#this was started in october as an autumn piece.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cillianhead · 6 months

Note

Hello dear!!! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Could you please write a piece about Cillian falling for a (younger!) poet? He starts frequenting her reading sessions and that's how they meet. The rest is up to you!

Thank you 🩵

Yes!! Love this, thank you <3

Enjoy my sweet nonny!

This is heavily inspired by the song All Too Well (10-minute version) (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift!!

Wind In My Hair, I Was There || Cillian Murphy x Reader

warnings: Smut, angst, age gap (reader is in her mid to late twenties, Cillian is in his forties.), swearing, Cillian is sort of an asshole in this in some parts, so that is a warning, infidelity (Cillian is married), general adult content ahead!!

Minors DNI! 18+

I'd also like to clarify this isn't really based on the real Cillian!! I know he's married and very happy, this is just fiction and fantasy!! Not meant to portray Cillian as a bad person!! I'd also like to clarify that the ready doesn't really know who Cillian is... or maybe like Cillian isn't that famous in this fic universe or something because there are a few plot points that may seem questionable... that's all. Anyway... enjoy!!

The autumn you spent with Cillian Murphy would be one you would always remember, not that you really had a choice in whether or not you could forget him.

Your apartment was small and cozy at the time, with a perfect view of the falling leaves outside. It was sitting across from a small park in New York City; the trees were red and orange, and it felt like the fall was putting on a show just for you. You felt fortunate and privileged to live in such a place.

You lived right up the road from a small cafe with a library. Every Thursday, you meet with like-minded writers and read your work aloud. It helped bring you out of your shell; you felt a sense of pride when you read your poetry out loud and had people praise you for being so brave and how well you wrote. Despite the fact you have been attending these little group meetings for almost two years now and you felt pretty comfortable amongst the people who were there, you felt like you could vomit your pounding heart right up every time you stood at that podium in front of the dozen or so people that attended. But even with the lump in your throat, you'd read with a shaky voice and tears ready to spill, you would receive the same round of applause every time and a pat on the back from some of the attendees you were closer with.

It was September 14th when you first saw him, but it wasn't the first time he had seen you, summer still lingering in the air but barely grasping on as Autumn began to take the reigns. You were standing at that cedar-wood podium, reading aloud as nervously as you always did. You had yet to notice him quietly slip in; you were too busy ensuring you were on the right line.

"-And something beautiful sprouted, something that I am not... something that I never will be." You looked up after reading the last line, biting your lip nervously and stepping back from the speaking podium. There he sat, in a sweater and the most hypnotizing eyes you had ever seen. Maybe love at first sight was real, you thought briefly. People clapped, but the room remained silent and still for you as you two made eye contact; he didn't clap; he just stared at you with a look that told you he was just as taken aback by you as you were by him.

He kept attending the sessions, but he never got up and read anything and never really interacted with anyone else; in fact, you'd see him get up and leave once you had finished reading your poetry. You wondered if anyone else noticed him the way you did, or maybe he was a figment of your imagination... a ghost.

It was October 19th when you first spoke with him. You dreamt about him day and night, and you two had never even spoken before every session; you'd wonder if he'd be there, and he always was. Sitting in the same seat, at the very back, going ultimately unnoticed by almost everyone but you.

"Excuse me, sir!" You yelled out, rushing to follow the man in the plaid shirt and beanie. "You dropped this!" It was a pair of keys you had clutched in your hand, the crisp autumn air meeting the apples of your cheeks.

He turned around, only a foot or two away from you, as he looked at you up and down, taking notice of his keys in your hand. "Oh gosh, thank you, love," He took the keys gently out of your hand, his fingers lingering on yours a little too long for a stranger, fingertips brushing together. "I swear I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed on." You took notice of his Irish accent. It made you even more curious to know him better. "Erm... thank you so much."

"It's no problem..." You trailed off. You're not sure what to say now. He gave you a stiff nod and started to turn around and keep walking, but you just couldn't let him leave. "Wait!" What do you say now?

"Yeah?" He turned around, tilting his head at you, blue eyes staring at you, waiting.

"I... I'm Y/N... by the way... I always see you here... but I never see you read anything..."

"Cillian," He chuckled. "Not interested in reading anything I've written, only here to listen." Cillian's response was short but straight to the point.

"You don't stick around for very long... you always leave after... I've finished reading my writing..."

"Well... your work is the only one I come to listen to. The rest of the lots' poems just go in one ear and out the other," He said honestly. "You've got a charm about you; I've never heard anything like what you write. It's unique and intelligent, cleverly crafted written pieces... It captures my attention, unlike the rest, which all seem like people trying to mimic someone else... you write from your heart... or your head... I can't decide which, really." He notices your silence, Cillian steps a bit closer to you. "Perhaps I've said too much." He mumbles. The proximity of where he stands is close enough that you can feel his warmth, a stark contrast to how cold it was outside. "You've surely captivated me, Y/N." He said your name like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt like your heart was in your throat, looking at him dumbfounded and unsure what to say. "That's... very flattering, I don't know what to say... thank you, Cillian..." You scratch behind your ear, swaying nervously on your feet. Cars honked, and people passed by as you two stood outside the little cafe, which was now closed since the reading sessions had ended. Cillian looked around awkwardly before sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, his breath visible out in the open air due to how cold it was.

"Would you like to go out for dinner with me?" Cillian looked at you, eyes reflecting the city lights. The moment felt like something from a movie or something you'd write a poem about. It felt like something that wasn't quite possible within these depths of reality. "I understand... if not... you're a young beautiful woman... probably got someone waitin' at home for y-" "N-No, I'd love to!" You interrupted him, with your heart racing. "I'd love to go to dinner with you... I don't have anyone at home... waiting for me..."

"Well, aren't I lucky... when are you free?" He gave you a smile, the first you'd ever seen from him. It made his usually sombre face light up; he grinned, making you feel all giddy.

"I'm free any time on the weekends... and on Tuesdays, I have work off, so... I would love to... see you this weekend, maybe?"

"Wonderful, Saturday evening, you and me?"

You nodded. You exchanged numbers and went on your merry way, walking down the streets of New York City with a smile on your face that was purely gleeful. People would give you looks, but you didn't care. You were excited about something for once. You obsessed over it for the next day and a half.

October 21st marked your very first date with Cillian Murphy. At six, you waited patiently outside your apartment building in the cold air. With a red scarf wrapped around your neck your nose runny from the autumnal weather, you looked around like a lost puppy.

"Y/N," Cillian's warm voice startled you from behind you. You jumped but swiftly turned around to look at him, a bashful smile on both of your faces. "You look lovely." You felt your heart pound at the sight of him.

"Thank you. You also look lovely yourself." You replied. He leaned in and kissed your cheek before taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The feeling of his hand in yours made the cold weather seem like summer. Your body lit in flames at the idea he wanted you close to him. And the feeling of his lips on your cheek remained there the whole evening, burning its mark into your skin.

The night went on, and you found yourself in a charming Italian restaurant. It was nothing too fancy, but it was nice and romantic for a first date, definitely nicer than any other places other guys have taken you. It was just the two of you sitting towards the back, in a small booth, eating your plates of pasta. You talked, and you talked, and you talked. He spoke about how he was an actor; you could see his eyes light up at his passion for his work. He told you he was in New York for work and was filming a movie for something he couldn't legally disclose yet. Your chemistry was magnetic, and the conversation would weave in and out of different subjects. You talked about anything and everything, things like masculinity, The Beatles, the incident that happened on your 21st Birthday, batman, and everything else there was to discuss. You felt like you had known him forever. He said the same thing and referred to you two as twin flames. When you were about to leave, his phone began to ring.

"Fuckin' hell, what is it now?" He groaned. "Probably just a wrong number... or somethin'... hold on, love." He stepped outside, and you watched him on the phone. Cillian looked angry and frustrated, like he was arguing over the phone with someone. Your heart, which once rode the waves of love and joy, now sank beneath them into the deep dark depths of navy blue and dismay, watching him grow angrier and angrier and yell over the phone. He was seeing red.

When he waved for you to come out, you approached him cautiously. He huffed, puffed, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets, clearly restless. "Who was that? Are you okay?" "It was no one," He replied shortly and coldly. "I'm fine, let's go." You didn't say a word after that. The tension was thicker than the cold. You were afraid of saying anything to further upset him. So silence was the answer as he walked you home. You felt disappointed that this was how the night was ending. You wondered who it was and what they had said that had upset him so badly. The familiar apartment building you called home came closer and closer within sight, the disappointment weighing you down like water in your shoes. The disappointment tracing every inch of your freezing skin.

You stood in your elevator with him. He promised to walk you back to your unit at least, and he kept that promise. "Would you like to come in... Cillian?" You asked. You pulled out your house key and unlocked the door, looking at him hopefully.

"No, I'd better not." He remained cold and rigid with you. He couldn't even bring himself to give you a smile. You felt you'd never see him again; maybe he didn't like you the way you thought he did. Maybe he found you obnoxious and dumb. Perhaps the phone call was from another woman he realized was better than you. Maybe you simply needed to be better for him. "Goodnight, Y/N." He turned and walked away; you couldn't speak as tears welled in your eyes. Sorrow built up within you like some sort of horrible game of Jenga; one wrong move and you'd come crashing down and falling apart all over the place.

"Goodnight..." You whispered, but by then, he'd already stepped into the elevator, and the doors shut, taking him away from you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, both out of self-pity and disappointment.

When you awoke, it was to the sounds of soft raps on your front door. It was eight in the morning. Padding gently down the hallway, floorboards creaking, sleep still in your eyes, and your face puffy from the tears that leaked from your tear ducts the previous night, you opened the door, expecting it to be a neighbor asking you if they could borrow some sugar or something along those lines.

"Good morning," Cillian stood at your door, this time with a big apologetic smile, a complete change from last night's cold demeanour. He held a pink, yellow, and white bouquet and a small paper bag in his other hand. "I came here to apologize... for how I treated you last night." "Come in." You ushered him in.

He noted your knick-knacks, the photos on your walls, and your old, worn-out furniture. The way you decorated the place stood out to him, but the look on your face stood out to him the most. Sad, tired eyes, puffy and glazed over, you looked at him expectantly. "I'm so sorry." He whispered to you.

"What for?" You asked as you sat in your favorite olive green armchair. It was velvet and soft, and you'd spend most of your time writing, reading, or drinking your morning cup of coffee.

"For treating you like I didn't care," He sighed. He sat on the leather sofa beside you, gently placing the flowers on your glass coffee table and the paper bag smelling of freshly baked goods. "I don't want to discuss exactly who it was or what happened on that phone call... but I... I shouldn't have shut you out just because I was upset... that was... wrong of me, and I'm sorry." Your anger and sadness dissipated the way a fire dissipates when it's being smothered: immediately. His big blue eyes were the blanket that hushed that flame out, striking him as immediately forgiven.

"I understand, Cillian..." You mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Things happen... it's alright... I...." You wanted to confront him and tell him how insignificant and stupid he made you feel, but you swallowed it back and gave him a small smile. You remained the people pleaser you always have been. You spared his feelings over your own. "I understand." You repeated.

"I thought... I would make it up to you," He pushed the small paper bag over to you. "We could spend the day together... if you don't already have plans."

The paper bag contained a chocolate eclair. You had written a poem that mentioned eating a chocolate eclair while in a made-up love affair. The rhyming was cheesy, but it was one of Cillian's favorite poems of yours. It was the first one he had heard from you. Of course, you didn't realize the irony of it at the time. You just grinned and accepted it happily. You didn't know that you were engaging in a relationship with a man who was already married. So you took a bite of the eclair, letting him into your fragile heart, and entered this sad and tragic love affair.

So you spent the whole day together. You walked around New York City, holding hands and laughing your heads off. It felt romantic and intimate, and you got to know each other even deeper than you did before. You kissed under a stop sign and shared sweet nothings. The clouds rolled over, and the sky opened up. The rain watered you down like a pair of leaves in a pot plant, and you both ran through Central Park, trying to find the nearest shelter until you came across a large oak tree. It was something out of a movie, sitting together, soaking wet, staring at each other as lightning strikes in the distance. The wind was in your hair, and his lips were on yours.

You spent pretty much every day together after that. You made love in every room of your apartment, cherishing each other's bodies. Cillian would sit in that cafe, and he would clap after your readings and then reward you with a kiss when you got back down to him. You wrote poetry about him, and he would write some for you. It was a beautiful, quiet, little harmonious relationship you had going on. You found yourself falling in love. You thought he was, too, though you never said it out loud.

He even met your dad. They got along quite well. Your dad didn't seem to mind that Cillian was only a few years younger than him (and much older than you). Your dad just wanted to see you happy and safe. In fact, your dad told you he had never seen you more content. Cillian made your dad laugh, they got along like old friends. Seeing them bonding and getting along made you incredibly happy and excited.

On November 16th, at noon, you got ready to go to where he was staying, wrapping that red scarf around your neck again and stepping out into the living room where Cillian waited for you with eyes full of affection. You had packed a small bag since Cillian told you he was staying at his sister's house in upstate New York. She was away at the moment. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He hummed jollily. You wrapped your arm through his and went down to the lobby.

His car had that new car smell, clearly a rental. "No matter how often I've stayed in America, I never get used to driving on the wrong side of the road." Cillian chuckled, exiting his parking spot and beginning the long drive to his sister's house.

The drive was beautiful. Driving through the city and slowly entering into suburban areas, red and brown trees lining the streets, Halloween decorations on display, and music playing through the radio, you both sang along to the words happily. The drive was surreal and peaceful. You drove down a long country road, and the tall trees created a tunnel above you. Only small slits of the grey sky could be seen through the scarlet leaves.

"We're here, Y/N," Cillian smiled at you, stepping out of the car and walking off without you. You hurriedly got out of the car with your things. "Oh, lock the car for me, the button doesn't work... please, love." He tossed you the car keys, not looking where he was throwing them, and they landed in the dirt before you. You ignored how it made you feel (stupid, insignificant, small), picking up the dirty keys and locking the car manually before rushing over to where he was unlocking the door.

