#its time to move past supernatural

[bodybaggage]

Monthly Phantom Check Up

Frostbite, Danny’s overly enthusiastic yeti doctor, shows up at the Watchtower for a surprise check-up, and things get awkward fast.

———

The Watchtower was in chaos. It wasn’t a typical day of chaos—no alien invasions or time-traveling villains—but something far more uncomfortable. Frostbite, Danny Phantom’s towering Yeti doctor and self-proclaimed “Master of Ghost Medicine,” had arrived unannounced. His massive, fur-covered frame loomed in the main meeting room as he carefully unpacked a series of glowing, intimidating medical instruments.

Superman leaned over to Wonder Woman, voice low. “Is this... normal?”

Wonder Woman’s brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t think this falls under the usual protocol for supernatural beings.”

Across the room, Danny Phantom stood in all his half-dead glory—or rather, slouched in defeat, wearing a hoodie that seemed far too large for his ghostly frame. He was clearly trying to shrink away from the entire situation, one pale hand covering his face in mortification.

“Frostbite,” Danny hissed in a hushed whisper, “you couldn’t have waited until we got back to the Ghost Zone?”

Frostbite beamed, oblivious to Danny’s pleading. “Nonsense, Great One! Your health is of utmost importance, and I detected a slight imbalance in your ectoplasmic core. It must be addressed immediately!”

Batman stood against the wall, eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold. “Ectoplasmic core?”

Frostbite nodded solemnly as he began to prepare an absurdly long, glowing probe. “Indeed, Batman. The Great One is half-ghost, and thus, his core requires regular maintenance. There are many nuances to his biology that need tending to.”

Danny groaned. “Oh, Ancients, kill me now…”

The Justice League—gathered for what they thought was going to be a strategy meeting—could only look on in awkward silence. Aquaman coughed and pretended to adjust his trident. Green Lantern pulled up a holographic projection of the solar system, which he stared at intensely despite not needing to. Flash, of course, was barely containing his laughter, lips twitching every time Frostbite said something ridiculous.

“Now,” Frostbite continued, holding up a glowing vial of something green and gooey, “the first concern is the ectoplasm imbalance. Too much exposure to the Ghost Zone can cause buildup, which leads to... ah, let’s say, irregularities.”

Superman cleared his throat. “Irregularities?”

Frostbite nodded gravely. “Yes. In the human digestive system, it might be compared to... indigestion. But in ghosts, it manifests as random phasing, ectoplasmic leakage, and occasional transformation into a much more terrifying version of oneself.”

Superman blinked. “That sounds... worse than indigestion.”

“Oh, much worse!” Frostbite said brightly, not catching the sarcasm. “Especially during ghost puberty. It’s when the ghost’s core is developing at its most volatile stage.”

Danny’s entire face turned bright red. “Frostbite! Seriously?!”

“Ghost... puberty?” Batman echoed, voice laced with what could only be described as grim fascination.

“Indeed!” Frostbite said, now fully in doctor mode. “The Great One is well past that stage, but it’s important to note that ghost puberty can last several decades for some. Phantom’s transformations would have been wildly unpredictable for years, often triggered by emotional stress or large quantities of fast food.”

Flash actually lost it at that, letting out a snort and quickly covering his mouth. “Sorry, sorry! Just—did you say fast food?”

Danny rubbed his temples. “Yes. I went through my ‘ghost puberty’ eating burgers and stressing about math tests. Can we move on?”

Frostbite chuckled warmly. “Ah, yes. The human world does have its unique challenges for the Great One. Now, the next matter—”

“There’s more?” Danny wailed, half considering flying straight through the floor and never coming back.

“Oh, yes!” Frostbite said with far too much enthusiasm. He turned to the League. “His dual nature also means his ghost half sometimes conflicts with his human immune system. It’s a fascinating process! For example, Danny can phase through objects, but if he catches a human cold, it throws his phasing abilities off and he might accidentally phase into a wall and get stuck.”

The room went silent.

Batman stared at Danny. “You’ve... phased into a wall?”

Danny gritted his teeth, wishing for the sweet release of invisibility. “I was twelve, okay? And yes, I got stuck. It was fine.”

“Mostly fine,” Frostbite corrected, waving around a spectral thermometer. “There was that one time we had to extract you from a particularly thick brick wall in Amity Park. Took several hours.”

Wonder Woman, who had remained silent up until this point, exchanged a concerned glance with Superman. “Is this something we should... prepare for?”

Danny shot them both an exasperated look. “No. I’m not going to phase into the Watchtower’s walls. Probably.”

“Unless his ectoplasmic levels are low,” Frostbite added cheerfully. “Which is why this check-up is vital!”

As Frostbite pulled out what looked suspiciously like a ghost-themed blood pressure cuff, Danny gave up. “I’m going to die—again.”

Flash wiped away a tear of laughter, his shoulders still shaking. “This is the best day of my life. I didn’t know ghost puberty was a thing.”

“I’ll send you my research papers,” Frostbite said kindly. “There’s a great deal of fascinating biology involved!”

Danny, ignoring everyone, shot a glare at Batman, who was watching all this with far too much interest. “Don’t even think about adding this to my file.”

Batman didn’t respond, though his fingers twitched ever so slightly toward his utility belt.

Frostbite, oblivious to the ongoing awkwardness, finished prepping his tools. “Now, Great One, if you could just sit still. This next part involves extracting ectoplasmic residue from your pores—”

“I’m phasing through the floor,” Danny muttered, promptly sinking halfway through the Watchtower’s pristine floor, only his head remaining visible. “See you guys never.”

The Justice League stood in stunned silence as Frostbite packed away his tools with a serene smile.

“Very well,” Frostbite said. “I’ll schedule the next check-up for next month. Goodbye, Justice League!”

And with that, the massive Yeti doctor vanished through a portal, leaving the League standing there, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

Superman finally turned to Danny, whose head was still poking out of the floor.

“Danny... you okay?”

Danny didn’t respond, choosing instead to fully disappear beneath the floor.

Flash wheezed. “I love that kid.”

[spicysourchimken]

Interesting reunions

Tim and Danny are twins, Danny was given up for adoption by the Drakes when he was a baby and Tim was never told he has a brother.

After a reveal gone bad, Danny, Jazz, Sam and Tucker became thieves after closing the portal. They mainly target supernatural or cursed items. Their target, a necklace, is being held in a museum with their in being a private event to show off the piece before it's sent back to its owner.

The heist would've gone well if Tim hadn't also been in attendance.

------

'Lmao and here I thought you didn't want to be here'

It was a text from Dick.

Not exactly the strangest thing to happen when Tim was forced to attend an event.

He'd been benched after a mission resulted in a minor concussion. He'd personally been planning on going over his paperwork for Wayne Enterprises, but apparently that wasn't 'rest', instead he was sent off to be bored out of his mind at some art function. He didn't have time to prepare notes or even do any real research. But he still had Dick who had apparently been dragged along as his babysitter (And was fortunately interested in the items on display)

They'd been texting throughout the night. Dick fed him enough information to be mildly interested in topics of conversation, and when that failed the strange history of the main display. An old necklace that supposedly was connected to a string of deaths and all around misfortune.

So no, the text wasn't strange, but what was, was the photo attached. It was a picture of a man, grinning and chatting amicably with a woman whom he could barely make out as the collection's curator. His hair was longer than Tim's, tied neatly back to be clear of his glasses and to give clear view of the man's face.

Tim's face.

There was a clone at the event.

'can u get me another pic?'

Tim was now significantly more interested. Tim could identify the room they were in, housing the main display and it was about two rooms over from where he was currently hiding out. He could get there easily enough.

Dick sent him a thumbs up before replying with another, distinctly more uncomfortable photo of the man. He smiled awkwardly and Tim could finally get a better look at his face. Tim's brows scrunched together. A lichtenburg scar stretched up from beneath his collar and trailed along his jaw and in the light the man's eyes almost looked green.

He ran the photo through his facial recognition software, getting at least a few pings on himself before finally landing on Jonas Spencer, private security currently assigned to shadow one Morgan Deveraux. His history was solid, highschool records, even a spotty criminal history (points where he'd almost been arrested for bar fights) before he'd joined up with his firm.

So. not a clone. Probably.

Tim would still need to check it out. He pushed past a dark haired woman and entered the main show room. Dick, luckily had kept him in conversation but Jonas looked flighty, his eyes always drifting back to his charge.

Then he caught sight of Tim.

He froze. Staring at Tim for a moment before he tapped his ear- and what Tim assumed to be a comm. He made a move for Morgan, leaving Dick in the dust.

The lights flickered. Jonas reached for Megan, his hand wrapping around hers. Tim could've sworn his eyes darted upwards. Then there was a complete blackout. There was a clatter as a vent grate fell to the floor, shouts arose from the attendees.

Then the lights flickered back to life.

Jonas and Morgan had vanished, and so did the necklace as well as three other paintings.

Good news, its not a clone. Bad news, he might have a twin brother who is in a gang of thieves.

--

Daniel Fenton, or as his ID currently stated 'Jonas Spencer', wouldn't exactly call himself a thief- personally he was more of a collector. Or a curator, whatever the hell you might call a guy who grabs haunted and or cursed objects and dumps them in an alternate dimension.

And it wasn't exactly like he was normally the one stealing things either! That was mostly Sam, he'd done for a bit when they'd first started up (pushing his hands through the glass and taking a necklace with him, or making a painting completely invisible as he whisked it away) but then Sam started calling it 'cheating' and claimed 'his technique was lacking' and promptly took over his position.

(He didn't exactly mind, using his powers too often made his skin crawl. He may not have the GIW constantly hunting him, but he'd had enough run ins to make him sweat. He also didn't want to think about his parents.)

So maybe their entire deal wasn't completely altruistic. When you've been on the run since seventeen and had decided that you, your best friends and your older sister are going to become international thieves, sometimes you have to steal things so that you can have an income. And sometimes stealing is fun.

Unluckily their current job wasn't recreational. They'd heard word of a haunted necklace, there was a string of bad luck connected to it. Mirrors shattering, injuries popping up only days after interacting with the piece, lights falling out from the ceiling. There'd also been a case of near death.

Very clearly the latest display piece was cursed meaning they needed to grab it before it was shipped back into it private collection in France. That meant a time crunch, meaning they wouldn't be fully prepared. It was fine- they'd stolen the dagger of Amon Ra when they had half a day to plan, so three should've been fine.

He and Jazz manned the floor, Jazz kept to grifting while Danny worked as support if things went sideways on any front. Jazz, currently wealthy socialite 'Morgan Devereaux', draped an arm around a politician as he guided her through the collection. Jazz shot him a glance telling him to stay back, keep monitoring the main floor with the necklace.

That was fine. He could do that. He approached the curator and complimented the piece, letting her tell him about the struggles she had getting it overseas let alone her conversations with the owner. Ok, so definitely cursed.

Danny felt eyes on his back, and from the corner of his eye he saw someone take a photo. Tall, dark hair and a bright smile.

Sam pointed out that it was a Wayne.

At that point Danny made an attempt to leave, if he was going to get into a fight we wasn't going to do it there. He'd be too close to the necklace for Sam to get in and grab it without attention being drawn to her too. But Grayson cornered him impressively fast. He asked Danny for a photo, claiming that he looked just like his brother. Danny relented.

Then Tucker chimed in that someone had ran his face. Fuck. Dick kept him in conversation but Danny was eyeing their escape roots. Sam warned that another was coming through the left entrance and that she'd already lifted his phone. Danny turned, preparing himself for confrontation.

Then Danny saw him, his doppelganger.

Grayson hadn't been lying. That thought was terrifying.

Danny sent two taps into his earpiece and made his way towards Jazz. They couldn't risk staying any longer. Danny didn't know if they'd been made or not but he wasn't taking chances. He nodded to Sam who went for the jewels as Tucker cut the lights. Jazz and Danny took a painting each.

Sam went for the vents and Danny and Jazz disappeared through the front door.

[karinasbaby]

ENHA HYUNG LINE — IT’S LIKE SUPERNATURAL ! ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ — “𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥”

ᥫ᭡ P. fem!reader x hyung line. | W. fluff !! a lot of it! a few brief suggestive moments, riki, petnames, kissing ! mentions of showering together and yeah !! | WC. 3k+ | A,N. i’ve been in my soft girl hours for a really long time now so enjoy :D !!

IN WHICH..?! the hyung line realise exactly when they’re utterly and helplessly in love with you ! ♡

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ | feedback & reblogs r greatly appreciated :D ! enjoy & have a wonderful day / night <3

⋆.˚ 이희승 | VICTORY FOR YOU AND FOR ME.

✴︎ ۟   . | “that’s not how you’re supposed to fight him off!” heeseung jumped at the sudden raise in your voice from besides him when his character died again for the seventh time in the past twenty minutes. his fingers halting to a stop above the buttons atop his controller, “the villain is obviously going to hit you if you approach it from there!” you continued expressing your frustration while scooting closer to him on the couch.

heeseung remained silent as the confusion and stress from not winning this final level was making his head spin, he was wholeheartedly and absolutely done with this game that riki suggested to him with stupid claims of “i finished it in two hours!” and “it’s so easy you’re going to love it hyung!”

he shouldn’t have believed the younger. not when he spent two hours on the first three levels alone.

considering the fact that the previous game riki recommended him had a heart stopping jumpscare squeezed in it at the end (that resulted in him shrieking so loud that he woke you up from your nap which led him to be locked outside of your shared bedroom for the rest of the day), trusting riki should be the last option for heeseung when it comes to game recommendations.

“you’re supposed to use your weapon when he gets closer too, seungie.” you snickered while you began to move his little pixelated character correctly this time, the damage from the villain’s health bar showing immense progress in comparison to when the character was under heeseung’s control. heeseung’s eyes remained switching between your focused face and the screen that showed the merciless slashes of his character against the villain.

the satisfying sounds of you pressing on the buttons accompanied by the grunts of the characters echoed in the silent living room that welcomed the crimson and coral lights of the sunset atop its walls and floor, the same spread of colours reflected against your skin as well which inevitably threw heeseung in a trance.

you’ve always been beautiful in his eyes, yet at this moment you looked ethereal.

the soft glow of the screen changed with each praise after the successful hits on the villain, each colour reflected off of your eyes that appeared shinier than before, and heeseung knew he was done for when you subconsciously poked your tongue into your cheek engrossing yourself in complete concentration and focus on winning the final level for heeseung, unaware of the fact that he couldn’t care less about the game right now.

as if a spell had been casted on him, a witch that forced a bottle of love potion down his throat— heeseung was entirely enchanted. oblivious to the rapid beating of his heart against his chest, fighting with his ribcage to escape from his body that became aligned with countless goosebumps, chills and shivers running down his spine as his mind turned into a shimmering puddle of pure love.

so this was the love that he’s only been able to hear about? to see movies of and read stories about? was the universe finally granting him the privilege of finally falling against the soft clouds of devotion and love that transcended all limits, all tenses and all boundaries?

your squeal of victory brought him back into reality, his unanswered question lingered in the back of his mind while a gentle smile framed his face and softened eyes at the sight of you celebrating your win against the villain after watching heeseung’s multiple losses for the past hour.

“that’s how you win it, baby!” you beamed, turning around to face him with the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen, eyes shining in happiness that he vowed in that moment to always protect till his last breath, and he knew he needed no answer to his question anymore.

as you might have won the game, but heeseung won in life with you.

✧˖°. 박종성 | THE DIVINE ENCOUNTER.

❀ ݁ ˖ | the arcade has always been a space of comfort and safety for you, especially when you were accompanied by your dear lover.

jongseong who suggested an arcade date to you a few days ago after his schedule cleared up a bit now stood besides you under all the colorful and vibrant lights from around the arcade. one hand interlocked with yours while the other held on to the cotton candy he bought for you as your other hand was wrapped around the small cat plushie he won for you.

gift giving were for sure one of jongseong’s love language.

you nuzzled closer into the fur of the plushie when a sudden wave of wind breezed by you gently, sending slight shivers down your body that were noticed by jongseong.

“do you need my sweater, my love?” he asked as if he didn’t already have his jacket draped over your shoulders, his hand then separated from yours to grip onto the hem of his sweatshirt before you quickly stopped him, “there’s no need jongie.” your hand lowered to interlace with his again when he started to protest again.

“but if you fe—” “noona!”both of your heads snapped in search of the sound, the cry of a young boy who sniffled once your eyes lowered to land on his shaking form, tears springing from his eyes and streaming down his face with countless other droplets separating from his jaw onto the ground, one hand holding a bright green coloured balloon while the other rubbed his glossy eyes.

before jongseong could even process the sight of the weeping child, you were already lowered on your knees with your hands carefully reaching towards the distressed boy who seemed to hiccup before jumping between your arms, “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” you whispered to the child who clung onto your arms with complete safety, thankful for following his instincts that led him to you once his parents disappeared from his sight.

“i l-lost-” the boy inhaled shaky breaths, a new rush of tears falling down his flushed face as he tried to speak and utter the words that made his tiny little hands tighten their hold on you, “i lost my p-parents.” he sobbed before burying his face into your neck, his ballon long forgotten from his hold that now gripped onto jongseong’s jacket on your shoulder.

jongseong, who stood a few feet away from you remained frozen at the unexpected turn of events, though he was able to capture the floating balloon before it ascended into the sky, yet his focus was still glued on your calm and comforting demeanour that attempted to pacify the crying boy.

he felt himself falling in love further the more you whispered comforting words to him, if that was even possible with the amount of love he already held in his heart for you. it suddenly felt like none of it was able to fit in his heart anymore.

“hey… hey it’s okay, where did you last see them?” he finally came back to his senses and walked to stand in front of your figure that now carried the boy who snuggled closer to you, his hand moved upwards to tenderly caress the child’s back to reassure him of his safety, “i can’t r-remember” he stuttered further.

your concerned eyes found jongseong’s own anxious ones, the twist and spiral of each emotion in your gaze made his heart leap into his throat, the evident protectiveness and instinctual need to hide the child in your arms made jongseong’s entire perspective change in a few seconds.

your clear love and display of affection for him intensified jongseong’s adoration for you, previous questions and doubts about your relationship that he wanted to prolong till his last breath were all washed away in an instant. especially his concern over whether or not your thoughts and goals in your love life aligned with his.

now his biggest dream and desire to start a family with you didn’t seem impossible in his eyes, it actually seemed perfect for him.

“it’s okay little one, we’ll find your parents in no time.” you reassured, voice lowering to a mere excited whisper to travel to the boy’s ear that seemed to visibly melt in your hold at your words, he nodded at you once he lifted his face from your neck. the sight of his wet face instantly made your eyebrows furrow, you quickly turned towards jongseong who was now staring at the interaction between you two with the widest smile you’ve ever seen on his face.

“what?” you chuckled at his gentle eyes that gazed at you and the kid with fondness, almost appearing like they were yearning for the scene in front of him which made your head spin before you cleared your throat. “nothing..” he quickly shook his head, lowering his head while his smile widened, “could you please pass me a tissue from my bag?” you asked with an adorable pitch in your voice that made jongseong stifle a laugh as he extended his arm to give you the said item.

no words could describe how thankful he was for the random appearance of this kid that allowed him to see a different side of you, one that he wasn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get enough of.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 심재윤 | A SIGHT OF HEAVEN.

⟡₊⋆∘ | “the recipe says to add one cup of cho—” you were cut off by jaeyun’s flour covered finger that swiped the said powder on your cheek with some particles even gracefully falling atop your black shirt that you wore beneath your apron in the middle of the kitchen.

where jaeyun expressed his undying hunger for the cookies he claimed only you were able to make, to which you agreed on baking if he helped you in creating the delicious cookies.

and how you wished you hadn’t asked him to join you. because a few minutes after that first swipe of flour followed by jaeyun bursting into laughter you found yourself on the kitchen floor with him on top of you, both of you covered in atleast one bag worth of flour that tangled its way into your hair strands and your outfits, but atleast you were too busy giggling to pay attention to the mess that will require atleast an hour of cleaning.

in fact, the mess and the abandoned bowl of cookie batter was the last thought in your mind as jaeyun kept you in his hold against the floor, lips attached onto your neck to suck noisily at your sensitive spots just to hear your cheerful giggles at his touches.

