved it); and Lusine, who was with Rasmus Sandin (Whitney didn’t think there’d be anyone younger than her present, but lo and behold). This sort of situation had happened before in Colorado and Buffalo, where things went normally, and in St. Louis, where things went a bit…differently, but Whitney was glad to say this was normal. They were all very nice, very welcoming, very talkative.

St. Louis hadn’t been like this. The first time she’d met the team, it was much less formally – at one of the guys’ raucous birthday parties she just happened to be in town for. Most of the guys were nice, albeit buzzed, but they were manageable. Jordan Binnington and his hands definitely weren’t, and he had a hard time taking no for an answer until Ryan had to step in. While that was long in the past, whenever it was brought up or remembered, Ryan still got angry about it. The anger didn’t come from a place where he though he owned Whitney or that she was his and no-one else’s – it was because Jordan was just downright disrespectful, from his words to his intentions to his actions. Ryan had been nothing but respectful to everyone his entire life, and he couldn’t fathom acting like Jordan towards anyone.

It was when Whitney emerged from the washroom during the intermission between first and second period that things got interesting. Everybody had been so nice, and then she saw Bee McTavish waving to get her attention. “Is everything okay?” Whitney asked.

“Aryne said Bonnie told her you and Ryan grew up together?” she wanted to clarify.

“Yeah,” Whitney nodded. “He’s known me since I was a baby.”

Bee looked around, over both shoulders, before she lowered her voice. “It’s Aberdeen’s birthday tomorrow, but since the boys are leaving for Seattle, we’re having her birthday party tonight,” Bee explained. “Lusine and I spent an hour decorating her place for a surprise birthday before we got here. You and Ryan should come! Get you away from your parents if you want.”

Whitney didn’t know what to say. It was the first time she was meeting everyone and they were already inviting her out? This was probably the nicest group of women she’d ever met. “Oh my God, that’s so – that’s so kind of you, but please, if this is a friends thing, please don’t feel obligated—”

“Oh my gosh, don’t even start,” Bee cut her off. “It’s nothing serious, and we would love to have you. I’m sure Ryan will love to get to know the boys even better in an informal setting, away from hockey.”

Whitney couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face. “I’ll ask him when we see them, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes…if only to get away from having to entertain his parents on a Friday night,” she winked.

“Boomers in the big bad city,” Bee joked.

“Nah – Brian and Bonnie are actually from Toronto. They’ll be fine. They may actually know a bar to go to.”

***

It was almost one in the morning before Ryan and Whitney called it a night at Aberdeen’s surprise “Quarter Century” birthday party. While they could have stayed longer, they promised their parents brunch at 11 the next morning before Ryan had to leave for the airport. They weren’t in for a long drive up to Summerhill, thankfully, because the second that they were in the elevator, away from the condo, Ryan grabbed Whitney’s hand.

“You know what I remembered tonight?” Whitney asked as they emerged from the parking garage.

“What’s that?”

“Remember when Binner was flirting with me?”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but not in an annoyed way – in an angry way, which – if Whitney was being honest – was the exact reason she brought it up. She wanted a little bit of heat to fester while they were in the car. “What about it?”

“Just how bad the flirting was,” she cracked a joke. “He wasn’t even being subtle about it.”

“Whit—”

“Remember how you had to talk to him and got angry with him?”

“He deserved it,” Ryan said simply. “I never got over it, by the way. I’m still angry with him about it.”

“He helped you win a Stanley Cup,” she deadpanned.

“Doesn’t matter. He disrespected you and made you feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness for making you feel that way.”

There was a moment of silence between them, with only the sound of the rubber tires moving along the road filling the void. Whitney’s hand snuck across the dash and landed on Ryan’s thigh, squeezing it gently. “You never told me what you said to him, you know.”

He moved his hand to grip her thigh. “Come on, Whit.”

“Come on, Snook,” she countered, raising her hand higher on his thigh, dangerously close to his member.

She watched as Ryan bit his tongue, and it had nothing to do with how high her hand was. She knew he was having one of his small internal battles. “I just told him to knock it off. That I didn’t like how he was treating you. You clearly weren’t interested and what bothered me was that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He told me he bet you were used to it and that’s when I kind of lost it on him. Told him that you weren’t, and that if he was gonna keep doing that, I’d knock his teeth down his throat.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. “Was that before or after he put his hands on me and pulled me in to sit on his lap?”