The house was nice and quiet and far from the rest of civilization. It felt like home somehow. It is decorated nicely with photos of his sister and her husband, even some with Cillian when he was younger. It was getting dark by now, and you set your belongings down in the guest bedroom where Cillian was staying. You never asked when he was going back to Ireland. You didn't wanna know. You wanted to appreciate your time together instead of counting down the days.

Cillian cooked you dinner and shared a long, loving kiss to say thanks. You sat cuddled up on the couch together afterwards, your crimson scarf hanging over the stair railing as you rested your head lovingly on his shoulder. An old Western movie played in the background, but you were too busy holding each other and whispering sweet things.

"Cillian..." You whispered, pressing soft kisses along his stubbly jaw. "I'm so happy you brought me here... this feels so special." "I'm so happy to have you here, Y/N." He whispered back. Cillian pulled you into his lap. "This is special, just you and me... here... I'm going to make you my own." You wanted to tell him, 'I'm already yours, Cillian; my heart and soul are yours', but you remained silent, smiling dopily at him.

And with those charming words, you kissed him. Flashes of red played through your mind, fireworks sounding off in your head as your lips danced together. His hands cradled your head as you made out nice and slow. Both in your pyjamas now, warming each other up, hands running up and down his back. Cillian's hands wandered down your back until they rested on the tops of your hips, his thumb fiddling with the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Take them off." You hummed, raising your hips slightly off of his, and he obeyed, sliding your pants off until you were only in your panties. Cillian observed how you sat back down on his lap, the lace scrunched up, showing off the curve of your ass.

"I'm going to ravish you." He growled, eyeing you up and down. The timbre of his voice caused your thighs to tightly squeeze together. He pressed you down onto the couch, slipping his pants down until he was just in his briefs. He slipped your shirt over your tits, breasts bouncing out of their containment and straight into his mouth. He sucked happily on your nipples until you were a panting mess, begging for more. "Let me feel you, sweetheart."

"Please..." You exasperated. "Please... Cillian."

Two nimble fingers slipped under your lace underwear, straight down to where your arousal pooled. "So wet f'me, always so wet, aren't you, baby?" He groaned, fingers teasing your slit before sliding back up to rub circles on your clit.

"You know what you do to me..." You breathed out, biting your cherry red lips and closing your eyes, embracing the pleasure. "Always so wet for you, Cillian..."

The way Cillian cradled you in his strong arms as his fingers caressed you to your peak was the most intimate thing you had ever experienced. His eyes watched your face contort with pleasure, mouth open and spilling sounds of satisfaction as you came on his fingers.

"That's it, baby... doing so good," He whispered, kissing your cheek. "So beautiful."

You lolled your head to the side, panting and looking at him with a dazed grin. "Please fuck me."

Cillian laughed at your words. "Such a dirty mouth!" He teased as he tugged down his pants. "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, gonna show you how much you mean to me, love."

Then, in the dim light of the TV and the moon shining through the window, you made love like it was your last night on Earth. Hands ran up and down each other's bodies, trying to savor every final touch. Lips captured together, your bodies working as one, the love was there, glimmering in the light. No words could explain how you felt then; nothing else existed to you, just him and his hands all over your body. You and him for the rest of eternity, at least; that's how it felt in your heart.

You held each other tight in bed, clinging on for dear life. You listened to his heart slow as he slept and the way he breathed. You wondered if he dreamt about you the way you dreamt of him. Eventually, you fell asleep at midnight after watching his pretty face sleeping.

At three in the morning, you wake to an empty bed. Sitting up with a sweat, where did Cillian go? You slip out from under the covers, wincing at the room's cold air that meets your bare legs. You wore one of Cillian's button-ups, only the middle button holding it together as you slowly creep out of the room, listening to the sound of quiet music from the kitchen.

"Cillian?" You called out, cautious and slightly afraid at how dark the house is. It was a lot quieter than you were used to. You were a city girl, unfamiliar with the countryside silence.

"Y/N?" You heard, which relieved your paranoid mind.

Down the stairs, Cillian stood in the fridge's light, soft music playing through a small radio on the kitchen counter. "What're you doing up, Cillian?" You worriedly walked over to him, arms reached out as he turned to look at you, only in his sleep shorts.

"Just needed a midnight snack. I'm alright, my love," He smiled sleepily, with a sheepish look since he wasn't fully awake yet. "C'mere... dance with me."

"Oh... Cillian..." You giggled, walking over to him, letting him wrap you up in his strong arms and sway you gently. "This is nice."

"Mmmm..." Cillian hummed into the soft skin of your neck.

The refrigerator remained open, the cool-tinted light painting you both as you swayed side to side. You were half asleep, and the rocking motion didn't help your drowsiness. You felt as though this was some strange dream.

"Are you real?" You whispered.

"What do you mean?" Cillian purred back.

"I just feel like I made you up." You muttered, pulling your head back to look up at him with big, sleepy eyes.

Cillian looked back at you with the same look. Your wide-eyed gaze and his sweet blue eyes looked like something out of a romance film or something you'd see in a painting. The love you shared was unanimous... or at least you thought so. A kiss and then another kiss and then another turned into a sleepy yet heated make-out.

"Gonna take you right here," He grumbled into your mouth. "My midnight snack."

You giggled at his words as he pressed you against the kitchen island countertop. Kissing so hard it felt like your lips could bruise. He ripped off your shirt and pulled it off you like it was nothing. Cillian growled at the sight of you, hands groping at your tits and lips trailing down your neck. You whimpered, letting your head hang back as he ground his stiff cock into your clothed cunt.

"Fuck!" You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips even further. You ignored the feeling of the marble countertop digging into your lower back; the feeling of his cock was too delicious, too distracting, to really let it ruin the mood. "Cillian, please, baby, just put it in me... need you so bad."

He gave you a grunt and slipped off his shorts before pulling your panties to the side. Cillian acted like a feral dog as he pushed his cock into you and began fucking you on his sister's countertops at three in the morning. The act was sinful.

"Oh god! Yes!" You wailed. You could be as loud as you wanted to out here. No one else was around to hear, and you knew how Cillian liked to hear you scream for him. His hips pistoned in and out of you, cock fitting perfectly inside you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He had never been so rough with you before, but you were enjoying it.

"Best pussy I've ever had," Cillian groaned, sweat dripping from his forehead. "Fuck... so good... feels so good."

His fingernails dug into your hips, grunting into the dips of your neck and shoulders as he chased his own high. You ran your hands up and down his back, leaving scratch marks across his shoulder blades. The fridge remained open, but right now, you didn't care. All you could think about was how good he was fucking you. Drool spilled down your chin, mind blank, and legs went limp from the euphoria taking over.

"Yeah, is that it?" Cillian muttered, voice gritty and low as his hips sputtered. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my cock?"

"Yes... oh fuck! Yes!" You moaned. "Gonna cum for you, Cillian..."

"Love the way my name sounds comin' from your mouth," He whispered, letting out a mouth-watering whine straight into your ear. Your pussy clenched around him tighter as Cillian, usually a quiet and stoic man, came undone and let out the most delectable pornographic-sounding moans. "Y'make it sound so dirty..."

"Please cum in me..." You whimpered. "Please... need it so bad."

"Really?" Cillian panted and looked at you incredulously. He had never had the pleasure of getting to cum in you yet. "You sure?"

"Yes!" You threw your head back, panting like a dog. "Please, Cillian! Please... give it to me." "Fuck... alright... gonna fill you up, love."

You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, mewling as you came around him and the feeling of his hot cum beginning to spill into you. "I love you." You gasped out, squeezing your eyes shut as you came around him. You meant it; you did love him. You had never loved anyone the way you had loved him. You could see yourself with him for the rest of your life, having his babies, getting married..., and dying together. He just groaned loudly as he came inside you, not saying a word to your confession. Maybe it wasn't the right time, or he would wait until he was done to say something.

"Fuckin' hell..." Cillian whispered as he slipped his softening length out of you and pulled his shorts back up. "Look at that..." He mumbled with amazement, getting down on his knees in front of your quivering and cum-filled pussy.

"Cillian, I-"

"Shhh..." He hushed before pressing a loving nip to your inner thigh, and then he unhinged his jaw and attached his watering mouth to your cunt. You forgot everything you were about to say at the feeling of his tongue licking you up and sucking on your swollen clit. You came again quickly due to how sensitive you were, and Cillian sucked up your gushing juices and his cum that still dripped out of you. Standing up, he grabbed you by the chin and kissed you, spitting the mixture into your mouth, tongues swirling together. You moaned at the salty taste and the dirty act. "Such a good girl..." Cillian hummed. "Swallow it, baby. Show me how good you can be for me."

He watched you gulp it down before leaning in and rewarding you with a wet and messy kiss, teeth grabbing your bottom lip before pulling away. "Cillian..." You whispered, out of breath and incredibly flustered. "That... was so good... I love-" "Let's go to sleep," He interrupted abruptly, crouching and picking up your discarded clothing. "It's real late, sweetheart."

"Oh..." You mumbled, heart breaking a little. "Okay... let's go then." You didn't get a peep of sleep that night. While Cillian snored beside you, one heavy arm draped across you and his hot breath fanning the back of your neck, you stared at the ticking clock with tears slipping down your face. Why didn't he say it back? Why didn't he at least say something? You knew he heard you. The dread built up within you that night, and daylight didn't seem to get any closer.

At 7:47 AM, you were pulled out of a state between consciousness and sleep by Cillian's phone ringing. "Fuck..." Cillian said groggily, reaching over with a heavy hand to pick up his phone. "Who is it?" You moaned out of dissatisfaction from being pulled out of your slumber.

"It's my sister..." He groaned before answering the call. "Hello?.... Yeah, it's alright... no, I don't have anything on today... you're comin' home today?... I thought you'd be home Monday..." You sat up at this, heart racing. Were you going to have to meet his sister today? You were nervous but also excited. Cillian looked over at you with a horrified look in his eye. "Yeah... alright... see you then... bye."

"...Is everything okay?" You asked cautiously.

"Yeah, I guess we're not sleepin' in..." He grunted as he got up and walked towards the en suite. "Gather yer' things, we're going back to the city." "What? Why?"

"I just don't want my sister to know I had a girl over." That was the last thing he said before shutting the bathroom door, clearly in a bad mood. Your heart sank at his words as if it wasn't already hurting. So you got up, fighting back the tears and gathered your things, shoving them back into your bag as you let out a choked sob.

Half an hour passed, Cillian was still in the shower, and you sat at the bottom of the stairs, feeling sorry for yourself. Your bag sat beside you, and the floorboards creaking behind you caught your attention. You turned and looked up at Cillian, dressed in a lovely blue turtle neck, dress pants, and a grim look on his face.

Begrudgingly, you followed him outside and into the car, then began the drive back in silence.

"You wanna grab some lunch wit' me today?" Cillian asked after about twenty minutes of silence.

"No." You said dryly.

"What? You got plans or somethin'?" Cillian asked with a chuckle. The question felt condescending and rude.

"Because what you said to me earlier really fucking hurt me." You hissed, turning to look at Cillian to see him already looking at you.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He barked back, putting his eyes back on the road and giving you that dry, condescending laugh again.

"You said you didn't want your sister to know about me.... that you didn't want your sister to know about you having a girl over."

"Yeah, and?" Cillian quipped, clearly flustered.

"Is that all I am to you?" You whimpered, trying to keep your composure, trying to seem strong. "Just a girl?" "'Course not, Y/N." He said in a hushed tone.

"Then what the fuck are we?" You raised your voice, a tear slipping down your cheek. "Why can't your sister know about me? About us?"

"B-Because..." He faltered before falling completely silent.

"Why, Cillian?" You cried. "You've met my friends... you've even met my father... for fuck's sake... why can't... why can't I meet your sister and her husband?"

He kept his silence. You could see the tears in his eyes that refused to spill. Those tears were just as stubborn as he was.

"Answer me!" You screamed, tears pouring down your exasperated face. "Say something!"

"Because I'm married!" He screeched back.

That shut you up. You leaned back and just stared at your feet. You felt like you had been winded, like all the air in the car had been sucked out, and you were choking on carbon monoxide. He was married. You sobbed as the shock set in, and Cillian pulled the car over to the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt. You fell into a state of despair; your chest felt incredibly heavy, and your brain played a loop of hopeless thoughts.

"Y/N," Cillian said firmly, reaching out and placing a soft hand on your shoulder, which you quickly smacked away. "Y/N... look at me..."

You looked over at him, and you could see him wince at the look on your face. He'd never seen you in so much pain. Never had he seen you look at him so coldly. "What?" You spat. "What is it, Cillian?"

"I... I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," You cried harder, covering your face with your hands and leaning on the dashboard. You cried so hard it felt like you could vomit. You felt like the salty tears were slowly dissolving you away. "Fuck you!" You sobbed.

"Y/N... I am sorry."

"If you were sorry..." You hiccuped, looking back at him with red eyes and tears endlessly slipping down your flustered face. "You never would have... you never would have done this to me... you never would have gotten involved with me!"

Cillian sighed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I... I stumbled into that cafe one night, and I saw you and... I heard the way you spoke... and the words you said... and I couldn't believe you were real... and things haven't been amazing in my marriage lately... and I haven't seen my wife in months..." He was rationalizing with you... with the infidelity. "I... I've never met anyone like you."

"You lied to me."

"How was I supposed to tell you I was married, Y/N?" Cillian snapped at you, looking at you with fangs barred. "What was I supposed to say to you?"

"You didn't have to say anything," You sobbed. "You shouldn't have invited me to dinner... you shouldn't have even... you shouldn't have ever shown up to those reading sessions... you just shouldn't have gotten involved with me in the first place!"

"My wife doesn't have to know."

"That... doesn't make it any better," You bawled. "You have a woman... back in Ireland fucking waiting for you, and I'm here... thinking I'm falling in love with you while you fuck me over!"