“jaeyu— baby please, we need to clean up.” you were barely able to get your words past your lips with his continuous kissing that was now accompanied by his hands tickling your sides seemingly tired from resting on your waist, then after a few more soft kicks and complains from you, jaeyun finally lifted himself off.

allowing you to take in the sight of his questionable appearance, his eyes raked through your flour covered hair and the random spots that were also tainted with faint lines of melted chocolate, the two of you grinned at the other’s ridiculous appearance one final time before jaeyun helped you up from the kitchen floor and pulled (basically dragged you) to the bathroom.

chuckles and sweet whispers of love were exchanged between the bathroom walls as the two of you helped each other in undressing from the dirty clothes, bathing under the yellow shades of the sun that were welcomed from your window, a comfortable atmosphere taking place as you both stepped under the warm water with jaeyun’s hands instantly finding their home around your waist, he pulled you closer to him just enough to connect his lips to yours.

the feeling of you practically melting in his hold at the connection of his pillowy lips with yours made his heart thunder between his ribs, fingers tightening around your skin as he leaned back against the wall in hopes of grounding himself while you dizzingly deepened the kiss that made his head spin.

it was your simple head tilt to the side, the combination of the kiss deepening along with your tongue sneakily teasing his lower lip were enough to make jaeyun’s knees buckle, he was absolutely gone.

your hands then moved to rest against his shoulder blades, fingers gently tapping against his skin that warmed further under your touch than the hot water, and when you pulled away to squeeze in a short breath of air into your lungs his lips continued to chase after yours, eyes closed as he completely immersed himself in the feeling of you against him, drowning himself in your presence entirely.

and once the two of you finally separated after what felt like an eternity, jaeyun’s eyes were only open halfway. the sight of your lips tinted in a pretty cherry shade was enough to make him smile, unaware of the fact that his looked just as swollen as yours, and god jaeyun wasn’t prepared to open his eyes fully to take in the view of you.

he felt countless butterflies dancing happily in his stomach when his eyes connected with yours, your soft smile that graced your face for him only, your eyes that were decorated with wet lashes that held onto tiny droplets of water that appeared like crystals around your irises, pools that were filled to the brim with love so so much love for him only. the longer you looked up at him with so much adoration the more jaeyun felt his heart fluttering in his body.

he knew he was done for when he noticed the wide smile that stretched on his face in the glossy reflection of your eyes, never has he in his entire life felt himself so full with love.

but he couldn’t question himself for feeling like this either, not when the sun casted a golden light on you that made you appear as you were a piece of heaven itself that fell into the soft palms of his hands, not when you appeared like the reincarnation of all angels above, crafted with the utmost amount of love, purity and beauty.

in that moment, jaeyun couldn’t help but thank all heavens and universes that were skies higher than him for allowing his path to tangle with yours. as he’ll never ever dare to even think about unraveling your destinies.

⊹₊ ⋆ 박성��� | MY BABY GLOWS FOR ME !

⋆⑅˚₊ | sunghoon has always longed for a love that he would allow himself to get fully lost in. to feel like he was walking between radiant flower fields, ones where he felt the petals gently grazing his skin while the clouds looked lower than usual above him, a love that cradled his lonely spirit and allowed him to travel it’s depths freely.

such love lived in his head for a time longer than he’d like. this desire of his seemed impossible to achieve in the beginning, he felt as if his wish was nonexistent, unavailable for him to even pursue.

but he wasn’t unfamiliar with taking risks either, he never feared away from dates and other potential relationships that had no promises of granting him his wishes regarding an eternal love. luckily enough for him, he thankfully never got too attached to anyone previously. it was as if his heart knew that this wasn’t what he was searching for.

so when the time for separation, the declarations of the failure of the relationship arrived, sunghoon didn’t feel too affected.

because if there was one thing that came to par with his incessant need to devote himself for a love for the rest of his life, it had to be his determined search and belief that somewhere in this small world, his other half that will engulf his heart in their arms existed.

and at this current moment, he couldn’t have been more thankful for his decisions. as his persistent search had paid off in the end. his belief and determination finally led him to you, who was sleeping soundly besides him beneath the fluffy blankets that enveloped your body.

he pushed himself closer to you, his bare chest pressing against your back. the events of yesterday came rushing back to his head, the remembrance of the intimate moments that were filled with blooming love and hushed whispers between only the two of you made warmth creep into his body, the adorable redness settling in his ears and cheeks which led him to bury his face into your neck.

his fingers brushed against your bare skin, gentle strokes that he hoped conveyed the affection he carried for you, the tip of his middle finger travelled from your waist to your hip, the movement causing you to stir in your sleep while your deep breathes gradually turned lighter, indicating your awakening to sunghoon who subconsciously held his breath in anticipation.

“hoon?” you whispered, voice still laced with sleep as you turned around to face him, unaware of the way sunghoon’s breath got knocked out from his lungs the second he got to see you in all of your morning glory. god how was it even possible for you to look more beautiful?

“yes, love?” he whispered back while his eyes studied your features that gazed at him tenderly, your presence completely took over his senses in that moment. all he could smell was the sweet aroma of your hair, he felt your soft skin beneath his finger tips, heard your quite whispers and voice that lulled his heart to fall deeper in love with you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

allowing you to take over his focus, his vision and his whole being. especially now that you appeared like you were practically glowing in his arms, “you’re glowing baby, enjoyed last night a bit too much?” he chuckled when your cheeks visibly reddened at his words before you buried your head in his neck with a harmless pinch to his bicep that wrapped around you. “you’re acting like i was the only one that enjoyed it.” his fingers that were drawing small shapes and patterns on your skin came to a halt at your words.

“oh believe me when i tell you that i loved last night”his hand reached lower to pinch you back on your hip before he laughed at the shocked squeal from around his neck, his heart bursting with more love as you nuzzled yourself closer to him, wishing to have owned the ability to pause time forever in this moment.

as sunghoon didn’t mind to bath in your love and your glow for eternity.

♡ — hope u enjoyed !! :D big thanks to ariana for releasing supernatural & to boys world for having such adorable and love-radiating songs for inspiring me to write this <3

[s0urw00lf]

Can you do something for Issac Lahey? Maybe like him reacting to reader getting hurt or him being overly protective but he’s been too scared to share his feelings

Your protector

Pairing: Isaac layhey x reader

Summary: Isaac has been extra protective since you joined him in the supernatural world

Warnings: best friends to lovers, protective Isaac, sweetheart Isaac

AN: whoever requested this i want to give you a kiss because i love Isaac so much, he was so adorable and not talked about enough throughout the teen wolf fandom. Also this may be really long so bear with me here.

Isaac is your best friend, or was, about seven months ago he decided to drop you with no warning and joined the group of kids that everyone wanted to be apart of led by Scott McCall. You’d be lying if you said you werent completely broken by it, but you accepted it. You guessed after his dad died he decided he’d shed his old life and make a new one. He also had began dressing and acting different. He had this strong aura around him, he was confident and it showed. You were happy for him, that he gained himself a new family, you just wished he’d taken you with him.

that leads you to today, it was raining lightly and you were still getting used to walking home from school alone, even though after all of this time you should be, you weren’t. You and Isaac had been walking home together since first grade when you moved to beacon hills and befriended the boy two houses down. You were walking past the animal clinic when you heard something ruffle behind you, you quickly turned around and squinted trying to see what you could, but after a couple of seconds of nothing you turned back a round and resumed your walk. Why you decided not to bring your bike today? You didn’t know but now you were cursing at yourself for the stupid idea. You heard another ruffle behind you but it seemed closer, you turned around again but saw nothing. But you heard it, it was something big and its breathing was heavy. Almost dog like.

‘Hello?” You called out, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rain, “look whoever you are this isn’t funny” you shouted, people in school, specifically Jackson loved to torment you now that you were alone almost 99% of the time. You quickly turned around and continued walking with a faster pace, deciding against the cliche horror movie following the sound move. A knot grew in your throat as you tried to conceal your anxiety.

Then out of nowhere you heard another growl from right behind you. You didn’t take the time to turn around and look that time, you just took off in a sprint. You only made it a couple of steps before you slipped, no thanks to the slippery ground. You hit her head pretty hard, all of a sudden a huge animal like figure was standing above you huffing, almost angrily, your breathing picked up but you couldn’t move. It was like you’d been glued to the ground. The animal circled your trembling form, you hoped that if you didn’t make any move the animal wouldn’t consider you a threat and leave.

You quickly figured out you were wrong, because after thirty seconds of circling you the animal bit you on her leg, you let out the most blood curdling scream as the animal ran off back into the woods. You sat up looking at your now blood covered leg, the shock suddenly hit you and everything went black.

You woke up to an intense pounding in your head, and the bright light shining above You did not help. “Christ” you muttered covering your eyes with your hand, only then did you feel the burning in your leg. You hissed, suddenly moving to grab at the injury, “you might not want to do that” a voice spoke entering the room startling you. “Sorry it was time for me to feed the animals”. It was the man you had known to own the animal clinic, suddenly confused you sat up. “Am i in the animal clinic?” You asked tilting your head. The man nodded before turning around and grabbing a bottle of pills handing them to you “should help with the pain” he said. Still confused you spoke “is this not for animals?” You asked. The man paused “you’ll soon find that my specialties lie beyond animals. I’m deaton by the way.” He said “take those and here is a water. I have a phone call to make. What is your name, may i ask?” He said handing you a small bottle of water. You eyed the pill bottle suspiciously “y/n, y/n l/n” you said. The man nodded walking out of the room, you guessed to go make the phone call.

‘what the hell’ you thought, before downing the pill. Anyone would’ve called you crazy for trusting the guy but you didn’t care, you had just experienced the most terrifying thing ever and you were in pain and desperate.

You sat in the room alone fore a round 25 minuted before you heard three new voices, which you recognized fairly well. You hopped off the table and snuck into the next room, careful not to put too much weight on your injured leg. In the room stood Scott stiles and… Isaac. All four of the men stopped conversing when Scott made eye contact with you over deaton’s shoulder. At the sudden silence deaton turned around toward where the boys were looking and saw you standing in the door way. “Y/n id like you to meet-“ “i know who they are” you cut him off. You tilted your head “i don’t understand why are they here?” You asked, eyeing Isaac who wouldn’t even meet your gaze. “Y/n we should talk.” Scott said taking a careful step towards you. You nodded “okay.” You complied. “you might wanna sit down” stiles said pointing to the row of chairs.

With the help of Scott you were able to do so with no casualties. The three boys sat down in front of you. “Okay” Scott spoke. “What happened to you today is gonna change you. For the better or worse is your decision. It’s gonna make you faster, see better and hear better. Along with some other things” Scott trailed off. You took in what he was saying, “is it what happened to you two?” You asked pointing at Scott and Isaac. They both pulled surprised faces, while stiles looked offended “wait why wouldn’t you assume it happened to me?” Stiles asked. You looked at him as if he was crazy “they randomly got good at lacrosse. You still… suck to say the least” you said. Stiles squinted at you eyes twitching. Scott cut stiles off before he could cause a scene. “Yes thats what happened to us” he answered, you nodded. “Wait am i like a, vampire or something?” You asked, dread filling her veins. Scott glance at Isaac, confused on why you were so cool about it who shrugged. “Uh yeah, something like that but more animal..ly” he said. “oh so like a werewolf” you said. He nodded.

after they finished giving you the rundown and was shocked at how well you took it they offered you a ride home and of course after the day you had, you accepted. The two boys in the front chatted mindlessly as if this was a normal occasion but you could practically feel the anger radiating off of Isaac. Which was funny to you because last time you checked, you were the one that should’ve been mad.

When you arrived at home you thanked them and hopped out sparing a glance at Isaac before closing the door door and walking away. What you missed was Scott basically forcing him to go talk to you, so when you heard the car door open and close again then quickly drive off you turned around confused until you saw the blonde curly headed boy. You waited for him to reach you before silently entering your house, inviting him in.

You went to your room and Isaac almost timidly followed you “You know you don’t have to stay with me out of pity” you said. He sighed entering your room, noting the small changes that’d been made “it’s not pity y/n” he said eyeing your picture collage that surprisingly hadn’t changed at all. You squinted “no? Then what is it? Guilt?” You said.

After all this time you thought you weren’t angry, but now that he was standing in your face, you were angrier than ever. “Me getting bit is what it took for you to finally look in my direction again is that it?” You took a step forward. Isaac averted his gaze to his shoes . “I was trying to protect you.” He quietly spoke. You let out a laugh “protect me? Well you did a great job at that, look at me now i have a bite on my leg that i don't even know if ill live from, and if i do i just so happen to ill have creatures and people trying to cut me in half or rip my heart out so thank you for ‘protecting me’” you said sarcastically.

”it wasn't supposed to be like this” he said finally looking you in your eye. “well tell me what was it supposed to be like Isaac?” You asked getting louder. “not like this y/n, you weren’t supposed to get involved in this life” he matched your volume. “Right and completely cutting me from your life was the best way to go about that” You shouted, your heart began to race and the anger in your chest began to fester like it was burning your skin. Isaac’s eyes widened “y/n calm down” he stated carefully. You glared at him “no i don't think i will” you said stalking forward. Isaac quickly grabbed you and before you had any chance to retaliate he turned you to face the mirror you had on your wall. Your eyes were glowing a bright orange, the shock hit you like a ton of bricks and the glow immediately disappeared. “What the hell? Do yours do that?” You asked him, Isaac stood behind you wide eyed “yeah, but not that color” he answered. You turned around in confusion “what do you mean?” You asked. “I think we should call Derek” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket “hale?” You asked incredulously. He nodded.

‘what the hell’

AN: okay this is gonna be two parts because i want to do both of these ideas so, stay tuned

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 1

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5393

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

You grew up hearing about soulmates, but since you were raised by your Aunt Ellen, it was something you weren’t sure was even true. She’d shown you the mark that had shown up on her hip, your uncle’s name, when she’d turned sixteen. Soulmates clearly were a thing, but you were skeptical, even as a child.

“Hey, you gonna take care of the customers or just stand there daydreamin?” Ellen asked you.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized, tending to the men at the bar.

How did I end up working here, of all places?

Your mind constantly drifted these days, and it started a month ago. Your twenty-fifth birthday was only three months away. Jo continually teased you when she found you off in your head during work hours. Then there was your Aunt Ellen, who was getting more worried about you as the days passed.

The music from the jukebox sounded far away, almost muffled as you absentmindedly took care of the tasks of cleaning tables, the bar, restocking bottles, and filling drinks. Guys would flirt with you, but you’d only give them that fake smile and move on.

It was the birthday you’d been waiting for, even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it to anyone. You were turning sixteen, and you’d finally see the name of your soulmate. Thanks to your aunt, you had gotten your hopes up.

But the day came and went, and nothing appeared. You had checked everywhere, even behind your ears. There was nothing. It took months to pull out of that depression, especially when those close to you asked about it. You also felt like some sort of freak. In all the research you’d done, you couldn’t find anything about not getting the mark when you turned sixteen.

“Geeze, Y/N. You’re really out of it today. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Ellen asked you, pulling you from your memories.

“Sorry. My mind seems to have a mind of its own today,” you sighed, glancing around the bar for a moment.

“You still bummed about the soulmate thing?” she asked you sincerely, in the way she did when she was gently trying to get you to talk.

You just shrugged your shoulders before taking off your apron, “I have to go help Bobby at the garage again.” 

“Is it that time already?” Ellen asked, glancing at the clock, then sighed. “Alright. Tell the old grump I said hi, and don’t let him work you too hard.” That made you chuckle, “He never does, and I’ll let him know.”

Again, your mind drifted as you drove down the semi-busy streets to Bobby’s garage. He and your Aunt had been friends for a long time, so he was practically family, as was his wife, Jodi. Growing up, you’d spent half your time in the garage, helping Bobby fix cars.

Sioux Falls wasn’t a big town, but wasn’t tiny either. You knew most of the people who lived there, and they knew you. It was more like more of them knew of you, the girl with no soulmate. You sighed as you drove your 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400, a gift from Bobby you had to fix up, down the lonely road leading to his garage. 

“Got something for ya, kid, but you gotta fix her up,” Bobby told you when you showed up for your shift that hot summer afternoon.

“I told you. You don’t have to get me a present this year,” you groaned.

A year ago, you began hating your birthdays, and you didn’t want to celebrate this one. You begrudgingly followed him to his garage, then to the side of it, where you noticed the tarp over something.

Bobby walked over and pulled the tarp off, revealing the shell of a 71’ Pontiac Firebird Formula 400. You had fallen in love with muscle cars as a kid, watching The Dukes of Hazzard. Your jaw hit the floor as you ran over to her like a kid on Christmas.

He was smiling from ear to ear as he watched you look over everything, “She’s all yours, but you gotta do the work. You can’t let any other mechanic touch her. I’ll answer any questions, but I ain’t helpin' either.”

“Are you serious, Uncle Bobby?” you asked excitedly, popping the hood of the beat-up frame.

A small smile crossed your expression with that memory as you pulled into the driveway of Bobby’s garage and parked in the back. It seemed like so long ago, but it was one of your fondest memories that had made your birthday not so bad.

“I’m here,” you hollered, heading over to the car you’d been working on for almost a week at this point. 

“How was the bar?” he asked, joining you in the garage.

“I was a space cadet, and Aunt Ellen is worried about me,” you replied, sliding back under the car to finish it up.

“You’re not a space cadet. I just think you can’t focus around all those people anymore. Come work at the garage, full-time,” he told you, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” you answered, tightening down a few more bolts.

“Besides, Jodi misses you being around more often,” Bobby added in an attempt to persuade your decision.

“I miss her too. Oh! Ellen said hi. I don’t know why she doesn’t text you more often,” you replied, sliding out from under the car, looking for yet another tool for yet another size bolt.

When you were in the garage, you always seemed to be able to focus. You knew Bobby had a point, and you’d been considering it for almost a month, but you weren’t about to tell him that. You wanted to let him think it was his idea.

Yeah, your mind drifted, but it was nothing like at the bar. Here, they were little snippets of memories: kids teasing you in high school, adults looking at you like you had two heads, and then there had been attempts to find a job but getting turned down everywhere due to not having the name of your soulmate on your body somewhere. 

By the time your shift ended, you had the car completely finished. Looking down at the car, you stood there, covered with blotches of grease but beaming with pride. 

“I’ll let the owner know she’s ready,” Bobby smiled, now standing next to you. “Think about it, though, okay?”

“I will,” you replied, giving him a hug before you headed home for the night since you’d already cleaned up the tools you’d used.

You lived in a cute little house not far from Bobby’s garage. It was the only thing that you had from your parents, along with a handful of pictures. You’d lost both of them to a car crash when you were only two, having no real memories of them. 

Since you were two when you had lost them, you never asked Jodi what had happened or if anyone else was involved. You honestly didn’t want to know. 

Dropping the things from your pockets on the table, you locked your door and headed to the bathroom. Your thoughts drifted again as you did your typical night routine.

“I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time finding work, sweetie. You can’t work here till you’re at least eighteen. I can’t break that law for you,” Ellen sighed.

You crossed your arms and went back outside to your car. You knew why no one in town would hire you, and it was a stupid reason. However, being a teenager still, you were all hormones and now needed to go blow off some steam.

You peeled out of the parking lot and down the road to your parent's place, which would be yours in less than a year. The drive was short due to the speed you’d chosen to go, and a cloud of dust rolled over your car when you parked out back of the house.

Between the punching bag, the target practice, and throwing your knives till your arm was sore, you had finally calmed down some. You made a call to Ellen and told her you were going to sleep at your ‘almost’ house. She didn’t like it but didn’t argue either.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, curled up in the soft bed that would eventually be your permanent room as the sun set slowly. The thought of being alone for the rest of your life hurt more than you’d ever tell anyone.

Dinner that night consisted of leftovers, and you were thankful you’d prepared them ahead of time when the week began—baked chicken, potatoes, and gravy. You were far too out of it to even worry about a vegetable. 

I’ll tell Ellen tomorrow.

Finally deciding to quit working at the bar as you cleaned up dinner and headed to bed, almost feeling as though a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Slipping under the covers and getting comfortable, you also felt more relaxed than usual. 

—----

Two hours into your shift, and Ellen had already had to pull you out of your head a dozen times. It was Saturday, so even the morning hours were busy today. You were just thankful that you never had to cook, knowing you would have ended up burning most of the food.

“Can you at least pay attention to the ones at the bar? Jo can handle the floor today,” Ellen told you, again sounding worried.

“I’ll try,” you sighed, glancing at the men sitting there.

There was no point in apologizing again. As you began taking care of the drinks, the bell over the door dinged, signifying yet another customer. Typically, you wouldn’t have even looked up, but something pulled at you.

It was three men, none of whom you recognized, and two of them looked to be around your age, with the third being older. All three of them sat at the bar, so you went over to get them drinks.

“What’s your poison?” you asked, putting on that fake work smile and not really looking at them.

“Three beers,” the older of the three said, “And please tell Ellen to come over.”