Okay, now Ryan was getting angry. Remembering the thought of seeing Jordan’s hands on Whitney, in places where Ryan knew only his hands had been, sent him spiralling. Pulling her onto his lap, like some kind of dog – Ryan had steam coming out of his ears that night. “I fuckin—I can’t—I think it was after,” he honestly couldn’t remember. The anger clouded his memory. “All I remember is wanting to give him a black eye. Dad always said no violence and I’ve never wanted to punch a guy until then.”

Whitney didn’t know why, but she loved hearing all of this. She loved hearing about how upset Ryan got, what he said to Jordan, everything. It wasn’t that it made her feel wanted or valued – she always did with Ryan, so that wasn’t an issue. And it wasn’t because she generally disliked Jordan – although that was a perk. But she felt herself getting hotter with each passing second. “You hated it because I belong to you, right?” she prompted, her voice low and not suggestive at all. She saw Ryan hesitate to go down this road, and more than a few moments of silence passed between them. She squeezed his thigh softly. “You can say it Ry. It’s okay.”

“I don’t think…” he hesitated again. “You don’t belong to anyone, Whitney. I don’t like that.”

“Okay,” Whitney nodded slightly, her voice sober. So she struck out on that one – that was fine. “Sorry, Snook.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetness.”

Another few moments of silence. Whitney noticed some recognizable shops, so she knew they were close to home. She removed her hand from his thigh and placed it over his, which was still resting comfortable in her lap. She made sure their fingers intertwined before moving it up. “Remember when we were kids and we used to getaway in your car for hours?”

Did he. Ryan could still vividly remember the first time they hooked up in his car. For years there had been such charged energy between them that Ryan didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, this was his best friend’s younger sister. On the other hand, he quite literally couldn’t keep himself away from her. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that they literally grew up together. It began with instances like Whitney sitting beside him on an old porch swing one night, where Ryan felt like his body was on fire. It continued to other instances, like when they were playfighting in the pool one night and Ryan couldn’t get out at the same time because…he had something to hide. Then, later that summer, Whitney and Ryan shared their first kiss. It almost didn’t happen, because Ryan was convinced Gareth would be lurking in a bush ready to kick his ass, but they were safe. From the moment he felt Whitney’s lips on his, he was a goner. He knew that there would be nothing else like it. They kissed more than a few times after that, and each one was their little secret. It progressed to Whitney and Ryan texting each other in secret. Nobody knew about the kisses. Nobody knew about the pictures she was sending him, either. Not nudes, but suggestive enough.

When Ryan came back the following summer, things were cranked up to 1000. Gareth wasn’t around as often because of his summer courses (though he was still around quite a bit), and Owen had already moved to British Columbia, which meant that unless Ryan and Gareth’s friends were around, when they were alone, Ryan and Whitney got into a lot of trouble. Kisses turned to makeout sessions – on couches, in his bed, on her bed. Then makeout sessions on couches or beds turned into makeout sessions in Ryan’s car, when they’d drive to Goderich together to watch the sunset over the lake but end up not seeing the sunset at all. Kisses and makeout sessions turned into touching, too. Lots of touching. Whitney could still remember what it felt like the first time Ryan’s hand snuck underneath her sundress and in between her legs. Ryan could still remember what it felt like the first time Whitney zipped down his pants and snuck her hand beneath his underwear.

They were supposed to be watching the sunset one night when Whitney made the suggestion that they have sex. Ryan was against it at first, coming up with any excuse he could. “You’re my best friend’s younger sister” was the obvious one. “You’re barely seventeen” was his other, more plausible excuse. Whitney didn’t care; she didn’t care that he was older and she didn’t care about his excuses. He was the safest, most natural, most responsible, most loving choice. All the boys at school were gross little perverts, and here was Ryan, who had always looked after her, who was always asking if he could stick his hand down her pants, always asking if he could grope her boobs. Most of all, she wanted it because she knew he loved her. There was no way it could be with anyone else. She wanted him so badly that it was driving her insane. But then there was a moment when Ryan looked into Whitney’s eyes and everything changed. They weren’t desperate – far from it. They weren’t even pleading. Instead, what he saw in her eyes was everything he loved about her, all the memories they shared growing up together, all the times they had each other’s back when they broke a vase or had some unexplained bruise or fed their vegetables to the Napier’s dog, Cinnamon.