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, defeated. "I'm so sorry."

Silence.

"Do you feel anything for me?" "Of course, I feel something for you, Y/N... you're-"

"Do you love me?" You corrected. "Could you say you truly and honestly love me?" "I..." He looked away at that. You scoffed and shook your head, wiping tears off your face. "I don't... I don't know... I just..." "What the fuck was going to happen between us?" You cried. "How was this going to end? This was always going to end tragically... wasn't it? Wasn't it, Cillian?"

"I didn't... I never thought about how I was going to end things... I go back home in December... filming ends in two weeks... I was going to spend the last few weeks with you..." You scoffed again loudly. "Aww... how sweet! Spend your last few days with your mistress, who's twenty years younger than you... and then fuck off back to Ireland and go be with your loving wife and your... oh god... you have kids, don't you?" "Yes... I..." "Fuck!" You screamed. It wasn't like you to be so angry. You weren't usually this loud. But the pain was just too much, and you needed some way to get the pent-up rage within you out. "So this is it... this is going to be the last time I'll ever see you."

"It doesn't have to be that way, love," Cillian whispered, placing a hand on your arm; this time, you let it stay there. The shame of having him touch you made you sob again. "We could... spend this last month together... we could... cherish what we have while we still have it." "What we have is gone," You replied. "It's gone! It's dead! You killed it! You can't even say you love me."

"What good would that do?" He pushed you further over the edge. "I mean... I could lie and say I love you... I could feed into your fantasies that this... this could last... but it's not..."

Those words 'I could lie and say I love you' echoed over and over again in your head.

"I know that!" You yelped.

There was a pause. The silence hanging heavy in the autumn air and your teardrops falling into your lap where your hands lay curled up. Cillian's thumb rubbed circles into your arm, and you only cried harder.

"Maybe... if we had been closer in age... maybe we would have... maybe we would have been fine." Cillian broke the silence with that banger. The words ringing in your ears, you didn't reply. You didn't utter a word. Those words made you want to die. A minute or two went past. You just ignored him, ignored the way his hand lit your skin on fire, and ignored the way his eyes bore holes into the side of your skull. "Y/N?"

"Take me home." You muttered.

"Y/N..." He whispered.

"Take me the fuck home, Cillian."

And so he did. He pulled out of the parking spot, and you spent the next hour in an agonizing silence. At some point, the tears stopped falling, and the stupidity sunk in. You felt stupid and ashamed. You had told everyone about him, how happy you were, how handsome and funny... and how sweet he was. And now you sat in the car of a man you felt like you didn't know.

"We're here, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Cillian."

"Please don't do this." He begged, you looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes. "Please." You sucked in a breath, his eyes pleaded with you, and you wanted to stay so badly... you wanted to give him one last kiss and say, 'I understand,' but you knew you couldn't. You were too heartbroken. It was going to end one way or another... and it might as well end now.

"Goodbye, Cillian." You said once more before stepping out of the car and walking off into your building. Never looking back to see the broken man in the car, crying just as hard as you did, loving you just as hard as you did him.

Three months went by. There wasn't a day where you didn't think of him. Not a day passed when you yearned for his touch and to feel him hold you again. You thought about dancing with him in the refrigerator light. You thought about his hand on your thigh as you drove upstate. The memories all too real and... all too there.

And tonight, as snow fell outside, you stood at that same podium, reading the poem you wrote for him. You could barely utter the words, your heart catching in your throat as you looked around the room and spoke the words written on the page.

"Just between us, I remember it all too well." You finished, and the room clapped, but the applause didn't matter. Your heart still felt just as broken as it did the day you left him.

And as you descended from the podium, people would pat you on the back and murmur praises for how well-written your poem was and how well-spoken you were. But your eyes were focused on the hazy figure outside the cafe, the silhouette all too familiar.

And it was wearing that same red scarf you had left behind.

And you knew it was him, watching you from afar. Loving you from a distance... remembering it the same way as you did...

All too well.

hope you enjoyed!! Sorry this was all over the place a bit but I really wanted to write something angsty... anyway... there are lots of little easter eggs and references to the song, did you pick them all up? Okay byeee!

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

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spookyserenades · 8 months

Text

Trouvaille - Chapter Nine

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 21.8k

Trouvaille Masterlist

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Updates on the 7th of each month

Dana here! Hope you all had a lovely summer, and are excited for the autumn months. Welcome to Chapter Nine! A fairly fluffy update, I hope you all enjoy. Just a bit of spookiness at the end, and a fair bit of witchiness going on on in this chapter. As always, I love to hear your thoughts and feedback, and thank you for reading Trouvaille! Stay tuned for the October Samhain update ;)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Y/N! Right on time, dear, come on in,” Judy exclaimed as soon as the rattling witch bells on the door to her shop clattered against the glass with Y/N’s arrival.

The shop was hazy, filled with syrupy palo santo smoke, and the CD player was already pulsing hypnotic Enya through the speakers. Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, Y/N headed towards the back of the shop while dodging the crowded tables of inventory, where Judy was poking her frizzy head of hair out from behind the beaded curtains to the reading rooms. Y/N deposited her tote bag and lunch on the counter behind the register, hurrying after Judy who had disappeared into the recesses of the reading rooms.

“Good morning, Judy, how have you been?” Y/N cheerily greeted the older woman, who was sorting through a large piece of furniture with many drawers in the smallest room closest to the back of the building. The darkened room was filled with candlelight, at least thirty different potted plants, a low table littered with crystals and two round cushions to sit on.

“Just fine, just fine…” Judy replied distractedly, Y/N unsure as to what she should be doing. She didn’t even know when the shop was going to be open for business, let alone what her responsibilities for the day were yet. Judy made a noise of triumph, locating something she was fishing around for in a deep drawer with a grin on her sun-weathered face. “So, Y/N. I hope you don’t mind, but every time I hire someone new, I like to do a little reading on them beforehand. Think of it as a free psychic check-in.”

Judy lithely positioned herself on one of the cushions, using one hand to gesture towards the free seat across from her, a deck of cards in the other. Card reading, Y/N thought– that’s what started the last disaster for her, and it had her stomach roiling with acid. It wasn’t like she could decline, however, so Y/N nodded politely, sinking into the lumpy cushion on the floor and twiddled her thumbs as Judy lit up yet another stick of palo santo to burn.

Twitching with nerves, Y/N observed Judy shuffle her ancient looking Tarot cards overhand, mentally demanding the clusters of clear quartz and amethyst on the table to protect her from a janky reading.

“How’s your mom? Haven’t seen her in a few weeks,” Judy asked conversationally, a couple of cards flying out of her grip and floating onto the table face-down.

“Oh, she’s well. Very busy with the book club lately, and when she isn’t busy with that, she’s been into oil painting recently,” Y/N blinked, wondering if the reading would be about family matters.

“Did she ever tell you about that reading we did for you last year?” Judy paused her shuffling, selecting a card carefully from the back as if it was on fire and placing it on the table, once again face-down.

Grimacing, Y/N shook her head. Y/N didn’t usually feel comfortable doing readings about other people when they weren’t aware of it, but her mother held no such opinion. In fact, for most of her life Y/N’s mother performed all kinds of readings for Y/N; career, love, success… Judy often helped out, since she was a more practiced card reader. Y/N assumed that her mother had finally listened to her and stopped going behind her back, as she had stopped telling her about readings a little over a year ago, but apparently she had been mistaken.

Judy was quiet for a few moments, selecting a few more cards seemingly at random, until there was a grand total of ten of them in front of her on the table, Judy finally sparing Y/N a kind, but mysterious smile.

“I know you’re not fond of her snooping around with the cards, she hasn’t been doing it lately, I assure you. Last August was the most recent reading we did for you. It was a love reading,” Judy informed her, brushing a curly lock of hair from her face. Grimace deepening, Y/N internally groaned– was it that depressing that her mom finally gave up on trying to find her someone to date?

“Oh… It’s probably best if I don't hear anything about it. My dating life is drier than the Sonoran Desert, especially over this past year,” Y/N chuckled weakly, Judy nodding in understandment.

“That’s quite alright, dear… relax, Y/N, this is just a basic reading,” Judy soothed, beginning to turn over the cards. They weren’t traditional Tarot, so Y/N was unable to cheat and read them herself, but the images on the cards were spellbinding and radiated a primordial energy.

Y/N focused on the Enya track playing from the front of the store, Judy staring at the cards and occasionally shutting her eyes as she read them. Judy had a very careful poker face, from years of practice and carrying out readings, so Y/N wasn’t able to glean anything from the psychic’s expression.

“There’s been a lot of change for you recently. Most of it good change,” Judy spoke at last, as Y/N began to fiddle with one of the quartz points on the table. “Definite conflict. Something uncomfortable happened on the full moon. There are many strong personalities around you right now, complicated people.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Y/N’s breath whooshed out as she agreed, trying not to think about the ‘uncomfortable’ full moon event.

“This reading matches up with the one from last year. Seven different male energies. Two of them I met last week,” Judy murmured carefully, Y/N’s eyes going owlishly wide. Clearly, she was referring to Namjoon and Jeongguk, during their outing for ice cream and the music shop.

“I thought you said that reading was a love reading? I adopted seven male hybrids about a week ago,” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. Never in the history of ever did she have seven men after her affection at once, especially a year ago, and her hybrids were companions, not her lovers.

Judy stared at her expectantly, brushing her fingertips over a couple of the cards. She pointed to two cards with confidence.

“Here, The Green Man and The Stag. They were with you that day, the latter bought those lovely red candles,” Judy tapped on the cards as she spoke, Y/N’s curiosity climbing with every word she spoke. “These men have been in your orbit for over a year. For whatever reason, the eight of you are all connected… I haven’t seen anything like this in a long time. Each of you is represented by a Major Arcana archetype.”

“You’re saying these adoptions I’ve made have been a year in the making?” Y/N whispered in bewilderment, thinking back to when she had broken the news of the adoptions to her mother. Now that she had this new insight, her mother’s reaction did seem a bit rehearsed– had she known about it all this time?

“I think it’s no coincidence that the cards are the same as they were back then. The energies are all the same, masculine, wild… a few of them darker, mysterious, others troubled, sad… Like I said, you are surrounded by complicated people. Or hybrids, as we now understand it,” Judy studied the cards, Y/N leaning over to take a better look at them herself.

The Seer, the most feminine card– was her, undoubtedly. The faint energy of the card she could detect felt familiar to her, like peering into a glassy lake and spotting her reflection. There was The Shaman, The Archer, The Hooded Man, The Guardian, and The Woodward, apart from the other two Judy had mentioned– The Green Man and The Stag. She could hardly guess who was who besides Namjoon and Jeongguk, as she was unfamiliar with that Tarot deck and she hadn’t practiced energy work in years; she hadn’t even attempted to get a good energy reading on herself lately, let alone any of her hybrids.

“I still don’t understand why it came up as a love reading last year. I hadn’t even met any of them yet, romance… that’s just–” Y/N began, rapidly shaking her head.

Sure, her hybrids were kind, affectionate, handsome, and she cared for them deeply already, but considering a romantic relationship with any of them was something she usually shut down within two seconds. She was more focused on getting to know them, establishing solid friendships, getting them involved with fun clubs and activities they enjoyed, and helping them work through some of their tricky pasts. Still, it was increasingly harder to deny that she wasn’t falling for a handful, if not all of them lately, and her attempts to push away the possibility of romance blooming between her and any of the hybrids had become harder and harder.

“I haven’t seen something like this in a long time,” Judy repeated lightly, a strange look on her face. “It’s almost like you’re soulmates…”

“How can one person possibly have seven soulmates,” Y/N started laughing in utter disbelief, praying the floor would open up and suck her into the pits of hell. Accepting this job was a terrible idea, now she was consumed with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts.

“Besides that, Y/N, there’s another element. You’ll be stepping into a period in your life where the spiritual realm is more important to you and your path than ever. Here, take this,” Judy offered her the guide book for the deck she was using, Y/N accepting it like it was a live pipe bomb. “Take a picture of this spread with your phone, and look it over later. You may find it enlightening.”

As Y/N did as she was told, Judy merrily carried on after the picture was taken and put the cards away, stubbing out the palo santo and standing. Y/N didn’t quite know how to process what she’d been told, but Judy acted like she had just read off of a phone book, leading her back out into the main shop and showing her the basics of operating the 1950’s register. Judy explained that she only had two readings that morning, then she’d have to pop out for the rest of the day to go to a crystal auction, so Y/N would have to lock up at 4PM. Her day seemed straightforward, simply ringing up any merchandise sales and answering basic questions (she had studied the packet of wares a bit before bed the past two nights, so at least she was prepared). Judy told her to expect it to be slow for a Monday, and encouraged her to get any reading done. Thankfully, she brought a random hybrid guidebook with her, so she was excited to get cracking on that.

Y/N was in her head a little bit for most of the morning; nobody came in to buy anything and only the scheduled reading appointments showed up, so Y/N was able to busy herself with plucking items off the shelves for the wards she’d place around the property the following week, as well as things she’d need for the banishment if it came to it. She also found a beautiful deck of Tarot cards, printed with earth tones and woodland creatures, thinking it might be a nice gift for Namjoon for his birthday, and was able to check herself out and move onto scrolling on her phone for a bit after Judy departed for the crystal auction.

Trying to put the card reading out of her mind, she decided to put all of her attention on tying up loose ends from her to-do list; starting with looking for clubs for the hybrids to join, preferably while she was at work. At the local rec center near her house, she found basketball, track, and swimming teams, fine arts, pottery and photography classes, even film and music clubs, all hybrid specific. There were a few other tabs she brought up; how to establish a paranormal investigation group, horse riding and boarding for beginners, and junkyards near me.

She had her first customer after lunch, which turned out to be a delicious Japanese-style egg salad sandwich, some chips in a plastic Ziploc bag, a string cheese, and a tangerine with a mini bottle of water, and she made sure to text Yoongi and thank him again– a selfie attached with a segment of tangerine between her fingertips.