You were slightly confused but agreed. You set their beers down in front of them, then went to find Ellen in the back. “Hey, there’s a guy out here that asked for you.”

“Did you get his name?” she asked as she dried her hands.

“No. He didn’t say. He’s with two other guys who are younger, though, if that helps?” you replied as you followed her out of the back room.

You stopped halfway down the bar, but you were still behind it, as she was now on the other side, making her way to the three of them. The older man stood, both he and Ellen smiling as they embraced in a hug, which confused you. You managed to keep up with the drinks for those at the bar but couldn’t hear what the four of them were talking about.

“Y/N, come down here and get these boys a refill,” Ellen hollered, motioning for you to go over to them.

Rolling your eyes, you did as she asked, putting on that fake smile again, “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” one of the two younger ones said to you with what looked to be a flirtatious smirk.

“Don’t be flirting with my niece, Dean. She’s still what you’d consider innocent,” Ellen scolded the one who had just spoken to you, but to you, it sounded more like a teasing sort of joking around, which made you slightly curious. “Thanks. Like I need some stranger to know that sort of thing,” you grumbled.

“Sweetie, these are the Winchesters. They’re practically family. You met them when you were little,” Ellen replied, smiling happily.

For a moment, you were somewhat dumbfounded as to what to even say. You couldn’t seem to remember meeting the three of them. Ellen introduced you to John Winchester, the father of Dean and Sam, who were four years apart in age.

“I hate to do it, Aunt Ellen, but, I need to talk to you about something before I leave in ten,” you finally told her.

“What’s up?” she asked, looking quite puzzled.

“I need to take some time off for a while,” you mumbled, feeling bad.

“Take all the time you need, sweetie. I know things have been rough for you lately,” she said softly, then she gave you a hug. “And tell that old fart to stop by sometime.”

“Thanks for understanding, and I will,” you replied, relieved as you hugged her back. Then you looked over at the Winchesters, “It was nice to have at least met the three of you since I don’t remember meeting you before now. Not sure when I’ll see you again, though.”

“How come?” John asked, seeming fairly curious.

“I’m going to be working my other job full-time for a while. It’s the love of my life, honestly,” you replied with a smile, giving John your full attention.

“What’s that, kid?” he asked, which made you wonder if perhaps he knew Bobby since Bobby called you that all the time.

“I fix cars. Hate to do it, but I have to run,” you replied quickly, heading for the door and out to your Baby. However, your heart about stopped when you saw the black 67’ Chevy Impala parked next to your Firebird.

“Damn…” you breathed out in quiet shock and awe.

Shit! I’m gonna be late.

With that thought, you shook your head, pulled your gaze from the car, and drove to Bobby’s garage for your shift. It indeed was a beautiful car, and you knew that no one in town drove one of those. Through deductive reasoning, you figured it had to belong to the Winchesters. You just weren’t sure which one. Whichever one it was, though, they loved that car, and you knew it with how well it had been taken care of.

The leaves on the trees were changing colors already, and the light breeze was finally cooler than the summer heat that you hated. However, you didn’t notice much today; you were too excited to give Bobby the news.

You knew the smile you couldn’t hide would give it away, but you stepped into his little office anyway. You didn’t even have time to say anything before he did.

Bobby was smiling from ear to ear when he looked up at you, “Nice to know Ellen didn’t give you a hard time about being here full time. You can whip those boys on the morning shift into shape for me.”

“Like they’d listen to me,” you chuckled but rolled your eyes.

“They better, since you’re gonna be their boss from here on out,” he told you seriously.

“Wait? What?” you asked, in complete surprise.

“Kid, you know your shit, and you’re good at your job. You’re better at your job than the four boys I got workin here already. I’d rather just have you than all of them 'cause I know you’d get the job done like it should be, and you never cut corners,” he explained, being completely serious.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, still shocked.

“Just say thanks and be here at six tomorrow morning. Take the afternoon off and rest up,” he smiled.

You went over and wrapped him up in a hug. He knew the only reason you worked in the garage late was to avoid the boys he had working there in the morning. You had tried doing the dating thing after your sixteenth birthday, but realized quickly that no boy wanted anything to do with you.

That night, you were still smiling, even if you were apprehensive about being someone’s boss, let alone four grown men. People in the town were mostly courteous toward you but treated you like a plague of some sort since your soulmate's name never appeared on your body. 

—-------

As you got ready that morning, you attempted to calm your nerves, but it didn’t work. You gave yourself mental pep talks all morning and even on the drive, but that wasn’t helping either. Your heart was still racing as you parked out back like you usually did.

Bobby was the only one at the garage for the moment, and he even told you to breathe more than once. He explained that you’d still be working on cars, but now you’d also be keeping an eye on the boys he had working there and telling them when to take their breaks. It seemed simple enough.

Benny, Cas, Garth, and Jack were decent guys and were all friends. They’d spend time at the bar in the evenings when you were at the garage. It was how you had avoided a lot of people in the town since they really wanted nothing to do with you. The part you were worried about was interacting with them, as their boss. Bobby was standing next to you as the four of them arrived and mingled into the garage.

“Boys, meet your new boss,” Bobby said sternly, and all four of them looked up at you.

You were sure your heartbeat could be heard throughout the room as you froze under their gaze. The only one who didn’t look at you like you were a waste of space or something to avoid was Garth, and you made a mental note of that.

Something in you snapped with how they looked at you, and you laid into them before Bobby could comment on their expressions. “Look, I know that at least three of you would rather not work with me. I’m not a bitch, but I will be if I have to be. You don’t like this, there’s the door,” you told them sternly, putting your hands on your hips.

“Seriously?” Benny asked, annoyed. His Cajun accent was thick, and if it weren’t for his attitude, you probably could have listened to the man talk all day.

“Yes, Benny. She’s got the right to fire you if need be. I suggest you don’t give her a reason,” Bobby replied, crossing his arms, almost daring the man to challenge his decision.

Garth stepped forward, though, with that kind smile he always had, “I, for one, am looking forward to working with you, Y/N. You seem like a nice person, fair.”

Your expression instantly softened, and you smiled at him. “Thanks, Garth.”

“Alright, get to work,” Bobby told all of you before he headed into his office to keep an eye on things.

You turned from the four of them and headed toward the newest of the cars that had been brought in the day before. Your nerves were shot, but you were proud of yourself for standing up to the three of them. Pausing for a brief moment as you looked down at the car, you decided on something.

I’m gonna just be me. If they don’t like it, they can quit.

You turned on the radio to the classic rock station, then got to work on the car. Benny raised an eyebrow and just watched you silently before he got to work with the other three. It was odd for you with the other four working there, too. It was something you weren’t used to, but you found yourself keeping an eye on them, even while you worked.

An hour into the shift, Cas had stopped working and sat on one of the barstools, sipping some water. You watched him out of the corner of your eye for a few minutes while still focusing on your current task. Five minutes later, he was back to work. You took mental note of it and focused on your task again.

Each of them did that, taking turns to sit for a few minutes, have water, and then return to work. It puzzled you, but you weren’t ready to ask them why they did it, at least not yet. 

Just before nine, you heard it before you saw it. The beautiful purr of that Impala you had seen the night before. A smirk crossed your lips while you were unbolting the upper portion of the water pump for the current car in front of you. 

The Impala stopped, and then she was silent. You could clearly hear three sets of footsteps heading into the garage. The four boys erupted with greetings to the Winchesters, more Dean than the other two. Even Bobby joined in. 

So, they do know each other. Too bad the boys know them too. So much for maybe making a friend now.

You sighed and slid under the car, going for the bottom bolts now that the top ones were loose, completely ignoring the ruckus of greetings going on only about twenty feet away from you.

“Kid, you gonna come say hi?” you heard Bobby ask, and you realized he was standing next to you.

“I really wanted to get this finished, since the part finally came in, and this poor car has been sitting here for a week waiting,” you replied without moving out from under the car.

“Kid, don’t make me pull you outta there,” he told you a bit more sternly, and you knew he’d do it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding out from under the car.

“So much for not running into you again, Sweetheart,” Dean smirked, which made you roll your eyes.

“Dean’s gonna be starting tomorrow morning. Dean, she’ll be your boss, so don’t try anything funny. She’s also practically my niece,” Bobby told him, far sterner than you’d heard him talk to anyone before, which only piqued your curiosity as to what their past entailed.

“I’ll behave, Bobby, I promise,” Dean told him, somewhat seriously. 

You noticed a small twinkle in not only Dean’s eye, but also in Bobby’s. It was like there was something they both knew but weren’t saying, at least not in front of you.

“You better, boy. I got no problems telling your dad and making him fire you,” Bobby replied, glancing at John.

That was when it hit you. You’d seen the initials JW on several different pieces of paperwork and even a couple of packages that had been delivered to the garage. John was Bobby’s partner in the business, and Dean was supposed to inherit it when John passed or retired. You were a bit surprised, though, that you had the power to fire the boss's son or at least write him up if you had to.

John’s laughter filled the garage at Bobby’s statement, “If I have to get involved, you’ll be in far more trouble than just losing your job.” There was a joke in there, but you could also hear the hint of seriousness in his tone.

What do the three of them know but aren’t saying around me? This is so frustrating.

“I said I’d behave,” Dean grumbled, crossing his arms and leaning against the car closest to him while the boys gave him a hard time. But it was there, even if only a hint of it, a smirk, and you noticed.

That was when John and Bobby both turned toward you, and for some reason, it made you nervous. “We’re having a little get-together tonight at Harvelle’s, and you’re invited. Sam graduated and is getting a full ride for law school, and that calls for a celebration,” John told you with a far softer smile than you thought the man was capable of.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” you replied, completely unsure of the idea of being around people who really wanted nothing to do with you.

“Good. Then we’ll see you there around say, seven?” John replied.

“Okay,” you answered, not sure what else to say.

Due to your attention being on John and Bobby, you missed the silent conversations going on between Dean, Sam, and the four grease monkeys on the far side of the garage. Dean was mostly watching you while Benny and Cas were telling him things, about you. Sam was also watching you, but his was more out of curiosity than anything else.

John and Bobby hung out in the office with the door closed for at least another hour. Dean and Sam were distracting the other four while they worked. You, well, you were changing out the water pump, ignoring all of them. It was what hurt the least. 

While you were tightening down the bolts under the car, you noticed a pair of feet standing next to you.

“You really don’t remember us, do you?” he asked.

“Sorry. I really don’t,” you answered, focusing on the bolt that was being a pain to get to.

“Wow. Kinda surprised since we went to the same schools and grew up in the same town,” he chuckled quietly, and you realized it was Sam and not Dean. Sam had a softer voice, and he didn’t call you sweetheart.

“I’m really sorry. I was kind of a loner,” you told him and finally got the bolt tightened down.

Sliding out from under the car and looking up at him, you felt like an ant with how tall he was. You shook off the feeling, got to your feet, and bent over into the engine so you could finish bolting the water pump in place.

“I remember. I heard about what happened, or uh, I mean- what didn’t happen when you turned sixteen,” he told you with that softness you were thankful for.

You shrugged your shoulders briefly, “Doesn’t matter. At least Bobby let me work here. All I ask is that you aren’t being nice to me out of pity. I’d rather be ignored.”

“I don’t pity you. I actually wanted to tell you something I found out while I was at college. It’s rare, like it only happens to one in a billion people. A traumatic event before the age of five can leave a child too scared to get their soulmate’s name when they turn sixteen,” he explained.

You froze where you were. It was more than anything you’d been able to find, and for a moment, you wanted to hope. You quickly brushed it away, though, remembering how badly you’d felt the last time you got your hopes up.

“You gonna keep going or just leave me hanging like that?” you asked, a little sharper than you intended.

Sam took a deep breath, and you missed him glancing at his brother momentarily, “Well, what I read said that the other person still gets their soulmate’s name. The one that went through the trauma has to fully heal from it before they get their soulmate’s name.”

You rolled your eyes, “Kinda hard to heal from something I don’t remember.”

“I just wanted you to know that me and my brother don’t see you like others do, and we’d like to be your friend, if you want,” he replied, then walked away to leave you to your thoughts.

Great. I don’t even know what to do to heal that sort of thing. I don’t even remember my parents. And now, the boss’s kids want to be friends with me. No, that can’t go horribly wrong, can it? Plus, I have to go sit through a celebration with people I don’t remember and others who want nothing to do with me, even if Ellen, Bobby, and Jodi will be there.

You focused on the car but finished it quickly before the Winchesters were even ready to leave. After wiping off your hands, you closed the hood and put the tools away before driving the car out to the finished area so it could wait for its owner to pick it up. When you headed back inside, your eyes were only on the office door, which was still closed. You didn’t see Dean watching you again.

“Hey, Bobby. Cars finished. I didn’t see anything else out back. What do you want me to work on?” you asked, setting the keys on his desk so he could get the paperwork together.

“How about you give Dean the tour? Show him where everythings at?” John suggested with a smirk before Bobby could say a word. “I figured Benny would do that, since they seem like friends,” you replied, not wanting to interrupt the six of them.

“I’m sure he could, but he won’t. You’re their boss. Comes with the territory,” John told you.

“Yes, Sir,” you replied in a slight mumble, heading back out of the office, closing the door, and then leaning on it.

As you crossed your arms, you watched the six of them. They looked like they were enjoying whatever conversation was happening between them, with Dean laughing at something he must have found funny. With a deep sigh, you walked over to them, slipping your hands into your pockets.

There was instant silence the moment you got close to them, but you didn’t let the hurt show, “John said I should give you a tour and show you where everything is,” you explained to Dean, not really looking at him.

Dean glanced at the office door then back down at you, “If that’s what my dad said, then lead the way, Sweetheart.”

Why does he have to keep calling me that? It’s not like he knows me. Maybe he calls all girls that, and it’s just his thing or something like that. 

“Yeah, not like you been in here a day of your life,” Benny teased him, which made you look up at Benny, confused. “Huh?” was the only word you could manage.

“Oh yeah, Dean’s been working in here since he was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Cas chuckled, teasing Dean.

Your gaze went from each of them and then to Dean, tilting your head in a fair amount of confusion. Dean rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked away from you.

“What’s wrong, Dean? Worried she’ll figure it out?” Benny stated.

“Figure what out?” you asked as Dean glared at Benny.

“Nothing,” Dean snapped, still glaring at Benny.

So, Dean’s got some secret he doesn’t want me to know about. 

“Do you still want that tour I’m supposed to give you?” you asked with a sigh, looking more at the floor than anywhere else.

“Dean, you were here less than a month ago. Did you really forget where everything is already?” Cas teasingly asked him.

You’d had enough, so headed out of the garage, tossing your hands up and hollering, “Never mind,” just before making it outside. Once you made it to your car, you texted Bobby and told him you were heading home since there weren’t any more cars to work on at the moment.

The six of them watched as you drove past the garage entrance and then down the driveway. You missed Dean punching Cas in the jaw. You missed John and Bobby going off on Benny and Cas. You also missed Dean going off on Benny. You were too pissed and hurt to even look back.

Bobby didn’t text you back, but you knew if he had an issue or needed you at the garage, he would have said so. The moment you got home, you went straight for the punching bag, needing to get the anger out of your system so you could shower.

How am I gonna get out of tonight? Can I even get out of tonight? Probably not. I’ll have to show up, at least. I can always leave early, though, right? 

You groaned at the thought of having to be around people, knowing full well that getting out of it, even early, was going to be difficult. At least you weren’t required to dress up any, so you went for a pair of black jeans, a dark blue shirt, and your favorite deep green flannel pulled over it. At the garage, you typically had your hair pulled back, but for tonight, you left it down.

Parking near the back of Harvelle’s Bar & Grill, you were just staring at the building, dreading going inside and having to “people,” as you called it. The sun had already set, and the darkness was allowing the glimmer of stars to be seen in the night sky, but you didn’t notice them, just the bar in front of you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

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[wholoveseggs]

Hi there!! I been reading your works and I love your writing. This my first request ever.

I had this idea, and I was thinking about a gothic vampire reader with the personality and the looks of Morticia Addams, and the love for the macabre. And Elijah catches her attention and she catches his attention. Of course, they meet at a gala, a opera etc. And for weeks, they have been getting to know each other. Until one day, he comes over to her house, they are having a good time then the visit turns steamy and smutty, it is passionate and feral. And maybe with blood sharing between the two.

But of course, if you don’t want to then you don’t have to and you can ignore this.

Decadence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah meets an intriguing woman at the opera, leading to an evening of music, wine and vampiric indulgences.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @thealienartist!! Absolutely obsessed with this idea, I LOVE gothic romance & horror!!! This was an absolute dream to write. Can Elijah please be the Gomez to my Morticia heart? ♡♡

5.9k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, blood drinking, I was self-projecting hard with this one... {I just want to be her}, black cats, chocolate cake, vintage wine, a love letter, Victorian gothic everything... I listened to Totentanz on repeat while writing this... {its a vibe}

Elijah had always enjoyed the arts, whether that be in music or literature or even painting and live performances. He found that the arts were one of the only things that made him feel truly alive. Even with his undead heart beating within his chest.

Around the turn of the century, Elijah discovered his love for horror. It amused him to see how humans depicted the supernatural, their interpretations of his kind were rather off. Vampires living in run down castles, with no regard for the world around them, their main purpose to drain the blood of the innocent. It was almost laughable, though some of his kind did enjoy that lifestyle.

It was during this time that he fell in love with opera, something his siblings didn't exactly agree with. Rebekah found it to be dull, Klaus found it to be pretentious and Kol didn't care either way.

They just didn't get it, the music, the drama, the costumes, had him completely enraptured.

So, when he heard that La bohème was being performed, he immediately made plans to go. He had seen it many times, but never got tired of the performance. He just wished that he could have somebody to go with, but none of his family wanted to attend.

He put on his favorite four piece suit, combed his hair, grabbed his black trench coat and made his way to the opera house.

As the lights dimmed and the stage lit up, Elijah couldn't help but feel a little sad, wishing he had someone to share this interest with, but he was content watching alone.

He watched as the curtains parted and the actors began their first scene, he immediately fell into a trance as he took in the performance.

Intermission was announced and he went outside for some fresh air, he was surprised to see a woman, who looked like she was plucked straight out of the past, standing on the balcony.

She was smoking a cigarette, the long stick held elegantly in her fingers. Her nails were red talons and her dark hair cascaded down her back, stopping at her hips. She was dressed in a all black Victorian style dress, which complimented her pale skin, making it look almost ghostly.

She tilted her head at him in acknowledgement, then went back to staring out into the night.

Elijah usually wasn't the one to approach women, he preferred for them to make the first move. But something about this one intrigued him, he was curious about her.

He stepped onto the balcony and approached her slowly. Watching the wisps of smoke rise into the air.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"Elijah Mikaelson, I presume?" Her voice was deep, but still feminine, her eyes darker than his own. She was strikingly beautiful, there was no doubt about that.

"You know who I am?" Elijah raised his eyebrows.

She chuckled, gracefully flicking her cigarette butt away.

"Who doesn't? The infamous Mikaelson's, who rule the streets of New Orleans with blood and fear... I'm a big fan," she said.

He smiled and shook his head, "We do not rule the city, we simply protect it from our enemies."

She hummed, a smirk gracing her ruby red lips.

"You do have a reputation," she replied.

Elijah nodded and stepped forward.

"What is your name, darling?"

She chuckled and leaned against the railing, gazing up at him with a smirk. "Y/n," she said, extending her hand out to him.

He grasped her hand gently, his lips brushing against her knuckles, her eyes sparkled as she watched his lips.

"Hmm, they don't make them like you anymore," she mused, her eyes traveling up and down his body. "You are so very old-fashioned," she added with a sly smile.

"Well I am quite old," he jested, matching her smile.

They stood and stared at each other for a moment before Elijah broke the silence. "What do you think of this performance?" He asked, gesturing towards the theater.

She shrugged, "I've seen worse, I've seen better," she replied.

Elijah found himself smirking at her response, not really knowing why. Maybe because he had found himself feeling the same.

"May I ask what brings you here?" He wondered why she was attending an opera alone.

"I was bored, looking for someone to eat," she stated. Her eyes roaming over his body once more.

Elijah let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. There was only a handful of times in his long life that a woman actually made him nervous, this being one of those times.

She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest, leaning closer towards him, her lips ghosting against his ear, her scent surrounded him, it was intoxicating and Elijah found himself leaning into her.

"I'll see you around Mr. Mikaelson," she whispered and gently pulled away from him, giving him a wink before going back inside. Elijah watched her go, letting out a sigh as he shook his head, not being able to wipe the smile off of his face.