And so, as the sun set over Lake Huron, in Ryan’s car, they had sex.

And they hadn’t stopped since.

“Of course I remember,” Ryan said. He made a right-hand turn onto the street. Whitney knew it would only be a minute or so until he pulled into her small driveway. “I—I always remember those times. Those were some of my favourites.”

Whitney squeezed his hand again. She was wearing pants, but when she guided Ryan’s hand between her thighs, he could feel her core. “They’re some of my favourites, too.”

“Why are they for you?” Ryan asked.

Whitney took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I—it’s gonna sound weird, Snook.”

He gave her a look from the driver’s seat. “I spit in your hand the other night and told you to touch yourself. We’re past the point of weird, sweetness.”

Whitney couldn’t help but snort. He was right, that was for damn sure. “I’ve always thought you were attractive. Like, once I hit puberty, I found myself only being attracted to you, or, like, trying to find guys that looked like you so it wasn’t you because I thought it was wrong at first. And so when we started hooking up, for me, it was a lot about the emotions, sure, but more so about, like…the physical. Like…your body, Snook. Just…your entire body is just so big and strong, and when you’d hover over me or I’d get to run my hands along your back or your chest, I just couldn’t get enough of your body. There’s always been something so visceral about your body to me. So remembering back to the first time I got to touch it…God, I could make myself come right now just thinking about it.”

Ryan stayed silent for a few moments, taking in everything Whitney had to say. “For me,” he began slowly, “it’s some of my favourite memories because I—you—you were always just a ray of light. Like so many people got moody and pretentious, but you didn’t. You matured and whatever, but you still experienced joy. Every day wasn’t the end of the world for you. You saw every day as a chance to experience joy.”

Whitney was smiling. “I talk about you like a hot piece of ass, and you talk about me in the most beautiful way.”

“You were always a handsy kid,” Ryan joked. He finally turned into her driveway, parking the car and turning it off. “But your body was just as enticing, sweetness. I still remember the first time I touched you too. How your body responded immediately. Just like now,” his voice was getting lower and lower, his eyes focusing on his hand between her thighs.

Whitney leaned over the centre console first, kissing Ryan sweetly. Their lips couldn’t leave one another’s, and eventually, Whitney began climbing over to get into Ryan’s lap. He pushed his seat all the way back so they would be more comfortable. His hands immediately went underneath her top as they continued kissing, and everything felt back like it did in Goderich, on the coast of Lake Huron. From the kissing to the touching to the windows fogging up.

With Ryan’s hands over her breasts, Whitney felt overwhelmed – but in the best way. “Make love to me here, Snook. Just like we used to,” she breathed out.

“Yeah? You want it?” Ryan asked.

She nodded. “I want it. I want you, Ry.”

Somehow, Ryan helped Whitney out of her pants. Then, somehow, she pushed his down too, sticking her hand down his underwear to free his cock. His hand travelled down between her legs, teasing at her lips and causing her to moan. “You remember the first time I touched you like this?” Ryan asked. Whitney nodded her head. “You remember how you were squirming in my lap?”

“I was trying to get your fingers deeper.”

Ryan giggled. “Your entire body was shaking when I touched you.”

“Because I couldn’t believe you were,” she said. “Things I had dreamed about for so long were happening.”

Ryan pushed a finger ever-so-slightly into Whitney’s pussy, causing her to catch her breath. “What else did you dream about?”

“It—it started with you kissing me. Then I would dream about your hand or your mouth on my pussy,” she explained as they looked each other in the eye. “The first time I dreamt of us having sex, I woke up in the middle of it and I was touching myself.”

“Fuck Whit, you never told me that before.”

“Did you ever dream about me, Snook?”

“All the time,” he nodded. “Still do, sweetness.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Most of the time it’s burying my face in your sweet pussy,” he began, pushing his finger further into her. “Can I tell you a secret, sweetness?”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, when it’s been long since we’ve seen each other, I dream about something as simple as holding your hand.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. He called her sweetness, but he was sweetness personified. He said things like that all the time, and it didn’t matter what it was, but Whitney would fall for it every time. He was so sentimental. “Make love to me Snook.”

He guided his cock to her entrance and she lowered herself on top of him, gasping at the angle that he was entering her, especially since they were so close physically. It took her a few moments to get used to the feeling. This wasn’t the first time they had hooked up in a car since they were horny teenagers, but it had definitely been a while. “You feel so good, Whit,” Ryan huffed, gripping at her hips.