Directing the customer to a shelf full of herbs that can be scooped by the store patrons themselves, pointing out where the mugwort was, Y/N hummed, feeling somewhat at home in the metaphysical shop, even after the mind-boggling reading she received from her new boss. Knowing that it would be a few days before she could delve deeper into the meaning of the reading, likely after Jeongguk’s birthday and in between her next piano lesson with Yoongi, Y/N pushed it into the further recesses of her mind. There was simply no space to entertain romance, as tempting as it was, at this point– that’s what she told herself, as she dove into the first chapter of Kodiak Bear Hybrids for Dummies.

The next few days were relatively mundane; Y/N had picked Namjoon and Seokjin up from the book club Monday evening with $195 worth of Greek food in her trunk, each of them sporting little smiles and beat-up copies of The Stranger. The weather was stormy on Tuesday and was made up of her practicing Twinkle Twinkle in the music room and reading in the parlor with the hybrids while they watched mindless superhero movies, before she returned to another slow day at work the next morning.

From there, Wednesday had her presenting the teams, classes, and clubs she had amassed in a big spreadsheet to the hybrids, which she printed and stuck to the fridge, telling them to think about it and mark down anything they’d be interested in. Come Thursday, Jeongguk’s birthday, nothing had been marked up at all, simultaneously dampening her spirits but also frustrating her with how stubborn her hybrids could be. For Christ’s sake, the activities were free, so long as they resided in the area with their adopted guardian, which had them covered. Y/N wasn’t going to let it get her down though– Judy had let her go at 3PM to prepare for Jeongguk’s birthday dinner, which had her practically vibrating as she arrived home and kicked off her shoes.

She planned to make the rice bowls that he had enjoyed so much closer to when she first adopted him, all of the prep already done with a little proactive measures she had taken in the weepingly early hours of the morning. Y/N hadn’t seen very much of Jeongguk in the past few days; true to his word he had been ‘gory as hell’ with his velvet shedding, and kept mostly to his room to contain the mess of the blood and flesh from getting all over the house.

“You want me to make some tamagoyaki to go with this?” Yoongi began picking up chopsticks she’d placed by a bowl of eggs, appearing out of thin air with his ears perked up in her direction. These days, Yoongi was her constant companion, making her lunch to take to work, presenting her with her coffee in the morning, and was clinging like glue, not to mention.

The leopard hybrid always materialized into the kitchen prior to dinner, and Y/N didn’t know whether or not it was an unspoken game to see who could make dinner first, but she didn’t complain. Especially when they often shared a wine glass, and he’d constantly put a hand on her lower back when navigating around the kitchen.

“Please, do. It was so good the last time,” Y/N encouraged, scraping her stir-fried veggies into a dish to be microwaved later. Yoongi nodded while rolling up the sleeves of his satiny black button down, getting to work. So far, it seemed like Seokjin and Namjoon had kept their promise of keeping the secret of Jeongguk’s birthday under wraps.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Yoongi commented while pouring beaten egg into the rectangle pan, his spotted tail winding around her thigh as she worked on the steak at the stove. “You seem more spirited than usual.”

“Hmm. Pass the glass,” Y/N covered the pan she was working on, an obscene amount of steak resting within. She had made more than enough rice for 20 people, trying to ensure Jeongguk had a pleasant birthday celebration with plenty of food. She’d even stopped on the way home from work for a rather large order of pork dumplings that were crispening up in the air fryer as an extra treat. After a beat, Yoongi handed over their shared glass of pinot grigio, skillfully rolling up a batch of tamagoyaki. “It’s Jeongguk’s birthday, I’m throwing him a little party between all of us.”

She whispered the latter part of her statement directly into Yoongi’s human set of ears, hoping that the elk hybrid stowed away in his room couldn’t hear. Yoongi, freezing for a moment before breaking out into laughter at her serious expression, placed his roll of tamagoyaki on a plate before beginning another helping of it.

“No shit. You’re full of surprises, sweetheart,” Yoongi managed over his chortling, Y/N rolling her eyes and leaving the leopard hybrid by the stove.

She didn’t go all out, no balloons, streamers or banners; but Y/N had her wrapped gifts for Jeongguk clumped together on the coffee bar, which she had stashed in the back of her car for two days and wrapped at work during her lunch break. She kept it simple; just his cheesecake, which was getting room temperature in the hardly used dining room and out of sight to bring out at the last moment (complete with candles), the gifts, and the meal she noted he enjoyed the most since she met the elk hybrid. Y/N had gone as far as picking up a small, foiled order of the baked ziti from Sal’s on the way home for Jeongguk along with the dumplings, the little boat already warming up in one of the ovens for him.

She felt like it was time, Yoongi had finished the tamagoyaki, and everything was practically in place. Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin were in the parlor watching Indiana Jones, and the remaining three hybrids were in their bedrooms, so all Y/N had to do was stand in the foyer and slightly raise her voice to call everyone to the kitchen. Despite Jeongguk’s graphic goriness with his velvet shedding, even making Y/N shudder with the blood, torn ligament, and loose flesh hanging from his antlers, the elk hybrid always appeared for dinner, and she was feeling giddy.

“Smells good! You two have worked hard, as always,” Hoseok commented while his slides slapped noisily against the tiled floor, strolling in from the entrance from the parlor, Seokjin and Jimin close behind. If anything, her hybrids loved to eat.

In the spirit of celebrating birthdays, Y/N popped open two chilled bottles of champagne to divide into eight glasses, smirking at the surprised sounds of the various hybrids coagulating in the kitchen and finding random seats. No one ever sat in the same spot, which was something she really found interesting.

Taehyung and Namjoon made their appearances at the same time, both of them with poorly masked disdain for one another painted across their faces, but Y/N refused to have her mood be dampened. The week was going by smoothly, the hybrids were adjusting, and she was focused on surprising Jeongguk. He was, after all, the last to enter the room.

While waiting for the elk hybrid, and listening to Seokjin trying to stave off some of the other hybrids from digging into the food before everyone was present, Y/N snuck into the dining room and brought the cheesecake out onto the island with a smug grin. Everything was set once she put the gifts around the cake, slightly ignoring some of the confused noises coming from Hoseok at the breakfast nook.

“Is it a holiday?” Hoseok finally vocalized, round cocoa eyes zeroing in on the cake and gift bags on the counter. At the same time, Y/N heard the heavy, stomping tread thundering down the main staircase, indicating Jeongguk’s arrival to the kitchen at any second. She shook her head, absently rummaging for matches in the drawer by the cake to light the candles after dinner.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jeongguk appeared in the threshold of the kitchen, his smoky voice agitated and suspicious, and a thick trail of blood smeared against his cheek– his antlers a crown of gore. Startled, Y/N felt the matchbook slip from her fingers and clatter to the granite countertop, taken off guard by his blood staining his face and cream colored tee shirt, his expression stormy and guarded.

“Oh! Uh…” suddenly at a loss for words, Y/N felt seven pairs of eyes on her pausing for her explanation as to why they were indulging in cheesecake and champagne on a random Thursday evening. There wasn’t much to say other than the obvious, even if it somehow felt odd now that she was meeting Jeongguk’s wary gaze. “It’s your birthday Jeongguk, I thought we should celebrate!”

Aside from Yoongi’s muted amused snickers from the sink, where he was soaking pans, no one spoke, apparently waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Jeongguk to react. The elk hybrid appeared frozen in time, staring at Y/N with the intensity of one thousand suns, a shred of velvet unceremoniously shedding from a bony and bloodied antler and promptly landing on his shoulder. The timing would have made her laugh, had she not been so distracted by how perturbed Jeongguk looked.

“Seriously? How old are you today, elk? 23?” Hoseok finally broke the silence with impatience underlying the questions, eyeing a champagne flute from his spot on an island barstool with impatience.

“I–” Jeongguk coughed thickly, eyes tearing from Y/N’s face to stare at the wrapped gifts on the counter, his face draining of color. “What…?”

“He’s 25 today, Hoseok,” Y/N replied offhand, not only too busy watching Jeongguk go from bristly to flabbergasted, rooted to his spot in the threshold of the kitchen, but also realizing the elk hybrid had surpassed her in age already. Officially, she was the youngest in the house, and the one responsible for everyone within it.

Acting before she could think too much about it, she moved towards Jeongguk, actually able to herd him over to a seat at the island with a hand wrapped around his strong forearm, the elk hybrid apparently too stunned to react to both her touch and the surprise. Promptly, she shoved a flute of champagne into his tattooed fist as his ass hit the barstool before divvying out glasses to everyone else, thankful for the light soft rock playlist she had playing from her portable speaker on the coffee bar to make up for lack of conversation.

“Okay, who needs rice?” Yoongi either sensed Y/N’s nerves or was voracious himself, wielding a rice paddle and plopping great servings into large cereal bowls, his champagne glass pinched in his other hand delicately as he worked.

All at once, the tension broke– Jimin, Seokjin and Taehyung had crawled to the island for their rice, and the room was full of dodging one another to stack ingredients into their bowls so they could dig into dinner. When Y/N pulled the enormous helping of dumplings out of the air fryer, it was as if she had handed all of them one million dollars, and before she could even place the baking sheet on the counter, there were less than a dozen dumplings left. She was thankful that ever since Taehyung and Namjoon’s fight, it seemed that whatever tense or awkward situation would dissolve soon after it cropped up– but Y/N was still observing Jeongguk out of the corner of her eye, robotically filling his bowl of rice with steak and vegetables with the faintest blush dancing across his high cheekbones.

“Happy birthday Jeongguk,” Y/N repeated, planting herself in the barstool beside him once she had elbowed Hoseok away from the oven, the hot foiled dish of ziti in her mitted hand sliding across the island as she placed it beside the elk hybrid.

Jeongguk paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth with a clump of rice and half of a dumpling, eyeing both her and the little covered tray she offered sideways. At least he wasn’t violently angry that she had surprised him with a party, she concluded.

“What’s this?” Jeongguk muttered gruffly, using his nose to jerk towards the foil.

Behind her, she could hear Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jimin talking about films they had watched together that week at the breakfast nook while Namjoon listened quietly beside them, as well as registering some open-mouthed chewing that made her cringe. Taehyung was on her other side, silent of course, and Hoseok decided to cut his losses and sit beside the Kodiak hybrid– though, Hoseok seemed quite content with pouring himself a second glass of champagne and occasionally shouting over his shoulder to join in on the conversation from the breakfast nook.

“Can’t you tell with those senses of yours?” Y/N teased, Jeongguk rolling his eyes as he chewed. “Sal’s ziti. I picked some up for you after work– your birthday only comes once a year, after all!”

Jeongguk must have known what it was, but he still appeared taken aback, ignoring the inferno-hot temperature of the foil as he reached over to peel it back and examine the ziti. His face became unreadable, lip ring pulled between his teeth as he jabbed a noodle with his chopsticks.

“Why?” Jeongguk questioned softly, the raspiness of his voice still audible over the Steely Dan song that was pulsing over the speaker, even if she had to lean closer to hear him. His question puzzled her.

“What do you mean, ‘why’? It’s your birthday, Jeongguk,” Y/N replied equally softly, trying not to dissolve into sand when her eyes locked with his own inky stare. “I noticed how much you liked it at the cookout, so consider it a birthday gift from Sal’s family. Save room for dessert though, there’s still cake.”

With her last statement, she nodded towards the cheesecake that was sitting a few feet away from him, Jeongguk looking like he didn’t know whether to shit or go blind as he looked from her, the cake, the wrapped gifts obviously for him, and the meal he was currently enjoying.

“Y/N,” Hoseok snatched her attention for a moment, the fox hybrid leaning over Taehyung with the champagne bottle, topping her glass off and lifting an eyebrow at the Kodiak hybrid leaning back in his barstool to put space between them. “That chart you put up on the fridge, with the clubs. Can you tell me more about some of them?”

She clinked glasses with Hoseok as he smirked at her, pleased that he’d actually brought it up. Hoseok was definitely the most extroverted and outgoing hybrid she had adopted, while the rest of them were a bit more on the reserved side. It was one of the many reasons she and Hoseok got along so well– he was often the one to engage her in sarcastic banter, shriek at the TV at the same time she did, and initiate drinking games or conversations during mealtimes– their personalities were pretty similar.

“Yeah, sure! Any ones you were interested in, particularly, honey?” Y/N took a sip of her champagne, the fruity bubbles popping and peppering her upper lip with moisture.

“The sports teams,” Hoseok replied simply, Y/N noting that Hoseok was acting like there was nothing but air between him and her, Taehyung all but an apparition as he glued himself to the back of his barstool and nursed his own glass of champagne while he soaked in the conversation.

“Thought that would be your answer,” Y/N chuckled, stirring some rice around in her bowl with an easy smile. “Well, all their teams run year-round, but they’re broken up seasonally so you get week-long breaks between each season. I read on the rec website that they’ll move teams indoors during the fall/winter seasons, the basketball and track teams, I believe. There’s also a swimming team… if you pick one, they provide the athletic wear or swimsuits, and practices are four times a week, games or tournaments every couple of weeks depending on the sport you choose.”

Hoseok munched on a crispy bit of pork dumpling in deep contemplation, Y/N almost able to see the wheels turning in his head as he processed her words. Suddenly, he leaned backwards in his barstool, craning his neck towards the breakfast nook to catch the attention of some of the hybrids seated there.

“Hey. Jimin, Jin? What do you think, should we join a team? How about the swimming team– Jinnie, you have the shoulders for it,” Hoseok mused, Seokjin spitting out a bit of champagne on the floor as a look of pure horror and dread crossed over his fine features.

“N-no!” Seokjin gasped, almost appearing as if he was petrified that Hoseok would even ask him something so outrageous. “Please, no–”

“Jesus, Jin, okay, just say you don’t want to wear a speedo next time,” Hoseok rolled his eyes, his signature whistle tone following the jab.