You considered yourself a solitary creature. Even in your human life, you tended to keep people at a distance. You felt misunderstood, even a bit judged by your peers, you didn't really like being around people.

After you were turned, things hadn't really changed that much, you still found it difficult to connect with others, but now you were mostly untethered and unburdened by society's rules.

The freedom of being a vampire was nice, to be able to go and do whatever you pleased, whenever you pleased and live however you saw fit.

You spent most of your years traveling, seeking out new places, experiencing new cultures and meeting people along the way. And with all this knowledge you learned exactly who you are and what you like.

New Orleans was one of your favorite places, full of vibrancy and life. It was an aesthetic heaven for you, a place that celebrated death, promoted the macabre, had strong connections to magic. Not to mention their appreciation for the arts.

For the last few decades, you had taken up residence in an old Victorian home. You compelled the local historical society to allow you to paint the exterior completely black. Planted dark red roses along the windows and hung little chandeliers made of animal bones along the porch.

You had spent quite a bit of time decorating the interior, making it a space that you could feel truly comfortable in. Something that made your home feel like it truly reflected your personality.

The house fit you perfectly; outside looking like something from a B-horror film, but the interior was homely and feminine, decorated with macabre pieces, gothic furniture, tapestries adorned the walls and candles were scattered everywhere.

You never really acclimated to modern society, you were turned in the 1800s and preferred to live according to the time. You liked old things, dark antiques, things that held a certain kind of energy within them.

So when you met Elijah Mikaelson at the opera house, you knew you had to add him to your collection.

You had heard about the Mikaelson family for a long time, whispers of them among the vampires. You had become intrigued, they were the oldest of your kind, the knowledge they possessed fascinated you.

You couldn't help the smirk that had stretched across your lips when you finally came face to face with Elijah, he was exactly how you imagined him. Tall, dark and handsome, dressed to perfection, emanating wealth and power. Finding him at the opera added to your attraction, knowing that his interests matched your own made it all that more charming.

Elijah Mikaelson was the fine wine of men and you wanted to bathe yourself in it. Wanted to drink up every drop of it, savoring the taste of it on your lips.

You sat in your living room, your cat on your lap, purring contently as you ran your fingers through his fur. You were dressed in a large silk robe, your hair tied up in a bun, dark wine colored lipstick on your lips. A mug filled with blood sat on the table beside you.

You were writing out a letter to him, with ink and parchment, your favorite fountain pen adding a certain flourish to your lettering. Your cat jumped off of your lap and you grabbed an envelope to place the letter inside. You folded the parchment and stuck it in the envelope, sealing it with wax and writing Elijah's name onto the paper.

You hoped he would like the gesture, you knew he was an old fashioned man, so sending him a letter with a gift was bound to catch his attention. It had been a long, long time since you felt nervous, and it had been at least a hundred years since you had a crush like this.

You grabbed the parcel with his gift in it and walked over to your front door, slipping on your heels, you headed out of the house and down your side walk, plucking a rose along the way.

The postman was close to leaving, just as you approached his mail van.

"Hello," you greeted, and watched as he turned and jumped, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

"Jesus lady, I didn't hear you coming," he stammered, looking you up and down, a nervous smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you left."

He shook his head and smiled, waving away your concern.

"I have a parcel for you to deliver," you said.

He nodded and held out his hand for the letter.

"What's the address?" He asked, staring down at the envelope, taking note of your fine penmanship.

"The Abattoir, in the French Quarter. For Elijah Mikaelson," you told him, running your fingertips along the thorns of your rose.

The postman nodded his head and placed the letter in his van.

"Have a nice day," he said as he walked away.

You watched him climb into his vehicle and drive away, a smirk playing on your lips, hoping your letter would get the attention you desired.

Elijah was spending the day lazing about, enjoying a rare day of peace and quiet, catching up on his reading. He wasn't expecting any visitors, but a knock sounded at the front door, which was a highly unusual occurrence.

He wandered downstairs, a nervous looking postman was waiting at the gate, looking around the old compound with fascination and hesitation.

"Elijah Mikaelson?" He asked timidly.

"Yes?" Elijah looked at him in bewilderment, it had been a long time since he had received anything in the mail, it wasn't like he had a registered address.

"This is for you," he said, handing him the envelope and a small package, wrapped in crimson coloured paper and tied with a black ribbon.

Elijah thanked him and made his way back into his home, he wondered who could have sent him a letter, the handwriting was immaculate, a skill that wasn't common in today's world.

He realized who it was from instantly when he saw the initials, y/n. A smile graced his lips, feeling like a giddy schoolboy instead of a thousand year old vampire.

He quickly undid the black ribbon and opened the paper, revealing a beautiful piece of art, depicting a flying demon eating a young woman's heart. The detail was incredibly fine, and he realized after a quick sniff, that the red of the painting was not paint. It was blood.

A thought crossed his mind, he wondered if it was a piece of your art, he found your work to be truly frightening, beautiful and enchanting, reminding him of the piece Nighthawks, though darker and macabre.

Opening the letter, he read it carefully,

Dearest Mr. Mikaelson, I hope this letter finds you well, if not please pardon my forwardness. I never understood the flirting etiquette of the modern woman. I find myself longing for the company of a man with your refined tastes, such a delicate palette. I was intrigued from the moment we met, our meeting felt fortuitous. I must confess that I have not felt this way in centuries, being in your presence awakened something within me that I wasn't aware still existed. I find myself completely enamored. Perhaps my feelings are returned? If not, then please accept this gift in hopes of extending our friendship. Though I do wish you share in my hopes of something a little more. I will be home tonight, perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me for a drink? Until then I remain Your Admirer, y/n.

Elijah couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he gently folded the parchment and placed it on his desk. He immediately went to check himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, combing it neatly to the side. He found himself anxiously changing his tie, nothing matched what he was wearing, but he wanted everything to be perfect.

He found a pair of ruby cufflinks, feeling that they complimented the letter and would perhaps set the mood.

Grabbing his black wool jacket and adjusting his tie, he made his way outside before stopping and running back inside, he couldn't possibly come empty handed and he knew just the thing to bring you.

You waited nervously inside your house, you had decided to wear a simple black slip dress, your hair flowing over your shoulders in waves, your black winged eyeliner perfectly defining your eyes.

You needed a way to quell your anxiety, so you decided to play a tune on your organ, something to fill the silence, create a soundtrack to go along with the nerves that bounced around inside your mind and heart.

If he didn't show, you would understand. It had been quite a while since you've expressed your affections to anyone. It had been a lifetime since you were courted.

Your fingers idly drifted over the ivory keys, producing a somber yet melodic tune. Your nails were filed into sharp talons, painted a deep crimson, matching the lipstick on your lips.

The melody flowed through the house, the tune reverberating against the walls, seeping through the floorboards. Your cat jumped up and settled in your lap, the soft vibrations from the organ lulling him into a purring trance.

A soft knock broke the melody and you felt your heart stutter. Placing your cat on the seat you walked over to your door. Taking a steadying breath, you grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Men usually didn't have you so utterly flustered, but with Elijah, it seemed like even your centuries old blood could grow warm.

"Good evening, I received your letter and gift, thank you."

He greeted you with a genuine smile, an excited glint in his eyes. You let your eyes wander over him, taking in his appearance, he was dressed to perfection, like always, obviously following along with your old fashioned aesthetic. You liked that you didn't have to ask him, he just got it.

"Please, come in," you stepped to the side to make room for him, you shut the door as he walked inside.

"Quite a lovely home you have here," he said, admiring the interior of the house.

You took his coat and led him into the sitting room, pointing to one of the antique sofas.

"Please, take a seat."

He sat and placed the bottle of wine he had brought on the table.

You took the bottle and marveled at the label, your interest peaked, feeling slightly taken back, it was one of the rarest reds, bottles of this were difficult to come by, most of them now lying at the bottom of the sea.

You knew it was not a simple gesture, this was the kind of thing you save for very special occasions. Knowing that he considered this date that special made your stomach flutter.

"Now how did you manage to get your hands on this?" You asked, placing the bottle beside the two glasses you had set out earlier.

"My brother was the culprit behind a number of shipwrecks, during the golden era of piracy," Elijah responded, a smirk gracing his lips.

You chuckled as you grabbed the corkscrew. "That is no surprise," you replied as you popped the cork out.

You grabbed the glasses and walked over to him, passing him one of the glasses before sitting across from him.

You both raised your glasses and clinked them together, taking a drink, closing your eyes and savoring the taste.

"I heard you playing as I approached the house, you have a lovely talent," Elijah said.

You smiled and nodded your head, looking down at your wine.

"That was very sweet of you to say," you looked up at him through your lashes, admiring his handsome features.

You took another sip and watched him over the rim of your glass, his eyes watching you as well.

"What were you playing? Totentanz?" He asked.

"Indeed, it’s one of my favorites," you said, tilting your glass in his direction, "and it felt appropriate," you jested.

A beautiful smile stretched across Elijah's face as he let out a chuckle. His smile made your lips curl up, mirroring his expression.

"So tell me," he began, "What made you decide to come to New Orleans?"

You shrugged and crossed your legs, the sliver of skin left exposed as the fabric cascaded over your thighs, capturing his attention.

"I love it here, the culture, the art, blood tastes sweeter here," you said, letting a sly smile grace your face. "I like the way this city weaves death and beauty," you paused and took a sip, "it just feels like home to me."

Elijah nodded his head in understanding, he appreciated what you had said. "Yes, there is a certain allure about this city,"

"Your family helped build it back in the 1800s, no?" You asked, running your finger along the lip of your glass.

He nodded, "yes we did, from swamps and brothels to one of the wealthiest cities."

You chuckled and shook your head, "yet the swamps and brothels remain," you mused.

"But not nearly as much," he joked.

You both sat and talked for hours, getting to know each other, laughing and drinking. Elijah was surprised to find that you didn't mind listening to him talk about his travels and life, in fact you hung onto his every word. To him, you were utterly enchanting, the way your eyes lit up as you talked, your laugh, the way you looked at him.

At one point he got up and sat closer to you, his hand gently grazing your thigh, leaning in close as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours. Your lips parted and you felt his breath ghosting across your mouth, his eyes flicking down to your lips. He was such a gentleman, waiting for you to initiate the kiss, but you wanted to do one last thing before you tasted his lips.

"I made something for us, if you would like to try it," you whispered.

He leaned back and tilted his head, his eyes curious.

You smirked and placed your wine glass down, slowly standing up.

"Follow me," you told him.

Elijah trailed after you into your dining room, a large wooden table in the center of the room, filled with silver platters and a centerpiece of black and white roses.

You had made a decadent chocolate cake using human blood, the dark rich blood mixing with the cocoa, making a sinfully dark and delicious dessert.

You pulled out a chair for him and motioned for him to sit.

"This looks delicious, did you make this?" Elijah asked.

You nodded and cut a slice for him, placing it on a plate.

"Yes, I made it from scratch," you said, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Gathered all the ingredients from local suppliers."

Elijah hummed, taking his first bite, his eyes widened and he let out a soft groan.

"This is divine," he exclaimed, the veins around his eyes darkening.

You sat and watched him eat the entire slice, his eyes were blown out, the bloodlust apparent in his expression. You bit your lip, trying to hold in your excitement.

You pushed your plate towards him, a wicked grin on your lips. "Would you like another slice?"

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the bloodlust making him look feral, his eyes completely black.

"I would prefer to taste something else," he said.

Your lips curled into a smile as he stood, pushing his chair back and pulling you out of yours.

His arms snaked around your waist, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you flush against him. You ran your hand up his chest and wrapped it around his neck, your lips meeting his.

He tasted like red wine, chocolate and just a hint of blood, his mouth soft and pliant, his tongue brushing against your lips. You nipped at his bottom lip and he growled, pushing his hips against yours, walking you backwards, pinning you against the wall.

"Where did you come from?" He marveled, his hands grabbing your ass.

You laughed and ran your hand through his hair, giving it a light tug.

"Does it matter?" You whispered, pressing your lips against his again, kissing him hungrily.

"You've been in my city for so long, yet I only just met you, how very unfortunate," his voice was gruff as he spoke, his hips rolling against yours.

"I guess we will have to make up for lost time," you said, your voice dripping with lust.

Elijah picked you up and flashed up the stairs, his hands cupping your ass, his lips attached to your neck. He walked you into the bedroom, tossing you on the bed.

You laid there, propped up on your elbows, staring up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips, your dark hair fanning out on the pillow.

He looked at you in awe, your red lips were swollen from his kiss and the hem of your slip had risen up your thighs. He climbed onto the bed and crawled towards you, hovering over your body, his mouth finding yours again, his hands running up to the hem of your stockings, his fingers teasing the skin under the material.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and flipped him, straddling his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt, revealing his toned chest.

His hands roamed over your body, slipping the straps of your slip off your shoulders, revealing your black corset, his hands trailing over the boning, the lace covering your breasts, the garters that held up your stockings, and the panties that were already ruined.

"I miss when women would dress this way," he sighed, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, a look of hunger in his eyes.

You chuckled, bending down to nip at his bottom lip, your lips moving along his jaw.

"Happy to keep the tradition alive," you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his neck, your fangs running along the artery, feeling his pulse against the tip of your fangs.

Elijah flipped you over and pressed his body against yours, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing the sides, his thumb tilting your head back. His other hand found the ties inn the front of your corset, slowly undoing the knots, the ribbon sliding through the eyelets, the corset loosening with each pull.

You watched his eyes flicker over your breasts, his fangs extending, his breathing heavy. He looked up and met your gaze, his face shifting, his veins spreading underneath his eyes.

He bent down, his fangs sinking into your chest, your blood filling his mouth, dripping down his chin. Your eyes rolled back as he fed from you, his hand squeezing your breast, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipple.

The pain of his fangs and the pleasure of his hands were overwhelming, you felt drunk, you felt euphoric.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, your mouth colliding with his, tasting yourself on his lips. He groaned into your mouth and rolled his hips against yours, his bulge pressing against your core.

You both frantically began to undress, his pants and belt tossed aside, your dress and corset ripped off, thrown onto the floor. You laid back, wearing nothing but your stockings and panties, his boxer briefs the only piece of clothing left on his body.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you back underneath him, his lips finding yours, his hand running up your leg, hooking his finger into the thin strap of your panties, tearing them off.

"That was entirely ungentlemanly," you said, a teasing glint in your eye.

Elijah smirked, kissing his way down your stomach, stopping at your pelvis, his fangs lightly scraping the skin above your pussy.

"You don't seem to mind," he mused, his hand pushing your thighs open, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your hips bucked and your hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging it, urging him on. You appreciated his enthusiasm as he indulged in pleasuring you.

His tongue felt deliciously warm against your skin, your eyes shut, your breath ragged. It had been so long since you had a man between your legs, and Elijah was no ordinary lover, his skill level matched his age.

You moaned and writhed beneath him, his thumb pressed against your clit, your wetness covering his chin.

"Fucking hell," you panted, your body starting to tense.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets, your body a ball of pent up tension, with one final stroke of his tongue, your orgasm broke through the last sliver of control.

You shook and gasped as your climax took over, your whole body erupting in pleasure. Elijah lifted his head, watching you, his lips curling into a sly smile.

"That's a sight," he praised, sitting up and wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

You slowly opened your eyes, a blissful smile plastered on your face.

"Indeed it is," you replied, your breathing uneven.

"But you should watch your language, I thought you were a lady," he teased, his eyebrow raised, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

You narrowed your eyes and smirked, leaning forward, grabbing his shoulders and rolling him onto his back. Your bodies were slotted together, your faces close to each other.

"When have I ever claimed to be a lady?" You asked, kissing along his jawline, nipping the soft skin at the end of his neck.

Your hands trailed down his body, running over his chest, letting your nails run down his torso, breaking the skin, long bloody tracks appearing.

You kissed your way down his chest, licking the blood up, your fangs scraping against his abdomen. You looked up and caught his hungry gaze, his body tensing under you, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Smirking, you kissed the fabric that separated you from his cock, your hands reaching up and tugging at the waistband, pulling them down slowly.

Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, licking the pre-cum. His eyes fluttered shut and he hissed in pleasure, his hands tangling in your hair.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as you slowly descended on his cock. "I may look like a lady," you popped off him and kissed the head. "but I fuck like a dirty, filthy whore."

Elijah groaned at your words, the hands in your hair tightening, gripping your strands, guiding you back down, taking in more of him.

You bobbed your head along his shaft, sucking and lapping at the vein along the underside, one of your hands pumping the part you couldn't fit in your mouth, the other gently cupping his balls, squeezing and massaging them.

Elijah slowly began to rock his hips, matching your rhythm, his breathing heavy and rapid, his voice hoarse as he murmured your name.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth, you looked up at him, tilting your head, "yes?" You smirked, blowing air onto the tip.

Elijah pulled you up and kissed you, flipping you over and once again pinning you underneath him. He pulled your thigh up to hook around his waist, gripping your ass, letting his cock rub along your slit. He pulled on the hem of your stocking, letting it snap back against your skin.

"Gorgeous, intoxicating thing," he cooed, slowly sinking into you.

You threw your head back and let out a moan, your leg hiked up to allow him deeper access. He placed one hand under your thigh, holding your leg in place, while the other found your neck, his thumb grazing your windpipe, applying the perfect amount of pressure. The hand under your leg holding you firmly. You knew that a part of him wanted to give into the bloodlust, the animalistic side of him that was desperate to sink his fangs into your neck. His gentleness mixed with his aggressiveness drove you wild.

You felt every inch of his cock as he slowly rolled his hips, pulling out of you almost fully before entering you again. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing along yours. It was intense and overwhelming, the way he had all your senses tied up in his touch, his mouth, his taste, the sound of his breathing, his movements.

You struggled to hold it together, your pleasure building with each stroke, and he knew, he loved seeing you come undone.

He began to pick up his pace, his hips snapping against yours. It was like the perfect dance, his hips moving so smoothly and perfectly in time with yours, both of you chasing the inevitable crash.

Your eyes met, and everything else seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in his gaze, everything slowing down. He kissed you softly, tenderly, making you melt in his hands.

You brought one hand down to rest on his cheek, holding his face against yours, kissing him back just as tenderly. You ran your index finger along his jaw line, your sharp nail drawing blood, dipping your finger between your lips. He tasted so much better than you imagined, like pure power and divine lust.

Elijah groaned at the sight of your blood stained lips and he sped up, his lips on your neck, his fangs running over your skin.

You tugged on his hair, urging him to bite you, to drink his fill, you wanted nothing more than to give yourself over completely.

His fangs sank into your neck, your blood spilling into his mouth, some of it dripping onto your chest, his teeth slicing into your skin.

The sensation pushed you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, a strangled cry of his name leaving your lips.

He didn't stop, just as he was reaching his peak, he sank his teeth in deeper. He growled, his hips losing their rhythm as his climax hit him. You were both a gasping, moaning mess, clinging to one another, your fingers digging into each other's skin.

The two of you collapsed in a sweaty heap, tangled in the sheets, your skin glistening, breathing heavy.

You felt light headed and euphoric. His gaze was piercing and loving, his fingers brushing across your neck, softly wiping the blood off. His mouth gently caressed yours, his hands cupping your face.

He brushed your hair behind your ears, pulling you into his embrace, his fingers tracing your skin. It was hard to believe that you had only known him for a night, it felt like a lifetime.

A long overdue release of tension and you were happy to be the object of his affections. He was by far the most interesting man you had ever met.

You melted into him, his hands wrapping around you, holding you close. Everything felt perfect, the dim lights, the sound of rain in the background, the weight of him beside you.

The slow creak of your bedroom door opening, cut through the stillness of the night. The soft mew of your cat greeted the both of you, followed by the sound of him jumping onto your bed. The comforting feeling of his paws walking along the sheets as he came to investigate the disturbance in his home.

He walked along Elijah's body, bumping his head against Elijah's outstretched hand, purring happily.

"And who might you be?" Elijah asked.

"Erebus," you responded, stroking Erebus' fur. "It means darkness."

Elijah nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"An appropriate name," he mused, watching the black cat turn around on his chest, finding a comfortable spot to settle.

Erebus yawned and curled into a ball, closing his eyes.

You smiled and snuggled in closer to Elijah, your head resting on his shoulder.

"I guess Erebus wants me to stay," He chuckled.

You laughed and reached over him, scratching the cat behind the ears.

"It does seem that way," you teased. "And I have no intention of kicking you out."

Elijah smiled, kissing the top of your head.

"Good," he said. "Because I intend on staying right here."

You looked up at him and smiled, your heart skipping a beat. You had never met anyone who could make you feel so special and desirable.