“Can you do me a favour?” she asked, opening her eyes and finally focusing back on him.

“What’s that?”

“Can you kiss me here?” she asked sweetly, moving her hair out of the way and pointing to her jawline.

Ryan smiled. “Of course,” he mumbled, already moving forward to place kisses exactly where she wanted them. She grabbed onto the backrest right by his shoulders.

“And here,” she pointed to her neck, causing Ryan to move down.

She began moving in his lap, slowly, running a hand through the hair at the nape of Ryan’s neck. He moved back up to her lips and they kissed for a while, Ryan’s tongue down her throat and hands squeezing her hips. She didn’t want this to end quickly, so she didn’t move quickly, either. There was something so intimate about the moment, despite them being in the front seat of a car. Reminiscing on their memories right before this must have been the kicker. Ryan was just as gentle then as he was being now, except now they both knew what they were doing.

“Ry?” she pulled away so they could look each other in the eye.

“Hmm?”

“D’you love me?”

“Of course I love you,” he said, kissing her right afterwards. “D’you love me?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “It’s only ever been you, Ry.”

He hummed in happiness. “It’s always about you for me.”

Whitney leaned forward, giving him small, light kisses along his jawline and neck before moving up to his ear. “Tell me I’m yours, Ry.”

“You’re mine, sweetness,” he huffed into her ear. “All mine.”

“All yours,” she repeated. She didn’t belong to him – that he made clear – but she was his, and he was hers. “Look at me, Ry.”

He did. His eyes were so blue, Whitney thought that the oceans were captured in his eyes. They were always like that, but when he grew the dark beard, they somehow became even more prominent. “You’re so beautiful, sweetness,” he said. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful girl in my life.”

Whitney couldn’t help but smile. While fucking Ryan was out of this world, making love to Ryan was the best. While fucking felt so good, and so satisfying, and always left them wanting more, making love brought an emotional fulfillment neither could get from anyone else. “Your girl.”

“My girl,” he kissed her passionately. The windows had fogged up so much, but their pair continued kissing anyway, Whitney’s grinding in his lap giving them more and more pleasure slowly but surely.

Whitney moved to kisses along his jaw when she felt herself getting close. “I want to feel you come inside me, Ry. Will you do that for me?” she whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetness,” he tightened his grip on her hips.

She didn’t move any faster, but she could feel Ryan guiding her back and forth. They were looking into each other’s eyes the entire time as they got closer and closer to their release. It seemed as if even their breaths were in sync, huffing out laboured breaths until Whitney became louder and louder. When he came inside her, Ryan could feel her legs shake in his lap, the moans escaping her as she nestled into the crook of his neck. “Oh fuck Ry…” she didn’t know what else to say, couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Was that what you wanted, sweetness?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It was just like when we used to sneak away to Bluewater Beach.”

Ryan smiled again, and he knew Whitney was smiling too. He slipped out of her, but they stayed embraced for a while longer before they began to feel the cold permeate the car. “Let’s go to bed, Whit.”

She sighed, knowing she’d have to get off his lap. She looked him in the eye one last time before resolving to climb off him and back into the passenger’s seat. “Will you hold me?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to,” Ryan promised.

They redressed and rushed inside, desperate not to feel the cold night air for too long. Whitney washed off her makeup and Ryan got ready for bed, lying in bed in his boxers with the blanket open until Whitney slipped in. He made sure to set his alarm for 9:30 before outstretching his arms and having Whitney cuddle in to him. Just like he promised, he held her as they fell asleep.

“I love you, Snook,” Ryan heard Whitney say, barely above a whisper, right before she fell asleep.

“I love you too, Whit,” he responded, placing a small kiss on her shoulder.

***

“She was very nice,” Bee said to Aberdeen as she helped load the dishwasher of all the glasses used for the surprise party. “She was mentioning how she and Ryan grew up together in Seaforth. She’s got two older brothers, and Ryan’s got three other siblings, and they’re all best friends.”

“That’s so nice,” Aberdeen said, slightly buzzed, trying to hide from Bee that she was going to lose her balance any minute. She gripped on to the counter top for dear life. “Did you watch them at all? See anything fishy?”

Bee furrowed her brows. “Uh…no? Why? Did you?”

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, a playful grin playing on her face. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re not just friends.”