Y/N, however, found Seokjin’s response to Hoseok’s offer completely out of character for the jaguar hybrid. He looked genuinely disturbed and frightened over the mere suggestion of swimming, his complexion on the side of green, his hands visibly shaking as he clutched his chopsticks with whitened knuckles.

“Sorry, Hoseok. I think I’ll be busy working on the stable, for now. Maybe in the spring I’ll take up a sport with you,” Jimin added to Hoseok’s disappointment, the fox hybrid’s ears drooping a little in response.

“Whatever, you guys are boring. I was leaning more towards the track team, anyways…” Hoseok brightened up after a beat, once again letting things roll right off of his shoulders. “Is it alright if I sign up for that, Y/N?”

“Of course it is! Whatever you guys want to sign up for is totally fine with me,” Y/N blushed, feeling a little odd about her role in the household once more. She wasn’t used to people asking for her permission to do things they wanted to do with their lives.

“What a shame, Foxy. I was thinking about joining the basketball team,” Yoongi vocalized from his spot beside a still queasy looking Seokjin, a lazy smirk curling his pouty lips up into the apple of his cheek.

“You play basketball, Yoongi?” Y/N asked, turning her body to gawk at the leopard hybrid with surprise. She would have bet a large sum of money that Yoongi would have been interested in the music club over sports, but then again– she learned something new about each hybrid every second she spent with them.

“Yeah, you know that outdoor court over in Chinatown? There was a kind-of team of a few guys I knew by the bar I worked at, I played with them whenever I was off the clock. Which wasn’t very often,” Yoongi responded, his hazel irises glittering in the low light of the kitchen as he met her eyes.

“Oh yeah, Reggie Wong Memorial Park? God, I used to walk by there all the time in college…” Y/N murmured mostly to herself, that nagging feeling that was more frequently popping up that she must have seen Yoongi around before. Boston was a small city, and the fact that he hung around in an area that happened to be within her old college stomping grounds seemed like no coincidence to her.

Hoseok began to bicker with Yoongi from across the room, the fox hybrid apparently not a fan of basketball and attempting to convince Yoongi to join the track team with him. Giggling, Y/N turned her body back to her meal, but her attention was snagged once more by Taehyung, who tugged lightly at the sleeve of her blouse.

“Mm? What’s that, Tae?” Y/N shifted closer to the Kodiak hybrid, unable to hear his quiet voice over the banter from behind her and the music still playing from the speaker.

“Photography? Was that one of the clubs?” Taehyung repeated into her ear, some of his curls tickling the cartilage making up the shell as his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Taehyung kept mostly to himself since the night of ‘The Incident’ or so she had deemed it, so having him so close and speaking to her directly was something that had her heart speeding up in her chest.

“It was. Do you want to give it a try?” Y/N cocked her head, searching Taehyung’s face for a crack in his stoicism. It was there, as much as she believed he was trying to mask it from her, but his eyes rounded out in vulnerability as she read his expression and it was his give away.

Taehyung nodded slightly, biting down on his lip softly as he returned to his dinner, ceasing to say anything more. Deciding to let it go, knowing that Taehyung had opened up before and would again in his own time, she focused on finishing her rice and making a mental note to tackle filling out all of the forms for the clubs each hybrid wanted to join the next day; she’d have to do it promptly so they could participate for the autumn season.

Y/N was usually the last to finish her meal. The hybrids always ate with such speed she often worried that one of them would wind up choking, and that night was no different. She kept one eye on Jeongguk beside her, who had ended up not only finishing his entire rice bowl but was currently plowing through the last third of the ziti.

Heaving herself off of her stool, she assisted Hoseok and Taehyung with loading up the dishwasher and wiping down the counters in preparation for serving the cake. Namjoon had managed to sneak his way to the island, taking Y/N’s former seat once Taehyung had got up, surreptitiously glancing at the cake every once in a while with longing. Y/N noticed the wolf hybrid had a bit of a preference for sweets, though she believed he was unaware of how obvious his preference was. She could tell by the way his tail would wag a little faster at the sight of a baked good, his amber eyes becoming just a bit sparklier. It was a trait that softened some of Namjoon’s rougher edges, in her mind.

“Aw, we’re out of champagne,” Hoseok whined, shaking an empty bottle in one of his fists once he finished wiping down the counter by the sink. Snorting, Y/N shook her head.

“I have the rest of the case in my car. I’ll go grab it before we have cake,” Y/N reached up to pat Hoseok’s head fondly, her fingertips gliding through his soft mahogany strands. Hoseok shuddered, though an amused smile stretched across his face at the contact.

“I’ll take care of the rest of the clean up with Taehyung,” Hoseok promised in response, going as far as wiping down the faucet with the rag he was holding.

“That eager for another glass, huh? Alright, alright, I’ll go now,” Y/N teased, visually sweeping the kitchen for the other hybrid’s glasses– most of the flutes were drained.

She hadn’t drank all week, herself, and it was officially the start of her long weekend… Y/N figured she might as well get buzzed if they were going to celebrate Jeongguk’s birthday properly. She side-stepped around Taehyung, who was placing pots back in their rightful spots, while she used a hand to soothe down his flannel-clad back with a pleased grumble coming from his chest as she did so.

Humming along to the Pink Floyd song that had come on, Y/N headed towards the foyer with her car keys swinging around her pointer finger, ready to stick a straw in one of those champagne bottles after the jam-packed week she had. She made it about three steps into the foyer before a hand clasped hers from behind, Y/N startled that she realized exactly who it was without even turning around. Tender grip, interlaced digits, crooked fingers slotting between hers, the scent of eucalyptus. Seokjin.

“Hi Jin, want to get some fresh air?” Y/N peered up at his gorgeous face, his ears fluttering slightly. Nodding, he let her tug at his hand, pulling him to the front door.

“You said there was a case of champagne in your car. I thought you might need some help,” Seokjin offered once she led him out to the porch, the sun finally slipping beneath the treeline and the sky a dusky purple.

“Aw, you know I can lift things, right?” Y/N bumped her hip into Seokjin, even though she was appreciative to have a moment alone with him. She hadn’t really had a chance to spend one-on-one time with the jaguar hybrid in a while, he had been quite enraptured with the book club selection of the week, and she had been busy at work and running around preparing for Jeongguk’s party. Truthfully, she missed the sweet moments she shared with Seokjin.

“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Seokjin muttered cutely, waiting for her to pop open the trunk to the Land Cruiser. Giggling, she squeezed his hand, his thumb brushing over her wrist bone before she released him, sitting down on the back of her car and gazing up at the sky. She had some nagging questions for Seokjin, and wondered if it would be wise to bring any of them up while she had this moment alone with him, away from the other hybrids.

“Seokjin,” Y/N uttered softly, feeling the car bounce with his weight once he sat beside her, similarly admiring the twilight sky. He hummed, indicating he was listening, Y/N able to feel his body heat with how close he was to her; their shoulders mere inches away. “How did the book club go on Monday? I’m sorry I haven’t asked until now.”

Distantly, Y/N could still hear music coming from inside of the home, as well as Hoseok’s loud, boisterous laughter, but all she could focus on were the crickets in the grasses of the front yard and the sound of Seokjin’s soft breathing beside her. There was an underlying sound, a sort of muted rumble that came from beside her, making her cheeks flush– she noticed that both Seokjin and Yoongi often purred quietly when in close proximity to her, like overgrown house cats.

“Oh, don’t be sorry, you’ve been so busy this week,” Seokjin shook his head, scooching a bit closer to her as he spoke so that their thighs touched. “I enjoyed it. I didn’t participate much because I hadn’t read the book they were discussing, but listening to everyone’s thoughts was fun. Your mom was kind though, I didn’t feel out of place like I thought I would. Namjoon… it was interesting, seeing him like that.”

“Namjoon? How so?” Y/N wondered, eyebrows furrowing.

“He’s insightful, he sort of led the discussion. He’s more quiet and calculating, here, at home,” Seokjin commented, leaning back on his hands. Y/N hummed, trying to conjure up an image of Namjoon engaging in elaborate conversations amongst a group setting– the thought was mystifying.

As always, there was a comfortable lull in conversation between her and the jaguar hybrid; one that felt cozy, like they were sharing a space to soak in surroundings and enjoy each other's quiet presences. Still, there were so many things she wanted to know about Seokjin– while she felt quite close to him already, the jaguar hybrid had yet to offer her any kind of information into his past. Y/N didn’t feel like she was owed personal information from Seokjin, however, she was interested as to why he had been so horrified when Hoseok had brought up the prospect of joining the swim team together.

“Hey, Seokjin… can I ask you something?” Y/N lowered her voice, wanting the conversation to be as private as she could make it, considering Seokjin was certainly one of the more shy hybrids.

“Sure,” Seokjin replied after a moment, likely sensing her hesitancy. Y/N could feel the sleek, silky black fur of his tail curling around the bare skin of her lower back under her crop top, and the weight of his fiery eyes studying her profile analytically.

“Earlier, I noticed your reaction to Hoseok asking about you joining the swimming club. You looked upset, and I was wondering why…” Y/N fidgeted with her hands in her lap, recalling the day she brought Seokjin home.

Y/N had offered him her copy of Lord of the Rings the afternoon he had woken up from his fever the day she met him, and she could still picture his heartbroken expression in her mind. The last thing she ever wanted to do was upset Seokjin in that way again, but she had long since accepted that in order to establish deeper bonds with her hybrids, she’d have to have difficult conversations and risk touching upon raw nerves. That didn’t mean she enjoyed it, however. As the words left her mouth, she could not only feel the way that Seokjin’s tail had wound around her body tighter, but the way his thigh began to tremble against her’s. He was quiet, so she spoke once more.

“Are you afraid of water, Seokjin?” Y/N continued gently, fearing that if she spoke louder, the small bubble she found the two of them in would burst and the moment would slip away.

“N-... not exactly,” Seokjin finally breathed, after what felt like an eternity of silence as they both gazed up at the violet sky. “Not always. When you adopted me, when I was injured… that was a result of an accident, involving water. It’s stupid, but I’ve been wary since.”

Seconds ticked by, Y/N letting his words sink in. It wasn’t a whole lot to go on, but it made a lot of sense. On Seokjin’s profile from the hybrid database, it had mentioned he suffered from many phobias, PTSD. He didn’t know that she was aware of this, let alone that she knew a bit about his past in the circus business, but the pieces were coming together for her.

“It’s not stupid, honey. Everyone has fears, especially after a traumatic brush with one in particular. I just want you to know, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, and I’m here for you,” Y/N wrapped her nearest arm around Seokjin’s wide shoulders, attempting to pull his larger body into her side. Seokjin was normally quite pliant with her, so it didn’t take much effort to maneuver him despite his size and mass.

“I, um… I used to be a performer, before you adopted me. That’s when it happened, a few weeks ago, the accident? I did stunts, acrobatics, for Cirque–”

Seokjin went ramrod straight, flinching away from Y/N as the front door swung open with a great groan five yards away, music, voices, and light flooding into the front yard. Shuddering from the immediate absence of Seokjin’s comforting warmth, Y/N squinted towards the porch, peeved that Seokjin was interrupted as he was about to open up.

“Did you two get lost? It’s been forever!” Hoseok shouted from the threshold of the door, Y/N able to make out the triangular shape of his ears with the light coming from inside the house, the fox hybrid’s arms crossed over his chest.

Groaning, Y/N eased herself off of her perch on the trunk, Seokjin already gathering the case of champagne in his arms, the corded muscles flexing as he lifted it out of the car and started towards the house. Shutting the trunk of the car, Y/N trailed after Seokjin closely, a tightness in his back muscles straining against his lavender tee shirt that she knew had little to do with carrying the box held in his arms. Y/N wondered if it would be wise to create a schedule on her phone, so she could allot specific times to spend one on one with each hybrid, or if she was simply salty that Hoseok had interrupted.

As soon as she hauled herself into the house, Hoseok locked up the front door behind her, the strange three-note whistle he often crooned tickling her ears as she watched Seokjin disappear into the kitchen. Raising her eyebrows at Hoseok, who was grinning down at her like he knew something she didn’t, Y/N reached out to teasingly poke at his tummy, the fox hybrid giggling and nimbly dodging the attack.

“What’s with that tone you always whistle, Hoseok? Is it your personal trademark, or something?” Y/N attempted to chase Hoseok around the foyer, even though he was far too swift on his feet for her to ever catch him even by the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Oh, do you not like it?” Hoseok paused, examining the way her chest heaved as she leaned against the banister of the grand staircase, expression playful. However, there was something about the way his smile didn’t completely reach his eyes, making Y/N backtrack.

“No, that’s not it at all,” Y/N insisted immediately, not wanting to make him feel insecure about a quirk that truthfully endeared him to her. “I like it. If I ever lose you in a grocery store or something, I’ll whistle that same tone until I can find you.”

Cocking his head, Hoseok apparently not expecting that response, Y/N felt her cheeks flush as the fox hybrid looked her up and down, appearing serious for a moment, lost in thought. He opened and closed his mouth, as if to say something clever in response, but the words appeared to die on his tongue as Y/N grinned at him slyly. Finally, chuckling once more while shaking his head, Y/N exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Was that perhaps too forward, or embarrassing? Hoseok rarely found himself at a loss for words around her, so clearly some part of the exchange threw him off guard.

“Come on, darling, let’s go celebrate your long weekend,” Hoseok used a pointer finger to beckon her towards the entrance of the kitchen, his russet tail swishing as he spun on his heels, whistling his signature three notes once more. “And the elk, or whatever.”

Suddenly remembering that she had been anticipating this exact part of the evening for the past week, Y/N unfroze from her spot by the staircase, speeding past Hoseok with a smirk and bounding into the kitchen. A loud pop came from her right, Y/N managing not to flinch as Yoongi broke into a fresh bottle of the champagne, passing the bottle to Jimin so the coyote hybrid could refill glasses around the room.