Elijah's face was gentle, his eyes crinkled, his mouth curled into a smile. He kissed you again, a sweet, chaste kiss, and then he turned his attention back to Erebus, who was now fast asleep on his chest.

"Did you know that Erebus fathered Eros, the god of love and desire?" He asked.

"I did," you chucked, watching your little cats chest rise and fall.

"There is a play house not far from here, they are putting on a performance about it, the play is called Sweet Eros. Would you like to go see it? It's quite twisted, it seems like something you would enjoy."

You nodded and kissed him, a grin on your face.

"Mr. Mikaelson, I think this is the start of something beautiful," you teased, your fingers tracing his collarbone.

"Oh my darling," he said, his lips brushing against yours. "It already is."

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 ♡ @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahmikaelsonsboy ♡ @rosecentury ♡ @sekaishell ♡ @ziayamikaelson ♡ @amanda08319 ♡ @starshipcookie

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

how I percieve Hotchniss:

as requested by @em-prentiss

emily:

tropes: action girl, blue blood, lady in a powersuit, back from the dead, brainy brunette, dark and troubled past, honour before reason, sarcasm personified, reckless and sexy

she/her

libra sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

bisexual 

born 12th october 1970

chaotic neutral

ENFJ personality type

cat person

only child - and very much gives only child energy

red is her favourite colour

body count: "private, thank you very much!"

her favourite movie of all time is 'Carrie' - but she can't resist a good old mystery novel

has some secret skills she doesn't really talk about or use until she needs them; plays the piano, did ballet until she was 15, can horseback ride.

her favourite book of all time is 'Jane Eyre'

dog ears her books to save her pages - either that or uses literally anything as a bookmark. argues that it makes her books look 'loved'

her favourite meal is a good cheeseburger (although she'll tell you its some kind of fancy pasta)

chews her nails when she's stressed

grew up in multiple embassies across the world including: UK, Iraq, Russia, Italy, France, Greece, Spain, and Egypt.

mommy issues galore although she'd never admit it

daddy issues, too, while we're at it.

absentee father who was 'working' all the time - only 'working' meant having affairs and avoiding their home as much as possible

her parents only put on the show of a functional, happy marriage for elizabeth's career, a charade emily was also expected to play a part in. she did so until she went away to college

her dad died when she was 23

nomadic lifestyle all her life due to her mom's job - finds it hard to settle down as a result

has a little box of mementos from each of the places she's lived, trinkets that would be of no value to anyone else but mean a lot to her

has a few small, discreet tattoos

multi-lingual but not a show off about it - sometimes dreams in italian

is also multilingual in sarcasm and often uses it to diffuse tense situations.

had an abortion when she was 15 - doesn't regret it but has always wondered. marks the day each year, even if it's just with a prayer. it's the only time she prays

✨️ religious trauma ✨️ 

rebelled against her mother as a teenager and their relationship has never really recovered

spoilt, privileged lifestyle 

likes her luxuries as a result and doesn't shy away from them 

never had too many close friends growing up - due to the moving around a lot

bit of a wild girl at college, there's not really a sexual position or an illegal substance she hasn't tried at least once (except the ones you inject, she's not insane)

still sneaks the occasional cigarette

cannot abide by any rule she considers arbitrary

loves a good horror movie, the gorier the better but the supernatural ones freak her out

has a secret passion for classical music when she’s stressed - particularly beethoven and bach

emily has a love for fine wine and is something of an amateur connoisseur, able to tell the difference between a good vintage and a cheap bottle. she and rossi bond over this.

her passion for coffee, however, is much more lax and she can drink even the roughest of instant crap. 

can also whip up a mean martini

she’s a cat person but never had a pet growing up due to all the moving around.

emily’s guilty pleasure is reality TV—she finds it oddly comforting and a way to unwind from the seriousness of her day-to-day life.

often doodles when she's on the phone—her notebooks are full of random sketches.

loves an indoor plant but finds it incredibly difficult to keep them alive

fucking loves technology and is slightly addicted to TikTok. has to limit her own screen time.

speaking of TikTok, she's totally on BookTok and loved the ACOTAR series.

loves spicy foods - often challenges herself to try the hottest dish on the menu.

bit of an adrenaline junkie, whether in her home or professional life. overly impulsive sometimes as a result

what she wears:

aaron:

tropes: badass in a nice suit, stoic leader, chronic hero syndrome, highest kill count, death glare, grumpy to her sunshine, deadpan snarker

he/him

scorpio sun, taurus moon, virgo rising

heterosexual

born 2nd november 1965

lawful good

ISTJ personality type

dog person

bodycount: 2

favourite colour is navy blue

eldest son, his brother, sean, is 11 years younger than him

his favourite book is 'one hundred years of solitude'

prioritizes his fitness and likes to take on fitness challenges to keep himself healthy

lonely childhood even though he had a little brother

abusive, drunk for a father

emotionally absent mother who was trying to deal with her own trauma

his mom died when he was 25

his dad is still alive out there somewhere but they're not in contact, and aaron has no intention of being

had to be the strong one for his little brother

comes from a pretty poor background, has built himself up to be and have everything he is and has 

always felt like more of a father than a brother to Sean because of their age gap, and the fact that he practically raised him

loves to go camping and be in the wilderness

a morning person - likes to get up and out of the house as early as possible

a very neat person - you'd be forgiven for thinking he was in the military (he never was) by the way he makes his bed and stacks his clothes

collected coins as a kid, something he never grew out of. has a very well organised collection he values greatly

keeps his books neat and tidy - always uses a bookmark

loves an old western, likes an action movie, horrors make him uncomfy and he's a secret sucker for a rom-com

reluctant green thumb and often ends up taking care of the plants that emily brings home and gives up on or gets distracted from

has a soft spot for old-school jazz and sometimes listens to it when he needs to decompress.

he's a surprisingly good cook, which is a skill he honed while having to take care of his brother, although the recipes were a lot more basic back then

still has his parents wedding rings, a fact about himself that he wrestles with since he doubts they were ever in love

prefers handwritten notes to digital reminders, is a very tactile person. never really fell in love with his phone.

hums softly when he's concentrating, a habit he's more often than not completely unaware of, and emily finds it adorable

keeps a stash of chocolate in his drawer in the office - stocks it with emily's favourites

wears his grandfather's class ring. it's the only family heirloom he has, and sometimes he feels guilty for not giving it to sean

has a collection of old vinyls from the 70s

visits the same diner every saturday for breakfast. after getting together with emily, the visits become less frequent but they still go now and then. aaron says they have the best eggs. emily thinks they're just ok, but she likes to see him happy

aaron isn't a big drinker; he'll have a few beers on a night out, or a whiskey after work occasionally, but he very rarely engages in any binge drinking. emily's only seen him really drunk a handful of times throughout their relationship.

he is, however, partial to the occasional cigar and although emily sneaks her own cigarette now and then, she can't stand the smell of them.

what he wears:

Hotchniss:

the only time hotch is not a morning person is when emily is in his bed, then he never wants to leave the comfort of the covers and the warmth of her body

hotch will watch a horror movie with emily with a straight face, but hate it the whole way through. emily will pretend to be into his action movies, and doesn't let him know she's actually bored out of her mind. their middle ground is a good western or a rom-com.

their first big fight is over a clash between their idea of 'tidy' - emily is laid back, doesn't mind a bit of clutter. aaron is...borderline ocd. they fall out over her having left a towel on the floor...again.

they are very well matched at chess, and often their games can go on for weeks in between cases and life. currently emily is winning by two games.

aaron would rather to repairs around the house himself, where as emily is used to throwing money at a problem and making it go away. they try to compromise but they're away so often for work that more often than not, emily wins because aaron just doesn't have the time, but when he does take on a project he loves the manual labour, and emily loves to sit back and watch x

it was his dream to restore a classical care so emily bought him one for his 50th birthday and its his pride and joy. he painted it red just for her

emily reads before bed and aaron does the crossword, with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and emily thinks it's the cutest thing.

emily's love of spicy foods means that more often than not aaron has to resign himself to buying her two meals when the spiciest dish on the menu is just 'a little too spicy' - he doesn't mind, really

they're both incredibly competitive. emily gets sweary and loud when she's in competition, aaron gets smug and smirky and that drives emily up the wall. their second biggest fight, ever, was over a game of monopoly. it's been banned in their household ever since.

emily takes aaron to a ranch for one of his birthdays - to celebrate his love for an old western, and because she thinks he'll love it! turns out aaron hotchner is terrified of horses. emily spent the first day riding and trying to convince him to do the same, and after that they just enjoyed the views and each other's company, and the horses, but from afar.

emily often teases hotch about his love for organization and can’t resist occasionally hiding a few items just to see his reaction. he pretends to be frustrated but secretly finds her antics adorable.

surprisingly, when they go on vacation, it's emily who wants their days planned down to the moment so that they don't miss anything, and aaron who just - finally- wants to relax and 'go with the flow'. emily finds this version of her husband disconcerting.

emily loves to surprise hotch with impromptu weekend getaways. he pretends to grumble about the lack of planning and the expense of it all but secretly enjoys the surprises and the thought she puts into them.

financially, aaron and emily grew up in two very different places. aaron watched his mother scrimp and save every penny to try and provide for him and sean, when she was lucid. when she wasn't, he had to figure it out himself. he's worked since the age of 14. emily had everything in life given to her on a silver platter and, even now, occasionally spends out of her trust fund. aaron gets frustrated by spending that he sees as frivolous and emily has to remind him that they're well off - she still has her trust fund, even if neither of them were working. it's infrequently a source of contention between them, though.

they dated before emily's 'death', before paris. he visited her in paris, where their flame sparked again but when she came back to the team nothing happened. then beth happened. then emily left again.

they stayed in contact while she was in london and eventually realised they were miserable without each other. emily moves back to the states, returns to the BAU and they get back together.

they marry that same year. it's a really small ceremony, attended only by the team, jack and sean. neither of their surviving parents are invited.

they started a two-person book club where they choose a book to read each month and discuss it over dinner. they always donate one copy - whether to charity or a friend. sometimes both if they agree that the book sucked.

they create the 'hotchner cup' which is a trophy that they play for every family game night. it's an old, tarnished badge of hotch's with 'Hotchner' written across it super-glued to an old ballet trophy of emily's. it's currently in emily's possession...due to the chess situation.

emily's a cat person and hotch loves dogs. as a compromise, they have one of each.

when emily has their kids, they share the position of Unit Chief at the BAU and alternate shifts, so someone's always at home with the kids. it's their one rule; the kids never get left alone.

they have three kids together, ava, livvy and alex. jack is aaron's son from his previous marriage to haley, and emily loves him like her own.

they share a home office and walking into it is hysterical; there are two desks and it's immediately obvious whose is whose because aaron's is meticulously organised and emily's is a mess.

aaron always dreads his weeks 'on' at work, because he knows he's going into his desk being an absolute mess. emily is the same because she says whenever he cleans up, he puts her stuff away and she can't find anything. she prefers her 'organised chaos'.

even though emily is a luxury resort kind of girl, aaron forces the family to take an annual camping trip. every year, emily complains about it; alex and ava follow her suit. jack and livvy love the camping trip like their father. even though emily and the kids complain, they also secretly love it.

they take an annual family photo during every camping trip

every year they all celebrate haley's birthday together with a special meal; homemade lasagne followed by apple pie and ice cream, both favourites of haley.

when it comes to parenting, there's no doubt who's the strict parent. emily definitely takes a more relaxed approach than her husband.

however, when it comes to bullying or the kids being in danger, emily has to be kept in check. more than once she's threatened to pull her badge on a kid - or parent - at school. more than once, she's had to be talked down by her husband, and sometimes the kids.

when aaron eventually retires early, he takes up teaching at the academy. they still have lunch together most days.

after aaron retires, emily takes on the role of unit chief by herself and eventually progresses to section chief, which is more of a bureaucratic role than she ever imagined for herself, but it means she gets home to her family every night.

Hotchniss tropes:

grumpy x sunshine rich girl x poor boy he's her boss mutual pining will they/won't they jealousy trope friends to lovers 'touch her and you die'

Photos Aaron takes of Emily:

Photos Emily takes of Aaron:

Joint camera roll:

How Hotchniss text:

Hotchniss playlist:

[seiya-starsniper]

Six Degrees of Separation

Rating: Teen || Chapters: 1/4 || Word Count 1.4k

Summary:

The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.

Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.

Read here on Tumblr, or over on AO3

dedicated to @softest-punk for making me emotional about Hob adopting the kids in DBD 💖

----------------

“In here!” Edwin shouts, gesturing frantically at the entrance to a pub that looks vaguely familiar to Crystal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to wonder before the banshee chasing them lets out a blood curdling scream. Crystal rushes in with Charles right behind her, pushing the door and slamming it shut behind her. Thankfully the pub seems to be completely empty except for one man. 

A man who looked extremely pissed off to see them.

“Oh bloody hell, fuck no, not you, out!” the older man shouts, moving out from behind the bar and looking ready to chase them out by force if necessary. Crystal braces herself, glancing around frantically for some sort of back door that she can bolt to if necessary. She’s pretty sure she can outrun him.

Charles and Edwin however, are a different story.

“Hob, it’s us!” Charles exclaims, throwing up his hands in an attempt to show no harm.

“We’re sorry for bringing a ghost to your door, Mr Gadling,” Edwin adds. “If you’ll just let me borrow one of your books to get rid of this banshee, we’ll be out of your hair.” 

“Not you two, her,” the man, Hob (what the hell kind of name was that?) growls, pointing at Crystal accusingly. Edwin and Charles turn to her in shock, and Crystal is about to protest that she has no idea what this man is on about, but then the memory of how she knows Hob Gadling comes flooding back to her.

The pub they’d run into was The New Inn and Crystal had almost burned it down last year because some girl she hated at school had come here for her 18th birthday. With all of Crystal’s friends, sans Crystal. Ex-friends now, since Crystal had tried to burn the place down with the whole party still inside. Hob had, unsurprisingly, pressed charges, and it took a lot of money from her parents to make everything go away.

“I’m sorry!” Crystal yells, just as the banshee screeches and slams its body against the door behind them. It lights up an iridescent blue, a warding against ghosts. Of course Crystal had to go and fuck up the one supernatural relationship she had because she was an idiot asshole last year. 

“I know this isn’t a great time, but I’m kind of a different person now?” Crystal says, having no idea how to even begin to explain the weird circumstances of the last month. “I swear what my past self did isn't who I am now,” she adds, also raising her hands to show she means no harm. 

“She’s part of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency, mate,” Charles interjects, while Edwin nods furiously in agreement. “Please don’t throw her out!”

The banshee lets out another screech and slams itself against the door, rattling the frame so hard that Crystal’s afraid it might fly off the hinges at any moment. Whatever ward Hob had placed, it wasn’t going to hold out for that much longer.

“What the hell is going on?!” a familiar voice cries out, and then Jenny Green of all people is coming out of what Crystal assumes is the kitchen. She’s also brandishing a butcher knife, because why would any of that change now that she lives across the pond?

“Jenny?!” Charles and Edwin yell.

“Oh fuck,” the older woman curses, glancing back and forth between the three of them and Hob. Crystal really hopes they haven’t just gotten Jenny fired. Finding a job had been tough enough for her when they'd relocated, and she had refused any help financially from Crystal.

“You know them?!” Hob asks, shock clear in his voice.

“It’s a long story,” Jenny grumbles, then screams when the banshee throws itself against the door again. “What the fuck, why did you lead a ghost here? ”

The door rattles and creaks, and the ward around the pub shimmers and vibrates angrily, which seems to finally prompt Hob to action. He straightens his back, rubs a hand over his face, and then takes one, two, three deep breaths before he looks them all over appraisingly. 

“Jenny, get the salt from the back,” Hob orders, gesturing her back to the kitchen. “The iron knives should be on the shelf next to them. Edwin, you know where the tomes are,” he adds pointing upwards, likely towards a room on the second floor of the pub. Jenny and Edwin nod quietly before disappearing to their designated posts, leaving Crystal and Charles alone with Hob.

“Right, so since when have the Dead Boys gotten themselves involved with trust fund brats?” Hob asks, still eyeing Crystal warily as if he expects her to pull out a lighter at any moment. 

“Since this trust fund brat got possessed by a demon and got her memories stolen,” Crystal answers, wincing when she realizes how harsh that sounds. “Sorry. I just recently got them back and it's been a weird time. I really am sorry though. For like, nearly burning this place to the ground cause I was mad.”

“You did what? ” Charles cries out, his mouth agape. “Please tell me that was all David’s doing.”

Crystal scrunches up her face and then shakes her head. “I wish it was, but no. Just plain old shitty Crystal,” she answers truthfully.

Hob looks between the two of them, then sighs, his expression softening. 

“Look, clearly you’ve done some soul searching and I am the last person who should be allowed to hold a grudge against someone who’s done some bad things,” he says, then gestures to Charles. “If the boys vouch for you, then I’m willing to bury the hatchet. All right, Ms Von-Hovercraft?”

“Please just call me Crystal,” Crystal pleads. She really hated being referred to by her surname. It still felt weird and foreign to her, after everything she had gone through. Hob huffs, and this time when he looks at her, there isn’t a shred of contempt in his expression.

“Yeah okay. Crystal,” he says warmly. “You can call me Hob.”

Crystal wants to ask where the hell the name Hob comes from, because she’s pretty sure she remembers his name being Richard , but before she can say anything, Edwin and Jenny come back and Hob turns his full attention to taking care of the banshee that’s trying to get past the wards he has around the entire pub. 

“You’re lucky Tuesday’s a slow night,” Hob says, before he starts flipping through the tome. “Jenny, Crystal, make a salt circle by the tables over there,” he adds, pointing to his left. “You’re going to need to lead her there so we can trap her.”

Crystal and Jenny make as large of a circle as they can, pouring generous amounts of salt into the floor. When they’re done, Hob instructs them to the front of the pub, where the door is still rattling and glowing angrily. Edwin and Charles are standing next to Hob, Charles with his cricket bat out, and Edwin and Hob ready to chant the spell within the tome. 

“When I count to three, open the door and run like hell into the salt circle,” Hob tells them. “One, two, THREE!”

Crystal throws open the door and both she and Jenny cover their ears as they run towards the salt circle. The banshee’s cries are even louder now that she’s inside the pub, but their plan works. She follows them straight into the circle, then screeches again in anger once she realizes she cannot follow them out. Her long hands try to grab for Jenny’s apron, but Charles materializes right at the circle’s edge to bat her hand away. 

Hob and Edwin start chanting some spell in what Crystal assumes is Latin, and the banshee screeches at an even louder volume than before. The salt circle alights a bright gold, and Crystal and Jenny are practically thrown backwards by the force of the magic taking effect.

The banshee lets out one more high pitched scream, and then her dark grey dress suddenly becomes stark white, dark and wet black hair paling slowly to a soft light brown. When the banshee lifts her face, her eyes are no longer sunken and black, but wide and bright green. 

She’s beautiful, now that she’s no longer in pain.

The Night Nurse shows up shortly afterwards, collecting the woman and gently reassuring her that she’s going to a better place. She looks at Hob like she’s offended by his very existence, which the man takes in stride and cheerfully waves her off, telling her to say hello to her boss for him. 

“Right then,” Hob says after the banshee and the Night Nurse have left. “Now that that’s taken care of, care to explain to me what the bloody hell is the connection with you lot?”

[everparanoid]

For you, I'd steal the stars w/ Wriothesley

Modern Teyvat Au! Wriothesley x f! reader

cw: fluff, minor hint at soulmates.

word count: 3.5k

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠...

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Wriothesley couldn’t recall how he found himself standing on an unimportant cyan Tuesday afternoon in Autumn, staring at a painting in the Fontaine National Art Gallery not too far away from his office. The painting, Wriothesley reckoned, couldn’t be any larger than two sheets of parchment and yet it hung alone in the centre of a white room. A masterpiece of simplicity. Above him, a giant white ball spun in slowed motion as plain as the rest of the room, a compliment to the art. The canvas however was a deep navy blue, the same shade as the night. Covering this deep blue were speckles of white, spontaneous in their positions. Some gathered in clustered constellations unknown to man. Others, singular. In the middle a golden speck shone, overwhelming the image the longer he stared. He stared and stared until it appeared to be shooting out of the blues and whites and filling his vision. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why such a simple concept had moved him. Why an image alone in a room far away from all the other extravagant displays of artistic prowess had managed to give him such peace; for in the time that he had been staring at the image—lost to time and the world—he had experienced a thousand lifetimes. He’d been everything; from a small sapling to an ancient oak tree; from a huge wolf to a small squirrel; from a primordial narwhal to a tiny transparent fish swimming in the bottom of the darkest blue seas. He’d experienced nations crumbling and rising again and loves that transcended time and space. All beautiful. All but a millisecond in the eyes of the vast universe.