Jeongguk seemed more relaxed now that the shock of the surprise celebration had worn off, leaning his forearms on the granite of the island as he spoke with Namjoon beside him. Y/N found it interesting that those two had managed to become closer over the past week; considering Jeongguk was the one to haul Namjoon away from Taehyung the night of The Incident. She couldn’t deny the similarities between the two– both a tad surly and serious, common interest in paranormal or occult subject matter, and not to mention face-melting glares she had been on the receiving end of on occasion or two. Secretly, she hoped they’d grow even closer as time passed, as it would be nice for each of the hybrids to have at least one other in the house they could bond with besides her.

Swirling the room-temperature champagne around in her flute, her eyes flickered to Taehyung, who was peering out at the backyard from the slider by himself, and wished with all of her heart that with time, he’d be able to connect with the other hybrids and they’d accept him as well. The Kodiak hybrid seemed so lonely in a room full of people, his lips moving as he mouthed the words to the song on the speaker, staring out at the half-moon in the sky.

Feeling a familiar hand on her lower back, Y/N brightened up, Yoongi stepping around her with a silver pie server, setting it next to the cheesecake and quietly watching Y/N stick candles on top of it.

“I remember you saying you used to do ‘cleansings’ with a group of paranormal investigators,” Namjoon’s voice came to her attention, addressing Jeongguk over the rim of his champagne flute.

Trying not to snicker, Y/N pretended she wasn’t listening– Namjoon was doing two things that amused her; asking questions in forms of statements again, and likely beginning to persuade the elk hybrid into helping her and himself with the protective wards the following week.

“Weren’t you in your room studying when I said that?” Jeongguk asked dryly, pierced brow lifting as he used a crooked finger to swipe blood from his cheekbone distractedly.

Namjoon ignored the elk hybrid’s comment, his bitten ear twitching with agitation, before setting his champagne flute down and leveling the most friendly look he could muster at the younger hybrid. Coming from beside Y/N as she continued to place candles on the cheesecake, she felt a silky tail smack the back of her thigh lightly, which was Yoongi’s way of non-verbally asking her if she was listening to the peanut gallery in front of her. Glancing at the leopard hybrid from her peripherals, he bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing at her ‘act natural’ telepathic plea, Y/N forgetting to find it odd that she could communicate with Yoongi in this way; without ever uttering a word.

“Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to pry?” Namjoon deadpanned, clearly annoyed that he had to actually ask for information from Jeongguk.

“There’s not much to add. I’ve only been in the Boston area for a little over a year. I was hiding out in some old-ass abandoned church to keep away from agents sweeping strays off the streets, and one night a bunch of fucking nerds with cameras and holy water broke into the church. I was about to beat the shit out of them for waking me up, but they were squealing so much when they saw me that I took pity on them.”

“And?” Namjoon knit his eyebrows together while drawing out the syllables of the word, clearly not hearing what he wanted to quite yet.

“And what, you nosy fuck? They thought I was some kind of cryptid until I turned the lights on. They were so harmless it was laughable, so I made them tell me what they were up to. I knew a fair bit about what paranormal investigators do, so we talked for a bit. After that, they’d seek me out every few weeks for my thoughts on random occult topics until they scraped up the courage to ask me to go with them on investigations from time to time, mostly when the investigations involved exorcisms or more malevolent entities.”

“Did you guys have a Youtube series or something I can watch later when I want a good laugh?” Hoseok interjected by the fridge, lazily overseeing the conversation as he downed the rest of his champagne.

“No, dipshit,” Jeongguk grumbled, taking a hearty swig from his own flute and appearing to compose the aggravation off of his face. “I think Mark and Jude, the two camera geeks, had some kind of podcast, but I never participated in that crap. Hopefully the team hasn’t gotten themselves killed in my absence…”

Y/N studied Jeongguk’s face carefully. While delighted that he had willingly shared some details of what he’d been up to prior to his adoption, she didn’t miss the near imperceptible way the corners of his mouth turned downwards when he spoke about the paranormal investigation team, as much as she knew he was trying to make it seem like they were just a bunch of bothersome people from his past. She would bet a fair bit of money that Jeongguk actually missed the team, though there was no doubt he would deny that speculation up and down if she ever mentioned it to him.

Catching Namjoon asking Jeongguk if they could talk the next day, Jeongguk nodded, lost in his thoughts as the wolf hybrid seemed temporarily satisfied with what he had gotten out of Jeongguk. Y/N sensed Seokjin’s presence again, craning her neck upwards as he offered her a gentle grin, setting a stack of little paper plates down on the counter for the cake. She supposed it was about time to dig into dessert, Namjoon was eyeing the cake again, and Hoseok and Jimin were getting a touch rowdy with the champagne they were putting away like water.

She struck a match, swiftly lighting the five candles she stuck around the icing script reading Happy 25th Birthday Jeongguk, leaning on her tip-toes to slide the cake in front of the elk hybrid across the island. The flames from the candle had light reflecting off of the silver jewelry threaded through his ears and face, and sharpening his already strong features. Everyone quieted down a bit, Jeongguk reading the top of the cake with the faintest twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Okay, make your wish!” Y/N encouraged once the elk hybrid looked at her for direction, for once not really seeming to mind that he was the center of attention. Namjoon, from beside him, seemed utterly confused with what was going on, as if he had never celebrated a birthday before.

Jeongguk rolled his eyes before hurriedly blowing out the candles, Y/N clapping with excitement as Yoongi made the first move to pull the candles from the cake and begin to slice it with the pie server.

“What’d you wish for?” Jimin asked from the breakfast nook, sitting in between Taehyung and Seokjin with an easygoing smile.

“Jimin, don’t you know if he tells you, it might not come true?” Y/N gasped dramatically, pressing a hand over her chest for added theatrics as Hoseok and Yoongi snickered at her antics. Jimin, however, became the picture of apologetic with his ears drooped; until Y/N waved her hand and mouthed I’m joking.

Yoongi placed the first slice of cheesecake in front of the birthday boy, before Y/N helped him ferry it off to the other hybrids, making sure she dropped the second slice in front of Namjoon before he began drooling. She thought about making an array of desserts for his birthday, since he apparently liked them so much. Once everyone had a slice and a fork in front of them, Y/N sat on Jeongguk’s free side with her own plate, promptly digging into the dessert and watching Yoongi trudge over to the breakfast nook to sit beside Seokjin.

“Oh, this is good,” Hoseok’s voice came from across the island, hip leaning on the granite as he ate standing up.

“Thought you didn’t like cheesecake,” Jeongguk accused around a forkful of dessert, the fox hybrid shrugging in response, his sharpened teeth biting down on his lower lip as he stifled a laugh.

Once dessert was squared away in between Y/N divulging more details about the clubs at the rec center and discussing tentative weekend plans, she nudged the gifts closer to Jeongguk, who quickly became skeptical and wary once the gift bags were in front of his face.

“Here, open this one first. It’s from my parents, my mom picked it out,” Y/N tapped the little black box closest to his inked elbow while sipping on her champagne, heat pooling in her cheeks as the alcohol began to dizzy up her head.

She had talked to her mother for a few minutes when she picked Namjoon and Seokjin up from the book club on Monday and mentioned Jeongguk’s birthday in passing. To her surprise, her mother showed up at Judy’s the following Wednesday during her shift with a gift for the elk hybrid, which honestly she should have expected. While her mother and father hadn’t interacted with Jeongguk too much, Y/N secretly peaked at the gift– it was strangely suited to his tastes.

Yoongi was bickering with Hoseok at the sink, both of them hissing in surprise as Jimin popped open yet another bottle of champagne, his almost childlike giggles making Y/N’s heart squeeze. Jeongguk took up the small black box, examining it like it was going to explode between his fingertips.

“Y/N, do you mind if I run upstairs and shower? I’ll be back in a little bit,” Seokjin tapped her shoulder, Y/N nodding with a thumbs-up, noting the way Seokjin seemed a little on edge still. Watching the jaguar hybrid go, Hoseok stole her attention next.

“We’re gonna go figure out what movie to put on,” Hoseok called from the entrance of the kitchen into the parlor, his arm slung around Yoongi’s elegant shoulders as the leopard hybrid glared at Hoseok out of the corners of his eyes. The fox hybrid began to haul Yoongi away, Jimin close behind with two bottles of champagne tucked into an ice bucket. “Join us after?”

“Sure thing, angels,” Y/N chuckled, Jimin’s tail wagging more quickly at the term of endearment as he hurried after Hoseok and Yoongi. Part of her new nighttime routine was ending the evening with a movie or two with the hybrids in the cushy parlor room, usually over a cocktail or a bowl of ice cream.

“Whoa,” Y/N was brought back to the events unfolding beside her, Jeongguk finally opening the gift from her parents as strange emotions danced over his face.

It was a sterling silver necklace, one that would likely sit below the dip of his collarbones; the pendant a medieval looking sword. It was edgy, gothic, masculine– all the things Jeongguk embodied effortlessly. Her mother must have caught all of the silver jewelry Jeongguk already wore through his countless piercings, and went out to buy a necklace to match. Namjoon leaned closer to the elk hybrid to take a look, his head cocking contemplatively as he stared at the jewelry.

“Pretty. Do you like it? They probably got it from the craft fair that’s been going on in Boston Common this week,” Y/N was practically bouncing on her barstool, fighting back the urge to take the necklace from the box and fasten it around Jeongguk’s neck herself, just to see what it looked like.

“Mm,” Jeongguk hummed, cheeks pink with potential embarrassment, keeping the box open and setting it to the side. “It’s really nice. I need to thank them.”

“They’ll probably pop by at some point this weekend,” Y/N replied, a tad distractedly.

Taehyung had slipped from the room under her nose, and she wondered where he had wound up– doubtful that he’d followed the three in the parlor currently yucking it up loudly. All that remained in the kitchen were herself, the elk hybrid, and Namjoon. She had the feeling Namjoon had stuck around just so he could possibly coerce Jeongguk into setting wards with them (or possibly have another slice of cheesecake).

“Okay, this one next,” Y/N pushed one of the remaining two gift bags in front of him, Jeongguk immediately diving his hand into the bag, whether to speed up the process to escape her attention or out of eagerness to find out what else he was getting, she didn’t know.

Jeongguk pulled out the book, leather journal, and pack of pens she picked up from him at the bookstore, faintly snorting at the cover of The Paranormal Investigative Field Guide. His eyebrows furrowed as he passed his palm over the carved leather journal, fiddling with the intricate clasp as he set the pens and book aside.

“I don’t know what you keep in that other journal of yours, but it looked like it was almost filled up the last time I saw you writing in it. Maybe this one will last you a bit longer,” Y/N explained, trying not to grin too widely at both Jeongguk’s growing fluster and Namjoon not-so-subtly leaning across the island to steal Y/N’s plate of half-eaten cheesecake she had long since abandoned.

“What do you write in that journal? You carry it around everywhere,” Namjoon inquired over a mouthful of cheesecake, his half-bitten ear flickering at the sound of someone clinking champagne flutes together in the parlor.

“It’s just where I keep my notes. One of the investigators I knew gave it to me. I write down what I see and how I think I can get rid of it, the results of any ritual I do, etcetera etcetera,” Jeongguk shrugged, eyeing the last gift. “This is the last one, right? You didn’t buy me a car or anything, I hope.”

Snorting, Y/N shook her head, enjoying her time spent with Jeongguk and Namjoon. While the two of them had given her a bit of grief in the past, she found she had quite a lot in common with both of them, and they had seemed to soften up significantly over the past week.

“Holy shit, a camera?” Jeongguk pulled the video recorder out of the final blue gift bag, turning the box around in several directions to read the specs on the side of the glossy cardboard.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I was going for a paranormal investigation theme. Who knows, with this old house, there might be some ghosts in the attic you can capture on film,” Y/N smiled widely, Namjoon humming in agreement.

The wolf hybrid was twitching in his seat, desperate to mention the entity he had banished from the house with Jeongguk, and the possibility that it was still hanging around. Y/N believed he was possibly waiting to bring the subject up the next day, which she thought was a nice gesture on Namjoon’s part– letting Jeongguk enjoy his birthday without it being tainted by the idea that his ritual hadn’t been a total success.

“I wonder… Would you ever consider contacting that team of investigators? They’d probably be relieved to hear from you, and that you’re doing okay,” Y/N pondered, considering Jeongguk hadn’t expressed any interest in the rec clubs she had compiled on the spreadsheet. Jeongguk put his camera down gently, his features cloaked in mystery.

“I could, I have the lead investigator Jeremy’s number,” Jeongguk began slowly, sucking his lip ring into his mouth in thought. “I’d have to think about it. With the way I was brought into that shithole shelter, there’s a strong possibility one of those fucks reported me to some agents. Not sure why they would do that, as they’re pretty fucking useless without me, but it makes the most sense. I’ve been on the streets for a while, so I know how to dodge agents. There’s no way I would have been caught unless someone called in a report.”

“Oh,” Y/N squeaked, not really expecting such a lengthy answer to her offhand question. “Well that would be pretty shitty of them, if that’s the case. I hope their podcast tanks.”

Jeongguk chuckled with this, Namjoon finally getting off of his barstool to toss his cheesecake-crumbed paper plates into the garbage drawer, pushing up the sleeves of his forest green henley as he slid the scant remains of the cheesecake into the fridge.

“I hope you liked everything, the food and the gifts! Oh, and thanks for being a good sport about the surprise. I know some people hate them,” Y/N gave Jeongguk a friendly pat on his shoulder, trying to avoid areas of the cream colored tee shirt dappled with blood.

Jeongguk paused, letting her words sink in as Y/N plucked a few pieces of shredded velvet off of his tee shirt and dropped them into a crumpled piece of blue tissue paper, her eyes on his antlers that seemed to be almost completely stripped of the rich brown velvet they were once covered in. She wondered how long it would take for the velvet to grow back, though admittedly, there was something a bit hauntingly beautiful about the way the bones were stripped raw.