“To you in every universe,” an unknown voice said.

“Huh?” Wriothesley responded, his attention stolen. His reality returned to the same bleak normality which he had just escaped.

You nodded to the painting, “That’s its name.”

He stared at you with an uncertainty reserved for strangers. He hadn’t heard your footsteps as you entered the room nor had he seen you stop beside him, and yet here you were. A stranger. A golden fleck in his blue world.

“Are you interested in it?” You spoke using a soft tone that Wriothesley particularly liked. He hadn’t heard a voice like yours before. He hadn’t heard much past the same blue tones of business tycoons and wannabe entrepreneurs who wished to fill his and their pockets with mounds of green. Being a successful CEO of a Fortune 100 made one lose the many colours of life to shades of blue and green. At the end of a long day, he often found himself wondering what the sun might look like beyond the aeons of blue.

“In what, sorry?” he responded, confused.

“The painting.”

He noticed your name card pinned to your collar announcing you as a member of staff from the gallery.

“Oh, yes. I am,” he said almost sheepishly; his interest was still new to him. Wriothesley always prided himself on his curiosity though he’d never thought himself to be one interested in art. Yet on that random Tuesday when his assistant had got his meal wrong, he’d found himself wandering into the art gallery as if compelled by some supernatural force. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Wriothesley was sure that if he had known such a masterpiece was here, he would have come to see it.

“It’s new,” you said.

“Ah, I see.”

He felt your eyes linger on him for a second before you continued. “Most people are disappointed when they pay the five thousand mora to get past the security only to see this.”

He supposed objectively that he could understand why. If one was hoping for a room of mirrors or a light show they were bound to be disappointed. Then again five thousand mora did buy a meal deal at the local supermarket. But what was five thousand mora to him?

“How long has it been here?” he asked.

“As of right now?” you appeared to be looking up as if calculating, “Three weeks.”

“And how are the numbers?”

“At first people came for the exclusivity and the curiosity. But because the artist is anonymous, they didn’t advertise their art. It’s their thing, I guess. A sort of authorless art. I think it lets people project more. You know? Imagine themselves as the artist…”

Wriothesley did know. Even as a successful man, more than half of the projects happening in Fontaine were due to his discreet puppeteering. He did not like the limelight. He’d make appearances here and there but the people who needed to know him knew him, and those who didn’t could read the credits. It was his philosophy that one didn’t need their face everywhere to do their job.

 “But now… I guess we are lucky if we get twenty people in a week. There is other interesting stuff to look at in the gallery so…” your speech faded off.

Wriothesley hummed in acknowledgement.

“Honestly, there aren’t many people that show true interest in this piece,” you continued.

He could feel the excitement seep from your pores like solar flares, and he almost found himself stepping closer to absorb its heat.

“Do you want to know about it?” you asked suddenly.

Buzz Buzz.

“No,” he hesitated, glancing down at his phone. “Thank you.”

Your shoulders dropped but your smile remained.

“It’s okay.”

“Perhaps another time?” He found himself saying. He hadn’t known why he had proposed that. He had no intentions of coming back. He didn’t have the time to come back. To see; to stop; to experience, but he would. He knew that he would. Even if he had to make the time. He’d return in hopes of experiencing that feeling once more.

#

On a random cerulean Tuesday in Winter, he returned. It had been two months since he first witnessed the painting. Once again, he had wandered into the art gallery during a lunch break. And once again, he stood in the empty room. Alone. Lost in a dream within a dream. This time, as he stared into the painting that had once again entranced him, he became a blade of grass growing next to a beautiful flower. Watching it; admiring it; loving it. He couldn’t understand why in every instance you seemed to seep in. He didn’t know you, and yet it felt like he’d seen you in everything since that day.

‘A moment where time stops, worries fade, and everything feels right. That is the feeling we are chasing. That is the feeling we must never stop searching for. In those moments, I will recognise you in every lifetime. Across every state of being. My heart will seek out yours like eyes do at night, in search of a northern star. I will seek you in every beautiful thing. To you in every universe—’

Wriothesley leaned back, perplexed. The plaques lining the walls of the white room and under the ball held no information about the artist. What had it meant? He couldn’t fathom the thought of something so abstract.

“It’s you,” that same voice from before said from behind, tearing Wriothesley from his thoughts. He didn’t need to turn to know that the owner of the voice was you. Your silent presence had a magnetic quality, pulling him in without him realising it, and suddenly there you were, standing beside him.

“Hello,” he said, though the greeting felt insufficient when he laid eyes upon you. He couldn’t decide whether you had grown more beautiful, or his memory hadn’t held up the splendour that took his breath away when you stood with that genuine smile on your face, and your hands tucked into the pockets of the blazer you wore. You looked like a painting yourself, like something that had just stepped out of a Constable landscape and wandered into the gallery. An angelic apparition. You had a gentle sway to you like you couldn’t stand completely still. Wriothesley wondered if a gust of wind were to blow through the white room, would it blow you away too, like a leaf flees a tree in a breezy morning?

“Did you experience something different this time?” you asked.

Wriothesley’s features darkened. You couldn’t possibly see into his mind, and he wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his face. He’d learnt not to.

“Have I been standing here for a while?”

You shook your head. “No more than ten minutes.”

He blinked.

“It felt like longer, right?” you asked, cheerily.

“A lifetime,” he admitted, his voice softening.

“It does that.”

“Should I leave? Am I holding up the line?”

“No, you’re good,” you said. “No one comes here anymore anyway.”

You turned to the painting. It hadn’t changed, and yet for Wriothesley, the beauty of it seemed to spill out of the edges and illuminate you. Golden. Flickering. He found himself stealing glances at you, an intriguing stranger who had effortlessly piqued his interest. An intriguing stranger, who he only knew the name of and nothing else. Unconsciously, he leaned toward you, and you did too, as if pulled into each other’s gravitational field.

“Why is it alone?” he asked.

You stepped back and looked up at the giant white ball above, spinning in slow circles, and then to the plain white walls in the otherwise stark room.

“It’s not alone.”

“But it is,” he snapped, growing quite annoyed with his inability to understand your abstractness.

Wriothesley liked answers. Puzzles were fun, and they had their place in his world, but answers were like keys to locked doors.

“What makes you think that just because there is a singular piece in a room the whole place is not art?”

His brows furrowed.

Your smile widened as you turned to the painting. “If this room was filled with paintings, would you have noticed it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

He didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from you and your questions.

You took another step back, and Wriothesley watched you as you stopped directly under the giant white ball this time. With an open hand outstretched to him, he gathered that you wanted him to join you in the centre of the room. Eventually, he took one long step, and then another till he stood closer to you but not beside.

You lowered your hand.

“Let me put this another way for you, when you sit in your—” you looked him over, “meetings, and you attend your fancy work dinners, do you notice all the art around you? The furniture, the architecture, the choices made by your colleagues to look expensive. Do you stop to take it all in or does it become lost in singular shades of monotony?”

Wriothesley pictured the blues and greens of his life but dismissed the idea of you understanding his thoughts. “You don’t make millions by not noticing.”

You shrugged. “But you do become numb to it.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but you’re saying that the whole room is art?”

Wriothesley couldn’t say that he was fond of modern art, but he did appreciate that it had a time and place.

“This room, stark and colourless, is as much a part of the painting as the painting itself. Without the painting, the room remains devoid of colour, but with it, the room comes to life. It’s as if the artist intended the painting to be a guide in an otherwise monochrome world. By which, you who see it realise that the painting was never confined to the canvas. But can see the beauty of the entire world, in all lifetimes, across universes. Or maybe it is something completely different, art is subjective after all.”

“To you, the world must be a beautiful place,” he mused aloud.

“And yours is not?”

He chuckled, “I can assure you it’s not as vibrant as yours.”

“What makes you think that mine is vibrant? What if mine is like this room? Bland and empty.”

He wouldn’t believe it, but then again, he wouldn’t not believe it either. It was always the people with the brightest souls who hurt the most.

“I’ll do you one better. What if it’s mine?” he asked.

“Are you seeing your golden star right now then, mister?”

“It’s Wriothesley, and maybe.”

Wriothesley noticed your eyes widen briefly before you suppressed a small smile and took a step back. “Well Wriothesley, I’ll have to agree. It is yours. It’s your mind, your world. The painting is your universe. At least that’s how I think the artist intended it.”

“There is no artist,” he said.

You tilted your head to the side slightly and clasped your hands behind your back.

“There always is,” you said and glanced back at him before returning to the painting. “If you have the time to hear about them, I will gladly tell you.”

In his pocket, his phone rang, filling the silent room. His time was up once again.

“Next time,” he said.

A sadness flashed across your eyes before you smiled.

“Sure,” you said.

#

A month passed, and the sad lingering look in your eyes haunted Wriothesley through his blue days. Green still rained from the sky, but every time he caught a glimmer of gold passing his office or on the street, he’d imagine it was you.

On a random Wednesday in Winter, one that felt more azure than usual, Wriothesley came again to the gallery. But this time, the white room was filled with modern paintings. Gone was the white ball and the night sky painting, and you. Gone was the security guard who would grumble every time Wriothesley dropped a small wad of mora in the man’s hand to let him into the paid exhibit. In its place, people heaved; phone cameras flashed and made snapping noises as they posed before the art, hoping to add it to their social media feed. Wriothesley didn’t enter the room; he couldn’t. He didn’t like crowded places, and none of the art was of interest to him. And none of them were you.

Wriothesley cleared his throat and straightened his tie as he approached the help desk by the entrance of the gallery. Behind it sat an older man, staring down at his mobile phone, humming along to a Vocaloid song that played in his earbuds. Beside him, a younger man, barely eighteen, who looked excited at the possibility of not staring into space any longer, waved Wriothesley over.

“Can I help you, sir?” the young man said. His name card, Timmie, glimmered under the artificial light.

“Yes, I think you can,” Wriothesley began. “There was an exhibit here about a month ago. One with a singular painting in it—no artist.” He wanted to ask about you but thought better than to do that.

“No artist?” Timmie asked.

“Yes, no artist.”

Timmie rubbed the back of his neck as if he couldn’t comprehend the idea of an exhibition without an artist.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am.”

After apologising quickly, he began typing aggressively at his keyboard. Typing and then deleting and typing again. Presumably, he was bringing up the list of art that had been exhibited over the last year. Wriothesley waited, tapping his foot, and watching people pass, nodding at the occasional person who stared.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t seem to find the exhibit you are talking about.”

Wriothesley frowned.

“Oh? But it was here last month?”

“It’s not showing up on my files without an artist’s name unless you remember the name of the piece?”

“To you in every universe,” Wriothesley said, remembering only the colour of your eyes and the gold aura that seemed to follow you. He was sure he’d remember that name until all the stars left the sky.

Timmie typed it out, and for a second, Wriothesley had hope. Until Timmie looked up and said, “Oh, that. It’s moved temporarily to the International Modern Art Gallery in Inazuma.”

“Inazuma?”

Timmie nodded.

“As has the artist,” His eyes widened. “Who would have thought? She’s one of our own.”

Wriothesley perked up at the information.

“Did you happen to have her name by any chance so I might look her up?” Wriothesley asked, trying to mask his desperation with cool indifference.

“I mean if you want,” Timmie said.

#

In the art shop attached to the gallery on an emerald Friday, more than a year later in Spring, Wriothesley found you assisting an elderly woman, wrapping a print of a painting. He paused, captivated by the sight of you. You were even more stunning despite the time passed and in comparison to the modelesque women he saw in his everyday life. Your beauty, accentuated by the soft lighting of the shop, and your radiant smile, seemed to light him up inside. He lingered amongst the shelves waiting for you to finish up with the elder woman, who was eagerly telling you about her seventh great-grandchild, to which you seemed to listen with just as much interest. He found himself mirroring your joy as he admired you until he stumbled upon a postcard of the piece he had spent months searching for. The one that had moved to Inazuma, then to Mondstadt, then to Snezhnaya, Sumeru, and Natlan, till he bought it at an auction, white room, giant spinning ball, blue painting, plaques, and all. In this picture, the last plaque was too small to be noticed, just as it had been when he’d stared at it both times in person. But he knew it was there, the final part of the collection of plaques. And the full name of the exhibition.

When the elderly woman left, he approached you, his eyes locked on you who had become his universe.

You looked up and smiled, “It’s a beautiful piece,” you said, gesturing to the postcard in his hand.

“It is,” Wriothesley replied, his gaze fixed on you rather than the inferior postcard print. Nothing could compare to the real thing. “But the exhibition has gone.”

“It has,” you confirmed. He was sure you knew that it was him who bought it. It wasn’t hard to figure out, he was obvious despite his outward coolness.

“Are you leaving too?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. He had thought you were a dream. You’d been gone for so long that he feared he would have to wait a lifetime.

“Why?”

“You weren’t here,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

 “I was volunteering at a cat shelter,” you lied. “Did you miss me?”

“Mildly,” he responded, though he too was lying.

“Only mildly?”

He laughed, “Okay, maybe a bit more—”

“Just a bit?” you interrupted, your eyes sparkling.

“I missed your commentary,” he admitted.

“My commentary? Wow,” you said, feigning surprise.

“Oh? Not enough for you?”

You shook your head, your eyes dancing with mirth. He pretended to think, but in truth, he was searching for a simple way to express such complex emotions.

“I missed your sunny presence,” he finally said.

“My sunny presence?” you echoed.

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?” he asked, unable to suppress his smile.

“Maybe,” You leaned forward on the counter, your intelligent eyes tearing down his icy walls. “What have you been up to? Aside from missing me, of course.”

“I just abandoned a meeting to chase after a shooting star,” Wriothesley confessed, for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“And? Did you catch it?”

“Half of it,” he affirmed. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m just finishing. Why?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee with me?” he proposed, hoping he wasn’t too late. He’d already blocked off the rest of the night. He’d block off the rest of the year if he knew he’d get to spend it with you.

“I don’t like to drink coffee this late.”

“Tea, then? With dinner? I would love to hear about the artist of that piece. What was its full name again? For the painting and the room.”

“To you in every universe—” you began.

“For you, I’d steal the stars,” he finished. “Very sneaky of you by the way.”

Your lips parted as you took in a breath.

Wriothesley could feel every nerve in his body fighting to touch you, to be closer to you. You who brought gold into his monotonous world. You who he’d steal all the stars in the universe to be closer to.

“You know I never believed in coincidences,” Wriothesley said.

“Neither have I,” you said.

“I learned a long time ago that if you want something you have to fight for it. So, no pressure of course, but does tea and dinner sound good?”

Your grin was a small act that set his night sky ablaze with more glimmers of gold. To him, the shop couldn’t be filled with any more colours than they were then. Gone were the shades of green and blue, washed away by a spectrum of magnificence; where suddenly he was him and you were you, existing in the same universe.

“It sounds perfect,” you said.

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KO-FI MASTERLIST

[ja3hwa]

64 with vampire!Mingi PLEASE!! also congrats on your milestone you seriously deserve it babe <<33333

"Mark Me As Yours"

Prompt : 64 "I didn't believe in soulmates until I met you."

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : You forgot to tell your vampire lover your heat started. Now, he gets to experience that you taste like in the midst of it.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 :  1.03k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive, Fluff, Supernatural.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Vampire!Mingi x CatHybrid!Reader (Female)

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Blood drinking. Mating. Marking. Mentions about nests and heat. Description of reader becoming "softer" and "plump." Scenting. Scent changing. Mention of Yunho and health issues. Whimper. Mentions scent glands. Heavy Omegaverse Themes. Begging. Sappy shit. Pet names like Darling and Kitty. Swearing.

Note: ♥︎♥︎ Thank you, baby. I hope you enjoy this fic.

Masterlist | Navigation

It was a normal evening in the manor, Most of its residents have soon left for the night or gone to sleep. But among the normal night sleepers, like witches, wolves or fae, was a lone vampire, Mingi. He chose to stay in for the night, unlike the other vampires of the manor. He wanted a quiet evening with his love, a hybrid… You.

You were currently in the shower, getting ready for the movie night he had planned. You were super excited, never really getting time alone with Mingi, given he was either out working on the vampiric counsel or sleeping during the day. You didn’t mind, though, sneaking in while he was trying to prepare a nest of pillows and blankets so you would be comfortable. You tiptoed until you were behind his bent form, but before you could pounce, he turned around, catching you in his arms. He fell back onto the bed, landing with a huff on top of him. 

“Well hello to you too, Darling.” He stares up at you in awe as your big fluffy ears twitch at his deep voice. Your long, luscious tale swings with joy, following a big smile painting your features. You suddenly attack his face with kisses, drawing them all the way down to his neck. He hummed in delight at the feeling, but then, as he slowly slipped into a comfortable spot, a smell invaded his nose.

It was like a salty twang with a hint of orange and poppy seeds, mixing into your natural sent. His hands grip your waist harshly, twisting you both around until you were nestled under his larger frame. You look at him with surprise, ears raised and tail no longer wagging. His nose connects with your neck suddenly smelling the most intoxicating thing. Your blood has gotten sweeter to the point he could smell it through your skin. Your body was plumper, more squishy, and hot to the touch. “Are you?”

“Maybe…” You whimpered, making Mingi let out a groan in desperation. He couldn’t believe you were having a heat right now, and he’s been away neglecting you. When he first met you, he made sure to find out everything about hybrids, specifically cat breeds. He’s never been with you through your heats as you usually take blockers or pills. But this heat felt different, and Yunho, a wolf, said it might be a good idea to see it out instead of holding it off like the past in fear of your health.

“Fuck kitty.” You purred at the nickname, “You are going to kill me.” He moved, pulling you up along the bed so your head could sit on a pillow. He starts to push blankets and pillows around you forming a functional nest of sorts. He knew you would most likely fix and make a new nest later, but for now, the comfort of the soft fabric that was riddled with Mingi’s scent satisfied you for the moment. His warm lips connect with your scent glands, and it brings out a low purr from your throat. The fluff on your tail frizzes up from his touch, and your large ears bow in contentment. But what caught you off guard was when his long, sharp fangs gliding against your hot flesh, drawing a loud gasp from your lips.

“M-Mingi, P-please…” You knew what you wanted, but your dizzy brain made it hard to speak, your tongue feeling like it had been twisted into a knot. 

“What is it, my precious baby? What do you want?” His velvet voice melted your tense muscle and ached your core. You rubbed your hips against him in a pathetic attempt to relieve the pain.

“Want…” That’s right, what do you want? Your heart felt nothing but love for your Undead lover, and your pussy craved to be filled by him. But most importantly, you wanted to be his. Be marked you as his. He may not be a hybrid and share the same mating techniques as your species, but He had ways to provide a mark. His mark. If you so asked. But would he want to do it, be bound to you forever?

“Breed… Mate, Bite…” Words spilled out of your mouth before you could control it. Tears swell at the corners of your eyes. You needed him so badly, and Mingi knew it. His heart ached just as much, if not more, than yours. He never thought in all his years on this planet that he would find someone as special as you. Someone he could call his. Call his…..

“You know, I didn’t believe in soulmates until I met you…” He whispered against the shell of your ear. Tears freely pour down your cheeks as your fingers scrunch into his baggy shirt. “I love you so much, Darling.” 

“I love you too, Min. Please,” you begged again, and this time, Mingi knew what you wanted. What you needed. Going back to your scent gland, he kissed your hot neck before his tongue flattened against the flesh. He licked a strip before his mouth latched, suckling slightly. Moans were flying from your mouth, cries and pleas following. And before you would begin to beg once again, you felt his fangs pierce the skin, sinking deep into your jugular. Blood pooled quickly into his mouth, and Mingi groaned at the taste. Never in his life has he ever tasted such a sweet yet irony flavour. He was addicted, and if he didn’t have self-control, he would have surely drunk you dry. 

But alas, he did, in fact, love you. So he pulled away, eyeing the way some trickles of blood dripped from the wound onto the sage green velvet sheets below. There was a smile on your face, following a small hiccup. Words couldn’t explain how happy you were. Mingi, your undead vampiric lover, sealed a mate mark on your neck. And it may not be a full mark like other hybrids would perform, but it was your mark. A staple to say he was your and you, his.