“Uh, thank you. This was actually really nice, you didn’t have to plan anything, but you did. Tell me when your parents are coming by here so I can thank them, too,” Jeongguk managed after a moment, his voice sounding the most gentle she had ever heard it, and it was a rare moment where he didn’t slip an expletive into his speech.

Grinning, Y/N resisted the urge to give him a hug– both him and Namjoon had yet to initiate that kind of skinship with her, so she didn’t want to cross a boundary– and opted to give him a soft squeeze on his shoulder before hauling herself off of the barstool.

“You’re welcome, Jeongguk– I actually have a blast planning birthday parties, so it was my pleasure,” Y/N rounded the island, inching towards the entrance to the parlor. From the sounds of it, the three hybrids already in there hadn’t settled on a movie selection yet; talking over one another about their favorite sports.

Namjoon was staring at her from a few feet away while he downed the rest of his champagne; she could feel his gaze without even looking at him. Still, she couldn’t resist; turning to face him, she assessed his handsome face, the flush settled over his cheeks from the sparkling wine, the fullness of his lips that seemed to be naturally (and unfairly) rimmed with liner, and the orange honey color of his irises. All of his injuries from The Incident had long since faded, thankfully.

“And you…” Y/N began slyly, Namjoon’s tail swishing a little faster as she leaned towards him, “You’re next! In a little over a week, too. I’ll have to order your cake in the morning.”

Before the wolf hybrid could react, he flinched, a loud, pitchy whine coming from the parlor.

“Y/N! Yoongi won’t let me put on The Hangover!” Hoseok complained, his speech loosened from what was likely his seventh glass of champagne. Rolling her eyes, Y/N used a crooked finger to beckon Namjoon and Jeongguk so they could settle in for their before-bed movie.

“Hoseok, we watched that on Tuesday,” Y/N reminded him calmly, standing in front of the TV and evaluating the three tipsy hybrids sprawled out on the couch. “All three of them.”

“Well, what are your suggestions then, darling?” Hoseok leaned a cheek heavily on his palm, a shaky elbow balanced on the armrest of the sofa as he blinked at her innocently. She knew better than to give into the act, however.

“Let Jeongguk pick tonight,” Y/N wrestled the remote from the fox hybrid’s free hand, heavily plopping down between him and Yoongi, the latter of which seemed grateful for the barrier of her body between himself and Hoseok.

With the fox hybrid muttering beside her, though worming his body closer to her side ever so slightly, Y/N waited for Jeongguk and Namjoon to find seats: Namjoon on the floor in front of her with a spare pillow to sit on, Jeongguk on the leather recliner that was rarely free. Feeling Yoongi begin to hook a hand around her elbow, Y/N leaned forwards to toss Jeongguk the remote before she lost all function of her arms.

“I can pick the movie?” Jeongguk caught the remote mid air, a devilish expression shadowing his face ominously, dark eyes flickering between Hoseok and Namjoon.

Y/N felt Yoongi’s hand shift from around her elbow, pulling her back against the cushions of the couch so he could thread his arm through hers, tucking her into his side. Hoseok similarly arranged himself, his nearest arm slung along the backside of the couch behind Y/N, angling his body so he could face her slightly. Biting back a chuckle in response to the clinginess, increasing not only by day but with boldness as well, Y/N let the two hybrids beside her curl into her frame.

“Oh, Jin! I saved you a spot, come here,” Hoseok called happily once Seokjin appeared in the doorway between the foyer and the parlor, his raven curls damp from his shower and dressed in his pajamas. Promptly, the jaguar hybrid slunk into the room, stepping around Namjoon at Y/N’s feet and squeezing in between Hoseok and the armrest of the couch. He brought a cloud of eucalyptus and mint with him.

“Alright. We’ll watch this,” Jeongguk announced after a few moments of flicking through Y/N’s digital movie collection. Complaints came from every direction at his choice, Y/N peering at the flatscreen with confusion to see what the ruckus was about.

“Ooh! I love this movie!” Y/N exclaimed, and Jeongguk promptly pressed play and the eerie opening music of The Conjuring began to flood through the surround sound.

She hadn’t watched a horror movie in ages, even though they were amongst her favorites to lounge around and binge, and she certainly hadn’t watched one with the hybrids yet. They seemed to gravitate towards action or comedy movies, and she recalled Hoseok’s and Jimin’s aversions to The Bride of Chucky the night she brought them home and she scoured her movie library in search of something to watch with them.

“Of course you do,” Yoongi muttered from beside her, his chin hooking over her shoulder as he snuggled in closer to her, hazel eyes narrowed at the creepy Annabelle doll currently filling the large flatscreen.

“Fuck me, why do you want to watch something about a dirty old possessed doll?” Hoseok groaned, his tail curling around his front and across his lap, almost as if he was protecting himself with the thick fur.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re afraid, Hoseok. It’s just a scary movie,” Jimin suddenly interjected, his speech a little garbled after all the champagne he drank.

“Shut it, Jiminie. You’re telling me that thing doesn’t creep you out?” Hoseok replied, his arm around the back of the couch slipping lower to curl around Y/N’s shoulders, effectively trapping her between himself and Yoongi.

“This is based on a true story?” Namjoon wondered aloud, the tips of his ears fluttering against Y/N’s bare calves from where he was sitting between her legs, likely in response to Taehyung appearing in the room, finally. “The Warrens… I’ve read a book about them. The Demonologist.”

Even though Taehyung kept his distance from everyone in the house these days, he would still participate in mealtimes and the nightly movie routine. The Kodiak hybrid quietly entered the room, rounded behind the sofa, and took his usual seat at the back of the room by the window and entrance to the kitchen.

“Are you all going to talk through the entire film?” Jeongguk hiked up the volume, Y/N cringing in preparation for how loud it would get later on in the movie when jumpscares appear.

At her feet, Namjoon growled lowly, but ceased to talk any further. Y/N theorized that Namjoon was attempting to open himself up to Jeongguk, at the very least, considering their shared interests, and she thought he was doing pretty decently so far. In fact, it filled her with warmth that Namjoon was beginning to show a little bit of trust between not only herself, but some of the other hybrids as well. She could only hope the same for Taehyung, over time. Now that everyone settled into silence to watch the film, apart from Hoseok’s periodic disturbed yelps in response to suspenseful scenes, Y/N relaxed into the couch, letting the two hybrids beside her tangle themselves even more closely to her.

After the movie, Y/N managed to convince Jeongguk to save the second Conjuring movie for another day, and they switched back to New Girl reruns in order to calm not only Hoseok down, but a sufficiently creeped out Jimin as well. As it turned out, the coyote hybrid wasn’t as fearless as he had alluded to earlier in the night.

She had said her goodnights; which were drawn out thanks to how she had to comfort spooked Hoseok and Jimin, pry a drowsy Yoongi off of her, and navigate her own hazy tipsiness. Y/N had just given her final hug to Taehyung, who held onto her so tightly she wheezed, before he ruffled her hair and walked her to her bedroom door.

Pulling on her pajama shorts, Y/N chuckled to herself, wondering exactly when she was going to be driven insane in the near future due to the overwhelming amount of affection she was receiving from most of the hybrids lately. She knew that hybrids tended to get quite clingy and possessive over their adoptive guardians over time, but she wasn’t expecting many of them to warm up to her so fast. She couldn’t have imagined that she’d have five of them hugging her goodnight within two weeks of having them in the home– if someone had told her that the morning she made the adoptions, she’d laugh in their face.

Extremely satisfied with how well Jeongguk’s birthday had gone, Y/N yawned into her hand, images of the new array of emotions she saw on the elk hybrid’s face that night making her smile; his faint fluster, gentle amusement, and even a glimmer of fondness. Thinking about how soft his voice sounded when he thanked her for the celebration temporarily distracted her from the messy pile of notes she had strewn about her vanity that she was lurking over once she pulled her tank top over her head. Biting her lip, she leaned a hip against the piece of furniture, squinting at the nonsensical scrawl she had managed to pen down that week, the abandoned and dog-eared copies of hybrid guide books scattered across the surface, and the general lack of organization of the entire area.

She had planned on using the vanity as an altar for her practice, but in the past week, it was used for jotting down facts she had siphoned from the guide books, storing items and materials for the wards she was going to place around the property, and keeping a thin notebook she had used to make sense of the reading Judy had given her on Monday. Admittedly, there wasn’t much time she had dedicated to the latter subject over the past week– and truthfully, she had tried her best to push the reading out of her mind for as long as she could. Now that she had fewer things to distract her (such as planning Jeongguk’s birthday) and a wide-open long weekend, there was really no excuse for her to avoid dissecting the reading’s contents further. In a way, it would be practice for her rusty divination skills, and it would certainly scratch the itch she had been feeling since Judy sat her down for the reading in the first place.

Perching on her vanity stool, Y/N opened up the notebook with a small sigh, listening to the familiar and comforting sounds of Jeongguk’s heavy tread from above her bedroom. Based on the direction of his footsteps and the faint thrumming of the pipes overhead, Y/N deduced he was taking a shower before heading to bed. Switching on the twinkle lights draped over the vanity mirror, she narrowed her eyes at the few notes she had taken on the reading; starting with the cards Judy had indicated as being Namjoon and Jeongguk.

The Green Man - Namjoon, apparently (?) One who is a “father” of nature, represents summer (the ‘height’ of the wheel of the year). Patient. Perceptive, can see through what others cannot. Generous, proud, protective, masculine. Fearsome protector of nature, can be frightening? Known for a particularly strong and intense glare.

The Stag - Jeongguk (?) An individual concerned with the collective and the environment. Conscious of actions and consequences. Has great integrity. Keen judgment. Connected to the cosmic aspects of life, as well as the organic (understands how those are both linked…?) Shield. Bringer of change; for better or worse. Forgiveness is hard to earn if betrayed. Intervenes with the divine. Spring. Fire. Morality.

Biting down on the cap of her pen, Y/N looked from the frayed card guide book to her chicken scratch notes, distantly wishing she had the deck with her. It was always easier for her to connect to energies when she was physically holding the cards, soaking in the artwork. From what she gleaned from the meanings written in the guidebooks themselves, certain characteristics seemed to match up with things she had noticed in both Namjoon and Jeongguk’s personalities. As much as she wanted to write off the reading as a fluke, it was undeniable that the more she read into the energies, the clearer it was that the two hybrids were represented in the spread. Perhaps, in learning that truth, it led to her putting off digging into the meanings of the other cards, and putting together who was who.

Shivering, Y/N tried to ignore the slight queasiness curling in her gut, chalking it up to feeling guilt over looking into a reading that involved her hybrids without their knowledge. It was still difficult to wrap her mind around Judy’s implication that her meeting, or adoptions of the hybrids, were over a year in the making. Not only that, but the reading she wasn’t present for a year ago was surrounding romance. It was a dangerous game, to let herself think about any romance between herself and the hybrids at the present time. Everything was so new to her, to them, and easing the hybrids into their new life and tangling romantic feelings into that process would be irresponsible of her.

Rubbing her temples, Y/N pondered the conundrum she was in. She was well past the point in trying to deny her attraction to all of the hybrids, as well as the startlingly accelerated growth rate of her affection that seemed to double each day she spent with them. Her greatest fear was the hybrids realizing her budding feelings, and in turn coming to a conclusion that she had only adopted them for that sort of relationship– which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

To distract herself from spiraling for too long, Y/N began to fill out forms on the rec center website for Hoseok, Yoongi, and Taehyung, the mind-numbing task of plugging in names, measurements, and writing down equipment each of them would need effectively pulling her thoughts away from the reading. She’d tackle the nitty gritty of deciphering the other card meanings she had listed in the notebook at some point during the weekend. She was in the middle of jotting down some items she’d need to order for Taehyung to participate in the photography club, when she heard her phone chime on the charger across her bedroom.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she wondered if Alice was sending her Tiktok edits of Pedro Pascal again– it was pretty late, and she doubted it could be anyone else sending her a text message at two AM. Tiptoeing to her nightstand, Y/N rubbed her eyes and opened up her messages.

Seokjin: Y/N, are you still awake?

Seokjin: I hope I didn’t wake you up by sending that…

Y/N: LOL, it’s okay, honey, I haven’t gone to bed yet

Y/N: What’s up ? Need something? I can bring you some water or whatever

Straining her hearing to see if she could register any movement in the house outside of her bedroom, Y/N realized it was futile to try and listen for Seokjin. His bedroom was on the second floor and the opposite side of the house. Even Jeongguk had finally gone to bed; she heard him flop down heavily onto his bed about forty minutes prior. It was a windy night, so all that she could hear was the reedy willow branches whacking against the roof and sides of the house.

Seokjin: I was wondering if we could talk.

Pausing, Y/N blinked at the message thread between her and the jaguar hybrid. He had mentioned recently that he sometimes had trouble getting to sleep, so perhaps he was looking for a conversation to lull him into unconsciousness. Or, perhaps he wanted to continue their chat from earlier, which was interrupted by Hoseok.

Y/N: Of course we can! Want me to come to you?

Several minutes passed without a response from Seokjin, puzzling Y/N. She was in the middle of tapping out another message to him when the light drumming of fingertips against her bedroom door had her halting. Running a hand through her hair to make sure it wasn’t a nest on top of her head, Y/N started towards her door as quietly as she could, conscious of Namjoon on the other side of the wall and not wanting to wake him if she could help it.

“Jin? That’s you, right?” Y/N whispered as she carefully opened her door, met with the blackness of the hallway and eyeshine staring down at her. It was a little eerie to say the least, but the instant she caught a whiff of Seokjin’s eucalyptus shampoo her racing heart calmed a few beats. “Here, come in.”