- ♥︎

[mychemicalrachel]

Full disclosure, I have not seen the Teen Wolf movie and no I do not plan on it. I have caught a few things through the magic of tumblr and I had some thoughts. So if everything I saw is accurate; Derek has a kid Eli (basically a Stiles replacement since Dylan wasn’t in the movie. Also, nobody knows who his mother is?) and Derek dies, and he leaves his kid to Scott and Allison. Am I right so far? I’ve seen a few posts entertaining the idea of Stiles being Eli’s other dad, fix-its that have him resurrecting/saving Derek in some capacity. And so it got me thinking of my own version of how I would fix this dumpster fire and like,

What if Stiles was not Eli’s dad?

No no no, hear me out, okay?

Derek had Eli with some one night stand or whatever, it’s not important. She’s not in the picture but neither is Stiles. Stiles is just the one that got away, he’s the guy Derek has been pining over for the past fifteen years, and nothing more. Stiles finally got away from the supernatural shitshow and Derek is not going to be the one to drag him back into it just because he has feelings for him.

But Stiles is still the closest thing Derek has ever had to family and it makes sense for Derek to entrust his family with Stiles’ family. So what if he left Eli in the care of John? (hIS NAME IS JOHN, FIGHT ME ON THIS.) And John, he kind of adores the kid, right? Of course when Derek dies (because he does) John takes Eli in just as he promised he would.

But John is getting older. Eli is a handful because he is just like Stiles. John has to tell Stiles eventually what happened and he really could use some help trying to wrangle a grieving teenager, so he calls Stiles.

Stiles is FURIOUS when he finds out what happened. He hasn’t been in contact with Scott for years because he realized what a piece of shit Scott was, but the fact that Scott didn’t even call when everything was happening makes him angry. The fact that they let Derek die?? More than angry. Angry enough to kill somebody. But when he meets Eli, all that anger disappears. Eli, who is this weird mix of Derek and Stiles, who is mourning the loss of his only parent, his only family. He knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but even after his mom died, he always had his dad. Eli doesn’t have that so Stiles makes it his responsibility to become that figure for him. Not his dad because nobody could replace Derek, but a guardian.

He moves back to town, he bonds with Eli, and in his spare time he maybe starts to explore the possibilities of necromancy. Death in a place like Beacon Hills has never been permanent– Peter and now Allison are proof of that. He doesn’t tell anybody because he doesn’t actually plan on bringing Derek back, it’s just a thought that keeps him from falling apart entirely. During this time, he realizes not only his feelings for Derek, but Derek’s feelings for him. He wishes he could have just a few minutes with Derek, wishes he could go back in time and redo everything. Maybe he would have stayed in Beacon Hills, or he would have asked Derek to leave with him. And time travel, yeah that’s a possibility, too, but time is a fickle bitch and Stiles isn’t willing to gamble with it. What if he messes something up and erases Eli from existence?

In the end, bringing Derek back is kind of an accident.

Years have passed and Eli is healing, Stiles is healing– they even manage to fix the jeep together because symbolism. Stiles is going through some old journals or something of Deaton’s and he finds something that looks kind of promising (something about true love being the one thing more powerful than death or something equally as cheesy) and he’s reading it out loud and it just happens. No fanfare, no sparks, almost like it’s not magic at all. One second, Stiles is alone, and the next, Derek is there– older than the last time Stiles saw him, just as beautiful. There’s some panic because what the fuck, the last thing Derek remembers is the fire and being so sure he was going to die and thinking if only I could see Stiles one more time and now he’s here, standing in front of Stiles– also older than the last time Derek saw him, and just as beautiful. But after the panic, there’s some kissing and some crying and some long awaited love confessions, and by the time they go home, Stiles still isn’t sure exactly what happened, what he did, what the consequences might be, but he’s got his arm around Derek’s waist and the burn of Derek’s stubble on his lips and Derek is alive so nothing else fucking matters.

[6okuto]

LEAVING LATE AT NIGHT

bokuto + gn!reader | established relationship, fluff

personally i would Not try to go alone. but you know. gotta write what you gotta write for the fic prompt

“kou?” you gently shake bokuto’s shoulder. your boyfriend had fallen asleep in the middle of your show and you didn't have the heart to wake him up; there was something comically adorable about him curled into you, tucked under a fuzzy blanket. but you were hungry, and you knew there was no more of your favourite snacks in the kitchen.

kotaro's eyes stay closed, but he hums at the sound of your voice. “hm?”

“’m gonna go get some food, okay?”

“okay,” he replies quietly. his arms unwrap from your waist and groggily, he reaches up for the side table where his wallet rests. “d’you have—do you wanna use my card?”

“no, it’s fine, it’ll just be some snacks," you promise. the both of you shift so you can get up, and you make sure to leave a quick kiss on his nose before moving to get ready.

“m’kay.” he exhales and moves to lay on his back, rubbing his eyes to wake up a little more. his voice is raspy when he speaks. “when did i fall asleep? what time is it?”

“you fell asleep an hour ago—i paused the episode by the way. it’s almost 10 i think?”

“oh, ’kay.” kotaro hums again. there’s a beat of silence as he listens to you put your shoes on and wonders how he fell asleep, but he shoots up a second later after finally processing your response. “wait, what?”

“i’ll be back soon, love you,” you call out, disregarding the sound of him pushing the blanket off of himself and it hitting the floor.

“what, no, what? baby, what—” he trips a little as he reaches for his phone on the coffee table in front of him. the brightness makes him squint, but he stutters again when he sees the 9:54 pm staring back at him.

“kou—”

“i’m coming with you, hold on. lemme put on my shoes, wait,” he cuts you off frantically. there’s a second where he notices he isn’t wearing socks, nor is there a pair nearby, and he reaches for his slip ons instead. 

“kou, you don’t have to, seriously,” you try not to laugh as he brushes his fingers through his messy hair.

“yeah i do,” he says while walking past you to reach his jacket. he only stops for a second so he can pull you in to plant a kiss on your forehead. bokuto looks at you, and he seems a little bit out of breath, but he still tells you matter-of-factually, “i’m your boyfriend.”

there’s little you can do other than watch him get ready with a small frown. you try to reassure him again, “it’s okay. you’re tired, kou. i’ll be fine–”

“no, i’m coming with you,” he says determined. “you don’t know what could happen this late. what if there’s someone dangerous, or like, a super big monster?”

“a what?” you snort. “i think the show got to you, baby. also what would you do against a monster?”

“well, maybe, but i’m just saying! you don’t know when you could be proof of the supernatural in a 7 eleven parking lot. and obviously i'd distract it until you got the car going and i'd jump in.”

the both of you look at each other, and you open and close your mouth trying to think of a response. because despite his words, and how his brows are furrowed and his mouth in a pout, bokuto's tone in genuinely concerned.

the store isn’t far, you’ve made the 5 minute trip yourself before. and you're sure if you wanted to stand your ground, promise to text or call, he'd (begrudgingly) stay behind. but it was bokuto. you never really rejected more time together, and you're not sure why you'd start now—even if it was only a 15 minute snack run.

so you admit defeat, exhale and smile softly at him. “okay, yeah, you’re right. maybe not the monster part, i hope, but, thank you.”

bokuto's expression quickly turns into a grin before he grabs the car keys. his other hand finds its way into yours, just as warm as usual. he pulls you along to unlock the front door, a bounce in his step as if he didn't just wake up. “did you wanna pass by a drive-thru? i’ll pay.”

🏷 | @devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @idontlikeyourjob @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtc @dimslover @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten

[coraniaid]

I'm pretty critical of Buffy's final season (because ... well, I've watched it), but there are some things I think it does well and, since I'm trying to talk myself into working on my S7 AU fic again, I thought it might be worth trying to write down what they are.

I like the sense of completeness there is in going back to some of the show's beginnings. I like seeing Buffy in school again, but this time as an adult with a job. It doesn't just let us re-examine the high school years from a new perspective, it gives Buffy's arc over the last few seasons a nice sense of direction. I like what little we see of Dawn in high school. (I wish there were more episodes like Help.) In principle, I even like the fact that this season's Big Bad is a supernatural threat we've seen on the show before.

While I think there are a lot of problems with the execution (and even with the wider concept) of making the First Evil the primary (frequently the only) antagonist, the First being around does give you a lot of possibilities for having characters literally come face to face with their pasts. I like the final scene of Lessons and I like Conversations With Dead People and I like seeing the Mayor on screen again. I wish the show had done more with this concept.

I like meeting new (Potential) Slayers and finding out more about past Slayers. I like Robin Wood. I like Kennedy. (I wish the show did a better job making the audience care about any of the other Potentials.) I like that Faith comes back. I like that there is a focus on what it means to be a Slayer this season (compare how the show opens, with Buffy taking Dawn on patrol and telling her "it's about power..." [which Dawn doesn't have], to the scene in Chosen where Buffy asks the Potentials "what if you could have that power?").

I also (sorry) really like the fact that the writers resisted the urge to make Dawn a Potential or have her suddenly develop any magical powers as a result of being the Key (which there are at least rumours they were talking about doing). I like that the show stuck with the idea that Dawn is the part of Buffy who gets to be an ordinary girl.

For all its flaws (silly CGI battle against monsters I don't care about which is resolved by a random mcguffin from a different show; weird retcon about Sunnydale apparently being inland; a bunch of other unfortunate writing choices I won't get into here) I really do like Chosen a lot. It feels very fitting that the show ends with Buffy both finally getting to leave Sunnydale and with her no longer having to shoulde the burden of being "the" Slayer (or one of only two Slayers, anyway) anymore. I love how open-ended and hopeful that manages to be.

And speaking of Chosen, I like Buffy's "cookie dough" speech. I like the fact that the show lets Buffy end the series single, and recognizing that she doesn't have to be in a serious romantic relationship if she doesn't feel she's ready for one right now. (I like post-S7 Fuffy as a concept a lot, sure, but I think I prefer it as something that neither of them rushes into.)

I like that Amy comes back? I mean, I don't like anything the season does with her, but still: points for remembering she exists, I guess.

I like the fact that Willow gets to grieve Tara but also move on with her life and start dating again. [I don't know if I would have killed Tara off if I was writing S6 -- I think probably not -- but given that Tara did die I think this is the only good option.]

Empty Places is a good .... name for an episode?

For all my (many, many) issues with Andrew Wells this season (and in particular with just how much Andrew Wells is in this season, which is ... a lot), I think Storyteller is ... pretty good? I liked Jonathan, I think it's sad he dies (and his speech about missing high school now that he's left is another good moment from this season) but I wouldn't really have wanted to have him turn up and help save the day either. Having Andrew kill him (and then have to face up to the fact) feels like the right choice, to me, if you were going to bring either character back [I'm not really sure I would have done that though, to be honest].

Equally, for all my irritation at the time wasted on the "is Giles the First Evil?" subplot and at some of the other character deaths the writers did go for, I'm glad that the Core Four all survive. What the season actually does with Giles isn't very good, and neither Xander nor Willow are in this season enough (especially not in its second half), but at least they all get to live.

Oh, and Anya. I'm glad the writers didn't give in to the temptation to kill off Anya for some sort of cheap shock value, the way some leaked early drafts of Chosen suggest they were thinking of doing. Can you imagine how infuriating that would have been? I don't know if I would ever have accepted it. I might even now be living in denial. Thankfully common sense prevailed there and Anya definitely survived.

[whereserpentswalk]

Somewhere out there within the dark woods of somewhere or another, in days some time past, there was a town. And that town worshipped one god, and that god was a hole.

Yes, a massive hole, at the center of their town. Deep and dark, perhaps leading all the way down to oblivion. Some people said the god lived at the bottom of the hole, others said that the god was the hole itself, or even the shadows that lay within. They had no temples, no alters, only the hole. And the hole of the hole demanded things of them. It was hungry, strangely hungry. It did not have sacfices, it demanded tribute. Taxes in a way. People would scrounge up what little money they had for the hole, and the hole promised back that it would give them good things in return.

There were those who warned them of the hole. The cryptids of the dark forest, and the occultists and demon hunters, and even the deep ones that lay in the dark ocean and the scaled men of the forgotten ruins. But the townsfolk didn't listen, the hole made them feel good. It felt good to give it money. And even though they never exactly saw how the hole must have been helping them. How could it not be helping them if they had given it so much. And soon the hole banished all supernatural things but itself, and the people said the hole was making them safe.

And soon the hole was bigger. What was once the size of a well had grown to being big enough to consume a house. And soon the town changed, the hole began to be its center, the entire town shifted so that all public life was around the hole. And soon those who didn't like the hole, or who questioned it, where seen as evil or strange people, greedy for not wanting to give the hole their money, they were seen as selfish and entitled, entitled to all the hole's benefits without paying their share. It was a tragedy when someone grew up to move out of the town and not follow the hole.

And soon the hole had more and more demands. And everyone listened as it grew larger and larger. Soon it didn't want money, it wanted things too, televisions, automobiles, books, family relics, grandma's ashes, works of art, perhaps even beloved pets. And it became taboo not just to question it, but to feel sad when you lost something to the hole. You couldn't say you missed it, or replace it too soon, the hole wanted you to not have it, you were so obviously wrong to miss it. You didn't just have to give to the hole, you had to understand that it was improving your life.

There was a movement of young people, who wanted to get rid of the hole. But it was too late by then, they had no other gods, no other spirits or creatures, and the hole was as large as a city block. And either way, the town police belonged to the hole now, and they would kill for it, and they would die for it. Some young rebels moved away. But most found themselves not being able to give up their family, their freinds, and their safety to fight the hole. So for a time they pretended to like it, and when you do something, and say something for long enough it can become your truth, and soon enough those who pretended to live the hole truly did love it.

And soon there was no music or movies that the hole didn't approve of. Everyone followed the hole's rules. And everyone loved the hole so dearly and so brightly. They couldn't imagine a town without a hole. When they thought of other towns they imagined that they must have had holes too, and every idea of a place without it was sad and depressing. And as the hole was then a quarter of the size of the town, it was hungry, and demanded not just things but flesh. And people happily gave, it would be weird to not want to give. They gave eyes, ears, teeth, testicles, tounges, fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs. And they didn't miss their body parts at all. And when one day the hole demanded people jump in, and give their lives to it, they didn't mind or question at all, it didn't feel like death, and nobody missed that they weren't there.

And now, in the dark woods, there is a hole where a town used to be. It has eaten the entire the thing, every last inch and citizen of it. It is not satisfied. But it has grown all that it could. And one must wonder if the hole is lonely now, or if it knows that it has done all it ever hoped to.

[atlantis-is-burning]

Dead Boy Detectives Cancelation

So in light of the heartbreaking news of Dead Boy Detectives getting canceled, I decided to write a letter to @netflix It's the first time I've ever felt compelled to reach out to a major company regarding their services but I wanted them to know how much the show means to us as fans and what they're taking away from us by canceling it.

For me, the show was a literal life-saver. Without going into too much detail, I was in a very dark place prior to its release and it was the only thing that helped me through it. That and meeting all of you =)

I don't know what impact it will have, if any, but if you would like to write a letter to Netflix as well letting them know what the show meant to you, I would definitely do so. Our community may be small compared to other fandoms but we are passionate and devoted to this show and they deserve to hear from us.

I've attached the letter below the cut for anyone who would like to read it and believe me, I'm not trying to medal in the tragedy Olympics with the intro, it's just a fact of what happened.

Maybe the show helped you in ways you couldn't imagine. Maybe it made you feel better about yourself or something that occurred in the past. Maybe it was just a fun comfort show for you that you really enjoyed. Whatever the reason, this show brought out the best in people and made the world feel just a little bit kinder for a while and I will never forgive Netflix for taking that away.

To whom it may concern,

On April 29th, I sat down and watched the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives. 

I had heard good things about the show since its release a few days earlier, that it was fun and campy and easy to watch, but for me I was hoping it would be a distraction. A very close friend of mine passed away without warning on December 30th; she was just there one day and gone the next. The first half of the year was spent helping her family get her affairs in order while trying to process our shared grief and figure out how we could move on without her. 

I didn’t begin to feel like myself again until late March and by then it was only a fraction of who I had been before her passing. So when I sat down and pulled up the first episode of the Dead Boy Detectives, the only goal I had in mind was to pass a few hours watching a silly supernatural mystery show and think about something other than this sense of loss and imbalance that had settled over me.

It was the first time I smiled in nearly three weeks and it was the first time I laughed since December.

I watched the entire series, start to finish, in one night. Then I went back and watched it again the next day. And again a few days later. And for the first time since her passing, I felt like my friend was still there somehow, like we were watching it together. It was exactly the kind of show she would have loved when she was alive, flamboyant and silly with a touch of romance and mystery, so on my fourth rewatch of it, I sat on my couch with a picture of the two of us cradled in my lap, watching a show I know she would have enjoyed and feeling just the tiniest bit of my grief fade.

It was through the Dead Boy Detectives that I found a community online, a group of people who loved the show just as much as I did. We traded theories and ideas about the episodes, we excitedly welcomed new members who had just finished it and encouraged others to watch it in the meantime. We set up forums and threads on Reddit, we messaged each other, we embraced this silly, quirky show so much that it became a safe haven for a lot of us, it became a comfort series. We saw ourselves in this show and these characters and for many of us it gave us a sense of fellowship and belonging in a world where that feels more rare by the day.

And then it got canceled and for many of us, it felt like a slap in the face for the fans.

While I don’t claim to know the metrics on which a show’s success and renewal odds are based or what formula is used to determine ratings, I do know you didn’t see the fandom we created for ourselves because of this show. 

There are artists who make the most breathtaking art pieces you’ve ever seen, writers who bring you to tears with their works, and creators who painstakingly and lovingly created playlists and mood boards for each of the characters, matching them with songs and snippets of poetry that fit so perfectly it felt like it was made for them. There are fans who cosplay so well it looks like they borrowed the costumes directly from the production team and some who make jewelry and charms and trinkets that sell out almost before they complete them.

We engaged with the stars as well, wanting them to know how much we loved the show and these characters and how grateful we were to have watched them. We set up Q&As and asked them questions through Cameo, all the while thanking them for their work in bringing these characters to life. This show meant so much to us and we wanted them to know just what an impact they had had on more people than they ever could have imagined.

We were well aware of Netflix’s reputation of canceling shows based on poor viewership so we went in and organized weekly watch parties in an effort to increase the number of new viewers. We promoted it on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, creators made videos for it on TikTok, and we created an entirely new tag on social media to bring more attention to this show we all loved so much.

Early on, there were several comments from people who said they were hesitant to even watch it; they had been burned before and didn’t want to get deeply involved with a new show that would turn into yet another “one season wonder.” We did our best to reassure them and convince them that this time it would be different; it wouldn’t be like all the shows that had been cut down before it could ever really develop. Since it was tied in with DC and The Sandman Universe, we promised them that maybe this time we could save it, maybe this time it would be enough.

And it was still canceled.

On Friday, August 30th, ten minutes after the news broke that Dead Boy Detectives had been canceled, I canceled my Netflix subscription. Netflix was the first streaming service I ever signed up for and today it is the only streaming service I have ever canceled. And, after watching the fallout in our little online community, watching the actual grief people were experiencing because of the cancellation, and scrolling through pages upon pages of outraged fans who swore they would never watch another program on Netflix and vowed to cancel their subscription that day, I can see that my decision was justified.

You have no idea the impact this show had on its viewers and you have no idea the impact you had when you took it away. We had people admit that the show helped them come to terms with their sexuality, helped them process deep-seated trauma, helped them love and accept themselves for who they were. We knew the Dead Boy Detectives would never be a runaway hit like Stranger Things or Bridgerton but we hoped and prayed that it would stick around just a little while longer, that we could enjoy these characters and their stories for even one more season before they were gone for good. 

For you it may have been just a silly little ghost show that was little more than a blip on the radar but for a lot of us it was so much more than that, it meant so much more than that.

I am under no illusions that this email will make a difference or that it will bring the show back from cancellation but I wanted you to know what an incredible and amazingly talented fandom you are leaving behind in its wake. These are people who put their heart and soul into the art they create and the words they put on paper and all we wanted was a chance to see that continue.

We are tired of being drawn into a program and falling in love with the characters with no guarantee that our viewership and involvement actually means anything. We are tired of begging for complex characters and the representation we crave in media only to have the rug jerked out from under us once we finally get it. We are tired of hoping and praying and campaigning to save a show that should easily be renewed for several seasons or, at the very least, a season two. 

We are tired of feeling like we’re being taken advantage of as fans, that the passion and excitement we have toward these shows and their stars, the kind of involvement you claim to want, is dismissed with little regard toward the fans of the show itself.

We are your audience and we are tired.

We will continue to love and cherish this show and these characters, without your involvement, and give them a much longer life than they ever had on your platform. This show, the cast and crew, and the fans deserve better than what you gave them and I hope you understand the tremendous amount of talent and passion you’re throwing away in your fan base.

With regards,

-M

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Fourteen

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

Summary: Startling revelations ensue after drinking the tea. While you wait for Tommy to return, Benji comes in search for another date. Ada takes you shopping for a new dress to wear to the races.

Warning: language, slight supernatural (kinda?), harassment (not anything explicit but not fun), less tommy in this one but promise next chapter will make up for it!

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 14: Raise Hell

I found myself an omen, and I tattooed on a sign. I set my mind to wandering, and I walk a broken line. You have a mind to keep me quiet, and although you can try. Better men have hit their knees, and bigger men have died. 

It came upon a lightning strike, and eyes of bright clear blue. I took that tie from around my neck, and gave my heart to you. I sent my love across the sea, and though I didn’t cry. That voice will haunt my every dream, until the day I die.

— Raise Hell, Brandi Carlile 

The tea cup landed on the rug with a soft thud, the hot liquid spilling at your feet — though you couldn’t feel a degree of it. 

Your mouth gapped open at the sight before you — your mother, sitting on the rug across from you, her legs crossed same as yours, as she smiled at you. 

“This isn’t real,” you whispered, still too surprised to move, your heart racing. 

Your eyes searched over your mother’s features, looking for some hint of something fake to indicate the trick that was being played here. 

But there was your mother — as plain as day. There was no otherworldly glow or translucent quality. She looked solid, wearing the same kind of modern shirt and jeans that she would have been wearing back when she was alive, looking very out of place against the 20th century backdrop. 

The only difference between the person in front of you and the memory of your mother was the smile on her face. 

“Real is quite relative, don’t you think, Y/N?”

Her voice sounded the same as well, if not maybe stronger than it had in her last handful of years. 

Instinct to combat your mother reared its ugly head as you scoffed and responded involuntarily, “Quite relative to whether I’m hallucinating or dreaming, sure.” 

Your mother chuckled, “I’ve missed you, my darling. We have so much to talk about.” 

Swallowing, you accepted that whether dream, hallucination, ghost, or indeed real, you’d done this for a reason. You’d been given this opportunity by the Delphi for a reason. It was now or never, and you couldn’t let a little thing like freaking out over talking to your dead mother stand in your way. 

“Do you know what’s happened to me?” you asked, feeling yourself sit up a little straighter. 

Her smile fell, eyes moving around the bedroom before landing back on you, running down the clothes you were wearing. “The curse. It finally came for you, too.” 

“Too? Are you saying—“

“Yes. I too was pulled from my present and into the past. As was my mother, and her mother, and her mother before that.” 

You couldn’t believe it. Of all the things you had expected, this hadn’t even crossed your mind. “How far back?” you wondered aloud.

She shrugged, “Centuries, I suppose. All the first born daughters of this cursed lineage. Cursed to know the future, because it’s our past.” 

So that was the schtick, you realized. You couldn’t predict the future, but you could recall it from a past that hadn’t happened yet — as long as you’d been paying attention. Your mother’s insistence of learning history now made more sense. 

And yet, there was still a big question, one you asked aloud, “Why?”

“I don’t know. That is still a mystery.” Your mother dropped her head slightly out of shame, “Even in death, I’m still searching for answers.” 

I curse you, Cassandra! The voice from your dreams echoed through your head and a crazy realization hit you. “Who was the first?”

Your mother swallowed. “When you were born, I saw a vision of my daughter. A woman who would know the future, just like I did. I heard the whisper of a name. It should have been a warning, but I was under a lot of drugs and hormones and thought the name was pretty. So did your father. We already had your first name picked out so on the spot agreed to name you Cassandra. I had no idea it was the name of our matriarch — of the first to be cursed.” 

“So it’s true, we come from the original Cassandra of Troy?” Your mother nodded and you shook your head. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Say the stories are true — say the Greek Gods really existed — she could actually tell the future and she’s from the ancient past.” 

“Another mystery.” 

You huffed, so sick of the ambiguity. 

“I’m sorry,” your mother said softly, causing you to meet her eyes again. “For lying to you all those years, for confusing you. For causing you grief and madness.” 

You felt a lump in your throat, your chest tight at hearing the acknowledgment you’d wished for your whole childhood. Your brain wanted to comfort her, tell her it was alright, but your heart was more wounded than you’d ever realized.

You swallowed down the rise of tears that were threatening to build and changed the subject. “When were you born?” 

She blinked, aware of your deflection method, and answered. “The early 2020s.” 

“But that’s so—“

“Close?” your mother sighed. “Yes. I grew up blissful — my mother never mentioned her own displacement. So when I was stripped from my loved ones in 2040 to 1990, I was distraught. I was lucky to meet your father, though regretfully I was never able to open myself up completely to him, still mourning the loss of my first love. I would jump from fits of madness to total denial. After we had you, I thought things would be different. But as you grew, I became more suspicious that you would also be stripped away from me, or I you, and the fear drove me mad. So I tried to prepare you. But the closer I got to my own birth date, the madder I became and more desperate for answers I grew. Eventually, I became convinced that I’d made the whole thing up. The line between reality and delusion became nonexistent.”

You felt the tears begin to pool again as you thought about your own struggles with reality since arriving here. Madam Despoina had told you that you were stronger than your mother. But that wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. 

“I’m sorry for your father, as well,” she went on. You opened your mouth to protest, but she stopped you. “I was able to warn him about certain events — terrorism, the housing bubble, natural disasters — but I couldn’t save him, not in the end.”

“Did you ever tell him? Properly, that is?” You found yourself asking, thinking about Tommy.

Your mother shook her head. “Not directly. The best I could come up with was the gift of prophecy. After a while of telling that story, a part of me began to believe it. Believe it for you.”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, “for being so hard on you. I didn’t understand—“

“And now you do,” she said with a soft smile, “more now than ever. And unfortunately, darling, I’m going to have to put pressure on you one final time.” 

“What do you mean?”

“The curse — it must be broken. You have to find a way to break it.” 

“Me? Why—“ your words stopped as you thought about Madam Despoina’s prophecy. “‘You have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.’ A woman from the Delphi family who said she was a descendent of the Pythia told me that.” 

She smiled knowingly again, “Your tattoo, ya?”

Your mouth dropped slightly, “You knew?” 

“I have the same one. I had the same impulse before I was pulled away. I didn’t even know you had it until I—“ she cut herself off, looking somber again before clearing her throat. “It’s the tree of knowledge, of balance. But how were you able to find them?”

“I’ve met some people since arriving here. A Romani family that I’ve grown quite close to. One of the brothers specifically, he— he helped me find them.” 

Your mother hummed as she listened, her eyes moving again to the space around you. “What year is this exactly?” 

“January 1919.” Your mother’s eyes widened. “I’ve been here a few months now.” 

“And I thought fifty years was a shock,” she murmured. “Remarkable. Although the interwar period has it’s merits I suppose. Roaring 20s, jazz, rise of automotives, electricity, women’s suffrage. Though suppose it also has it’s negatives: Great Depression, prohibition, facisism, gangsters—“ You must have had a reaction, because your mother paused. “This man, is he a nice man?”

You swallowed at that, your eyes shifting. “I think he wants to be. But the circumstances are a little more complicated.” 

“Complicated like organized crime complicated?” She retorted, and you were surprised at her humor in the situation. “Oh sweetheart, you didn’t—“ 

You scrunched your face, “I didn’t mean to. There’s been odd coincidences between us since even before we met. I had a vision of him the night I woke up here. He had one of me as well. And then there’s the other dreams—“

“What dreams?”

You took a deep breath, feeling once again like you were in a room filled with puzzle pieces trying to figure out which was the right piece to pick up and share with your mother. “I’ve had dreams. Very real feeling dreams of myself as Cassandra in ancient Troy. They’ve just been pieces though, it still feels incomplete.” 

“You’ve got a strong connection to her,” your mother mused. “There has to be something in those dreams, that story, that can help you?” 

Shifting in your place, she rose her brow at you. A wave of nostalgia hit you as you recalled the look many times from your childhood. She knew you had more. 

“The Delphi woman, Madam Despoina, she— she called him Apollo. It’s his face I see in my dreams when I, as Cassandra, am with him, as Apollo. But I— I don’t know what that means.”

Her eyes narrowed as the muscle in her cheek flinched, “And does he mean something to you?” 

Her question caused your brow to furrow. “What does that have to do with this?” 

“Mother’s intuition, I suppose,” she smiled. “It’s been good to see you, my darling.” 

“What do you—“ 

You blinked. 

She was gone. 

——-

You woke up the next morning on the cold floor of your apartment, the empty tea cup still laying on the rug. 

“Mum!” you exclaimed with a jolt upward, looking to the spot in front of you. 

But of course, no one was there. You were as alone in your apartment as you’d been when you arrived last night.

You reached for the tea cup and knew that it didn’t matter. Yesterday you might have tried to argue with yourself that you’d simply been dreaming or hallucinating, but the time for denial was over. 

Whatever this stuff had been that Madam Despoina gave you had given you the ability to talk with your mother last night. 

As you got ready for your shift at the Garrison, you tried to go through everything your mother had said to you, trying to commit it to memory, afraid that any little bit of it could slip away. 

You were going through it for about the twentieth time when a patron cleared his throat at the bar. 

“Apologies, I was—“ you turned and your customer service smile fell, “Oh, Benji, hello.” 

“I was just coming by to see when you were available next,” he said, offering you his most handsome smile. “No deaths or births or any other excuses this time, eh?”

Your brow lifted, finding that statement slightly rude. It’s not as if you’d blown him off for a headache or something minor — someone had died. 

But you knew what you had to do. Benji had been nothing but nice, if not a little forward, with you since you’d meet. It’d been wrong of you to accept his invitation when you were feeling alone and rejected. You couldn’t allow him to continue to believe he had a shot, but there was no reason to be rude about it. 

“I’ve been thinking about that, Benji, and I just— I don’t think it’s such a great idea.” His smile slowly began to fall as you talked, his brow creasing. “I shouldn’t have accepted in the first place,” you continued, feeling awkward and guilty. 

“Come on, love, you haven’t even given me a chance,” he tried to defend, pulling another smile on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I wasn’t ready to start anything. I’m still— I’m still adjusting and I—“

“Hmm,” Benji shoved his fists in his pocket. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the rumors going around of you and Tommy, would it?”

Your mouth opened slightly at the allegation, but you couldn’t form any kind of defense. Instead you crossed your arms, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” 

“Liar,” he hissed, slamming his fist to the bar top. The handful of patrons in the pub looked toward them, curious by the commotion. Benji noticed the eyes and cleared his throat, lowering his voice as he lifted his finger. “You’re making a big mistake, Y/N. Tommy-boy can’t sit on the throne forever, I’ll make sure of that.” 

He gave you a wicked smile as he turned and left the pub, slamming the door on his way out. 

You contemplated whether you should tell anyone about your interaction with Benji. Unsure if his threats were real or brought on simply by rejection and jealously, you decided to stay quiet for now. 

Things had been quiet for a few days afterwards, but slowly you began to notice some major irregularities in the books. Benji’s numbers were showing signs of stealing again. It started off small, similar to what it’d been when you originally became suspicious of him. But now it was quite obvious.

Finally, you came to the conclusion that you had no choice but to bring this to Polly’s attention. It was early in the morning before the shop opened. Polly was helping with John’s kids while Ada was MIA (though if you were a betting woman, you’d say she was with Freddie), and you found yourself sitting alone at the kitchen table, book open in front of you as you felt weirdly conflicted over Benji’s malfeasance.

In the past, you hadn’t been aware of what happened to the people you reported. But now, you knew that there were physical repercussions for stealing from the Shelbys, even as extreme as death. And whether it was guilt for leading him on or some piece of you that still believed that deep down he was a good guy — you began to contemplate whether he deserved a fair warning before you officially reported him. If he knew that he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was, that someone was paying attention to him, maybe he’d realize his mistake and end it before something bad happened to him.

You got up to get some tea, trying to think through how exactly you were going to warn him without giving yourself away, when the front door opened.

“How were the kids?” You asked over your shoulder as you poured, assuming Polly had returned.

“Y/N?”

A deeper voice than you expected came from behind you. Spinning around, you were surprised to find the man himself standing in the kitchen doorway.

Your heart rate surged when his eyes moved curiously from you to the table, the open diary and pencil next to it.

“You–” he started, the gears in his head turning to process the scene in front of him. “It’s been you all along.”

“What are you–” you tried to discreetly walk toward the other set of doors, but Benji rounded the table quicker than you, cutting off your escape routes.

What was the saying about good intentions?

“Benji you shouldn’t—“ you tried to lift up your arms between you.

His eyes narrowed and he took a step toward you. Your back hit the counter behind you as he caged you in. “It’s you isn’t it? I kept trying to figure out how it was Lenny and Jackson got stitched. And there you were all along — the little mouse hiding in plain sight.”

“Get off me!” You shouted as you tried to push him away, but he grabbed your arms. You tried to use some of the self defense moves you’d learned, but Benji was stronger than you’d anticipated, and much more sober than the last man you had to fight off of you in the pub. He spun you around and pinned your arms behind your back, pressing his weight onto you so you were pinned even tighter against the shelves and counter. You tried to kick, but he had your legs locked between his.

You were completely defenseless.

“You think you can fuck with me—“

“I wasn’t— I haven’t said anything–,” you gasped out, your face against the shelves as you tried to catch your breath while still struggling to get him off you. You felt the tears begin to fall down your face as you felt helpless.

“And you fucking won’t! You killed my mates. I’m gonna make you wish you’d never met Tommy—“

“Oi!”

Polly’s voice shouting from the doorway finally caused Benji to release you. At the slightly feel of freedom, you pushed him off and ran for the other other end of the kitchen. You grabbed a near empty bottle near you and threw it at him. He ducked as it broke against the wall behind him.

“Out!” Polly shouted, grabbing his arm and pushing him out the door. “And don’t you dare come back!”

Benji was shouting as well, raving that he was a Peaky Blinder dammit, and no one could stop him from getting what he wanted.

He looked back at you as he said that and you shivered.

Sure, you were shaken by being manhandled like that by someone you thought was a good enough man. But more than that, you were angry. This had been the second time since you’d been here that a man thought he could toss you around like you were some kind of doll.

Polly turned back toward you, and immediately got busy pouring you a cup of tea. She let you take your time as you finally launched into explanation. At the end, she calmly rose from her seat and found Scudboat in the betting den, who’d shown up at some point in all your distraction. You watched as she whispered in his ear and then calmly again walked back toward the kitchen. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small handgun.

“You know how to use this?” 

Nodding, she handed it to you and told you to keep it on you from now on. 

“Go back to work, Y/N. Benji won’t be bothering you again.” 

——-

Polly had been right. Another week went by and you hadn’t seen or heard a peep from Benji. Part of you wondered if the bastard was dead, and you weren’t sure how exactly you felt when you realized that you didn’t really care. 

You also wondered if Tommy knew now about what happened with Benji. You hadn’t heard from him since he left again, but knew from Polly and Ada that they’d be back by the following weekend. 

In all the excitement, you’d forgotten about Tommy’s invitation to the races. When Ada burst into your apartment to announce that they were going shopping, you’d been surprised. It’d been a while since you’d been to the shops, but you weren’t going to deny the opportunity to find something nice to wear to your first race. 

“I’ve been crying nonstop for weeks,” Ada explained as you both walked around, looking at different fabrics as she pointed out some options. “Every little thing sets me off, I tell ya. I thought it was because of the funeral, but Martha and I weren’t really that close. Suppose it’s sympathy for the kids. Dunno. It’s been making me so tired though. I think I may be ill or something.” 

“Maybe,” you mused, grabbing the dress she handed you. 

A woman caught the corner of your eye. At your gaze, she dropped her head and turned. 

You ignored her, used to people staring when she was out with Ada. You hadn’t understood it when you’d first become friends, but now you realized. 

When you saw her again at the next shop, you began to feel less like it was accidental. 

“Hi,” you greeted when you met her eyes again. She looked away and tried to leave, but you spoke again, “Can I help you?” 

The woman stopped finally and turned, her head down slightly sheepishly. She wore a small hat and trendy dress, her hair was cut short like most women of the day, and you could tell she was quite tall, though she seemed to slouch slightly. Her facial features were sharp, complimenting her slim body shape. She was quite beautiful, and in your day could see her being the ideal supermodel. But the bags under her eyes and wornness of her skin led you to believe that her story probably wasn’t that simple. Not here, in Small Heath. 

“Pardon?” She finally said innocently, trying to subtly give you a once over as well. 

You shrugged, “It just seemed like you were needing something from me. My mistake.” 

You turned to leave but she spoke again. “This is incredibly improper of me, but I saw you and I just— you and Tommy, ya?” 

As you turned back to her, your brow creased. Instinct had you looking around for Ada. Ever since your encounter with Benji, you’d been edgier than you’d ever been, always looking for the exits and for familiar faces to run toward. It made you feel incredibly vulnerable and you absolutely hated it. You felt your fingers grip the strings of your handbag, knowing the gun Polly had given you was safely tucked away inside.

Swallowing, you resounded yourself to shake it off, to toughen up, and you straightened your shoulders as you addressed the stranger once again. “Excuse me?” 

“My sister saw you both walking home often late at night. I suppose he’s moved on, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She was rambling now, her cheeks blushed as if she were embarrassed by her own words. “I know we shouldn’t be speaking of this, not in public at least. It’s just hard, y’know, losing a customer. Especially one like him.” 

Customer. You looked over the stranger in front of you again and tried to think of any other instance where her phrasing would make sense aside from the very clear one that came to mind. 

Ada called for you, reaching you with a handful of dresses. You turned back to the woman who nodded and made her leave. 

“Ada, who was that?” 

She craned her neck and clicked her teeth. “Ah, that was Lizzie Stark. Surprised you haven’t seen her around town. Though why would you, less you were payin’ I suppose. Here, try these on.” 

——-

It’d been a while since you’d been on a real date. Even before you’d been sent to this place, dates had started to dwindle as you got older and got more choosy. For a while, starting in college, you’d easily been able to flirt with someone new, get to know them, and then start a fling for a while until one or both of you got bored. The couple serious relationships you’d had were harder for you. Being vulnerable hadn’t come easy for you, and it created commitment and trust issues. Dates became more complicated than they were worth. 

Tommy had greeted you at your place, and you surprised yourself with how much you missed him in the few weeks he’d been away. There was something about his presence, knowing that he was here, in the city, gave you a wave of some kind of safety and security that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. 

He looked tired, though he smiled at you warmly as he walked you toward the family car, and offered you a hand in as you climbed in. 

This had been the first time you’d actually been excited for a date since possibly high school. 

And of course, Harry had to go and buzz kill your mood the day before the races. He hadn’t meant to, of course. After the Benji incident, he’d been extra protective and cautious. You’d explained the situation (without the stealing money from the Shelbys part) and he’d been surprisingly sensitive. But he believed his recent pub decision would make you feel better instead of make you sour.

“Somethin’ the matter?” He asked when you were quieter than he expected. “If this is about Hancock—“

“No,” you answered, already knowing from Polly that Tommy and the brothers had learned of Benji’s malfeasance, but he’d disappeared before Scudboat and Lovelock could find him. You’d cursed your previous self for trying to be sympathetic toward the man — it seemed like you’d just made everything worse. “It’s nothing honestly, just something silly.” 

“Go on, then. I can handle silly.” 

Your cheek flinched as you looked over toward Tommy, humored by him even saying the word ‘silly’. He rose his eye brow as he looked over to you, offering you a smirk before pulling his eyes back to the road. 

“Harry’s putting in an advertisement in the paper for another barmaid.” 

Tommy’s smirk turned into a frown, “Is he mad? The place wouldn’t be standin’ without you — I’ve seen the numbers, I know. I’ll have a word with Harry—“

“He’s not replacing me,” you quickly corrected. “I thought the same thing, but he wants me to concentrate more on the books and said he’d rather bring someone in part time to fill in behind the bar.” 

“Ah,” his brow creased as he gave you a short look. “The problem, then?” 

You sighed, knowing that you were being childish. “I’m just feeling territorial, is all. I know I’m not technically being replaced, but part of it feels that way. Did I mention I have a small case of control issues? I blame it on being an only child.” 

Tommy chuckled softly and shook his head. “You have nothing to worry about. If anything it’ll leave more time for you to do your real job.” 

“My real job?” You asked him curiously. 

“The Shelby business, ‘course. Wheels are already in motion, and today we’re going to enact the second part of my plan.” 

“And that is?” 

Tommy smiled, “Gonna buy a horse.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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