Seokjin slunk into her bedroom lithely like a passing-by shadow, now completely visible in the purple glow of the fairy lights that illuminated the space. He looked a little twitchy, shifting from foot to foot, as Y/N shut the door behind him after she made sure no light was peaking out beneath the threshold of Namjoon’s bedroom door. The wolf hybrid, from the looks and sounds of it, appeared to be asleep, which brought her comfort– the last time another hybrid visited her in her room after hours, he had eavesdropped and flown off the handle.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late, I really should have waited until tomorrow… this isn’t important or anything,” Seokjin immediately blurted as soon as she turned to face him, her mouth dropped open to ask him what he wanted to talk about.

“You’re not bothering me,” Y/N quickly assured, tucking hair behind her ear and giving him an inconspicuous once-over. Physically, he appeared to be just fine– in his pajamas, clean, complexion clear and healthy. His only tell that something was on his mind was the way his tail flicked back and forth anxiously. “Let’s talk. You mentioned last weekend that sometimes you have trouble getting to sleep. Is that what’s the matter?”

Seokjin swallowed thickly, the action making his Adam's apple bob in his throat, using a couple of fingers to tug at the loose neckline of his sleep shirt as if it was suffocating him.

“No… Well, partly. I couldn’t fall asleep, but that’s not why I wanted to…” Seokjin broke eye contact with Y/N, inching towards the side of her bed and fiddling with the carved wood of the bedpost. “I feel like I need to tell you about what happened to me before we met, before the adoption. I started to, but then Hoseok interrupted– that’s besides the point though. I wanted to tell you for a while, um, just in case you were wondering why something is so off about me.”

Y/N gawked at the jaguar hybrid with utter disbelief. He was under the impression she thought there was something “off” about him? Absolutely horrified, Y/N moved closer, motioning to her bed so they could sit down together.

“Hold on, Seokjin. First of all, I don’t think there’s anything ‘off’ about you. Secondly, you don’t have to tell me anything about your past if it makes you uncomfortable,” Y/N murmured firmly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to ease him down onto the mattress.

There was a beat, where Seokjin settled down onto her mattress and processed her response, his chest rumbling with light purrs as she lowered down beside him, an earnest look on her face as she soaked in the jaguar hybrid’s side profile.

“No, I know that. But there’s another reason I want to tell you. I think if I talk about it to someone I care about… someone like you, maybe the anxiety surrounding it will begin to ease,” Seokjin started softly, his eyes becoming far away like they were the afternoon she first spoke to him, staring out her window with the same mist clouding over his fiery irises.

The sentiment of Seokjin admitting she was someone he cared about was not lost on her. Her pulse was racing, warmth flooding her body from head to toe, Y/N squirmed in her seat. That aside, it had her heart aching that Seokjin had been through something causing him so much anguish it was causing him to lose sleep. Seokjin was an absolute sweetheart, and there was nothing more he deserved than peace of mind– the fact that he chose her to open up to had the gravity of the situation crashing down on her.

“So… I mentioned it earlier, but I performed stunts for big top shows. I trained for it my whole life, in labs– that’s what I was created for. Eventually, I was selected by a company, a traveling circus, and had been working there for a while,” Seokjin cleared his throat, running a hand through his curls, which appeared almost violet under the fairy lights in the room.

“A traveling circus,” Y/N confirmed, trying her best to remain as composed as possible. Something, in the back of her mind, rang like a bell. Her grandparents used to take her to a traveling circus, one that arrived city to city by train, every summer when she was growing up. Surely, though, it couldn’t be the circus Seokjin performed for– to her knowledge, hybrids weren’t part of any of the acts. “You did acrobatics, right? Along with stunts?”

“Yeah. We went coast to coast, year round. Things were slower in the winter, that’s usually when they’d have us learn new stunts for the summer shows. This past winter, the stunt directors wanted me to do something new, something fresh for the upcoming season. They said ticket sales weren’t what they used to be, and that we needed a new, shocking act to bring people in again,” Seokjin recounted, his rounded ears flattening against his skull as he spoke. “For a while, I thought the stunt directors had forgotten about bringing it up to me and some of the other acrobats, but things became even worse after our July shows in New York. We couldn’t even fill half the tent with showgoers.”

“So these stunts you’d do… I take it they were dangerous? And the stunt directors wanted what, to up the stakes for ticket sales?” Y/N tried to keep the agitation out of her voice, towards the stunt directors, obviously.

While Y/N loved the circus shows she had gone to growing up, as she got older, the glittering fantasy of it all rotted away into the reality she had come to be familiar with during her time at the animal hospital. Circus animals, and from what she could imagine, hybrids as well, were treated like nothing more than dirt by these companies. Their entire existences depended on performance, quality of performance– the training and the long hours were inhumane and the living conditions were just as dismal.

“Well, the stunts weren’t risk free. But my training throughout my life was very thorough, so accidents weren’t ever a concern,” Seokjin softly chuckled, leaning down to nudge Y/N’s shoulder with his own. “After the shows in New York, we headed here, to Boston. There were five days before the next show, and the stunt directors were already advertising for the new act. Usually we’d have weeks to prepare for something new, but not this time. It was just supposed to be me, too… I was a favorite, um, of the crowd, apparently.”

Discomfort washed over Seokjin’s lovely face as he murmured the latter part of his statement, his fingertips winding into the material of his sleep shirt. Y/N noticed that this seemed to be a habit of his when he was anxious or unsure.

“The accident, was it caused because you didn’t have enough time to practice?” Y/N asked after a moment, soaking in the way Seokjin’s ears fluttered with the sound of her voice.

“I suppose it was one of the many causes,” Seokjin mused, still seeming quite far away– Y/N wondered if she reached out to touch him, if her hand would pass through his body like an apparition. “I primarily did aerial acrobatics and the occasional wire walk. This stunt involved both of those things, and it was one of the most dangerous stunts I’ve ever been asked to perform. I was supposed to do an aerial performance on the wire, suspended above a pool– no net to catch me if I fell. I’ve never fallen, so the stunt directors weren’t concerned about that possibility… but things happen.”

“There was no net to catch you?” Y/N all but squawked, finding it hard to keep her voice down. As long as she’d live, she’d never go to another circus. Again, Seokjin chuckled, despite everything.

“No net. That isn’t why I fell, though,” Seokjin continued, leaning backwards on his palms so he could peer down at Y/N better. “At the last minute, the day before the show, they added one of my close friends to the act. She had little to no time to learn the aerial choreography, let alone get comfortable doing it on the wire; but she was also a ‘crowd favorite’, extremely talented, too. We were pretty used to performing together, but I could tell she was nervous about the whole thing. It was unlike anything either of us ever did.”

Pausing, Seokjin’s ear perked up, listening to the willow branches thwack against Y/N’s bedroom window, his orange eyes flashing as the wind picked up.

“Opening night in Boston, we ran the stunt twice beforehand to make sure we had it down, and we did. While we were practicing, they were testing the lighting and pyrotechnics, which was normal. They didn’t tell us they were trying out new effects, though, and no one told us what to expect prior to the show,” Seokjin caught Y/N’s eyes, slightly gnawing on his thick lower lip with pointed incisors as he paused to gather his thoughts.

“We were halfway through the act, and the tent– it was packed, I mean, we hadn’t sold that many tickets in months. Things were going well, I was just about to, uh… do the wire walk. I was supposed to go out halfway, catch my friend from where she was on the aerial hoops, then balance her on my shoulders and walk the rest of the way. As I stepped out on the wire, the pyrotechnics went off but they were much, much closer to where I was by the ladder than I was used to. Um, it startled me so much, I lost my footing, but I was able to hang on for a moment until I realized the top of the tent caught fire. Once I saw the fire, my grip loosened, and I was falling… The last thing I remember before hitting the water was my friend jumping after me, her arms stretched out.”

Y/N froze as soon as Seokjin mentioned the fire that had broken out. She remembered learning about that fire via the TV in the breakroom at the animal hospital weeks ago. Up until then, she hadn’t made the connection that Seokjin was involved in the tragedy– not only were several circus workers, but showgoers as well, were injured. She thought back to some of Seokjin’s behavior during the time she had spent with him; jitteriness around fire, anxiety in crowds, mortification when the swim team was brought up. Everything fell into place.

“So that cut on your side… all the bruising, it happened because of that fall, because the fireworks were too close to where you were performing?” Y/N whispered, trying to process everything. Seokjin hummed, flinching a bit when the air conditioner clicked on noisily. “I’m so, so sorry, Seokjin.”

“I finally woke up, at the shelter, and I met Hoseok and Yoongi. But… I don’t know what happened to my friend. I’ve been trying to find any mention of her in articles about the fire since you gave me my phone, but honestly I doubt the circus company would disclose, um, a d-death of a hybrid performer.”

“What was the circus company’s name, again? And your friend’s name, too? I could have Ben track down information. He has lots of connections, and is very persuasive when it comes to situations like these,” Y/N was desperate to help Seokjin in any way that she could, and wanted to make good on her mental promise to Seokjin when she adopted him that she’d find the people that injured him and slap them with a lawsuit.

“My friend’s name is Hannah. The company– it was Cirque Mystique,” Seokjin responded, eyeing Y/N with vulnerability as the blood drained from her face.

“No way,” Y/N breathed, memories coming back to her so suddenly and vividly it nearly took the wind out of her.

Seokjin was a part of the circus her grandparents took her to all her life. The magic of Cirque Mystique had long since evaporated for her; between the injured circus animals she treated at the animal hospital and now Seokjin’s revelation– the memories of the buttery scent of caramel corn, enchanting lights of the big top, and adrenaline-pumping performances had disgust welling up in her gut as the sensations washed over her. Y/N wasn’t exactly sure when Cirque Mystique had incorporated hybrids into their acts, but she had a suspicion that it had to do with not having to actually pay them for their labor.

“What’s wrong?” Seokjin furrowed his eyebrows, his tail instinctively wrapping around her lower back protectively. Damn, Y/N was supposed to be comforting him.

“Seokjin, I used to go to Cirque Mystique shows all the time with my grandparents when I was younger, whenever the train would arrive in Boston. I mean, I haven’t been in a couple of years, but…” Y/N shuddered as she felt the jaguar hybrid lightly drag his palm down her spine, likely in an attempt to soothe. Damn, again.

“Our shows used to be really popular. They only started employing hybrids into acts a few years ago. Perhaps, when you used to go to the show, the company wasn’t so–”

“Terrible? Irresponsible?” Y/N offered immediately, knowing that Seokjin tended to be a bit too kind or dismissive when describing horrible things that have happened to him. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Seokjin, and your friend Hannah, too. I promise, if Ben can dig up any information, I’ll let you know right away.”

Seokjin’s chest rumbled, the movement making him deflate a little bit. He appeared as if a weight was lifted off of him, though the melancholy was certainly still present around the slightly-drooped corners of his mouth.

“Thank you, Y/N, that means a lot to me,” Seokjin bumped his shoulder against her again, his lips pulling up into a tiny smile. “I’m glad I told you, I feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad you told me too. I hope confiding in someone makes it easier for you to fall asleep,” Y/N reached up to push a stray curl out of Seokjin’s eye, squeaking softly when the jaguar hybrid caught her wrist before she could pull it away.

She watched, transfixed on his movements, as Seokjin pressed her palm to his cheek, leaning into the caress with his eyes drawing shut. Stunned, Y/N felt the warmth of his cheek and the weight of his hand over hers, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. Seokjin hummed, his ears fluttering, and Y/N found herself at a loss for words.

“Y/N?” Seokjin murmured, eyes still shut.

“Hmm?” She managed, too busy memorizing each detail of his angelic face and begging her heartbeat to slow in her mind.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Seokjin sounded small, unsure. She’d shared a bed with Seokjin before, when she needed comfort, and she wasn’t about to turn him away after everything he just shared with her.

“Of course,” Y/N agreed quietly, running her thumb over the swell of his cheekbone delicately. “Want to lay down? It’s getting pretty late.”

Seokjin nodded, reluctantly releasing her hand and watching with rapt interest as Y/N got up and began rearranging her quilt on her bed and shutting off the lamps scattered about her bedroom. Something in her chest was squeezing; the strange sensation of being watched by someone waiting for her to make the first move, and everything Seokjin had said and done since he knocked on her door had her head positively spinning. Shimmying out of her slippers, Y/N switched off the fairy lights over her vanity, her ears perking up as she heard the sound of Seokjin making himself comfortable in the bed.

“Need an extra blanket?” Y/N grinned at the jaguar hybrid, who had wrapped himself up to his neck in her quilt so tightly he looked like a burrito.

He shook his head, staring at her expectantly through the darkness as she began to get into bed herself, wondering why she didn’t feel awkward about the whole situation. If only her friends could see her now: months ago, if Y/N had told them she was climbing into bed with a man she’s only known for just shy of two weeks, they’d probably drop her off at her old shrink’s office.

Seokjin didn’t leave much of the quilt for her, but she didn’t mind. She could feel his body heat from inches away, smell the familiar fragrance of his shampoo, and hear his light purring. Honestly, she hadn’t felt that immediately drowsy and comfortable in her bed since the last time Seokjin was in it with her, which was somewhat of a startling realization.

On her back, she tried to make out the shapes of the moldings on the ceiling, listening to the wind and Seokjin’s gentle breathing. The jaguar hybrid shifted, pulling more of the quilt over Y/N’s body, now resting on his side to face her. Shivering with his proximity, she stayed as still as she could, feeling him tentatively tuck his face into the crook of her neck, his forearm lightly slung over her midsection. Y/N was positive he could hear the way her heart was racing, but he didn’t seem to mind, his eyelashes brushing the column of her throat as he shut his eyes.

“Tired yet?” Y/N inquired, her voice hardly over a whisper. In response, Seokjin’s tail curled around her hips, his lips ghosting over her skin as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Mm. I like this quilt,” Seokjin mumbled, his speech slurred with sleepiness. “Smells like you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but bashfully giggle, using a hand to trace patterns over the skin of his forearm softly. Her father used to do something similar to her when she was anxious or couldn’t sleep, and subconsciously she knew that it was an attempt to comfort Seokjin even further.

“Hope that’s a good smell,” Y/N joked, Seokjin weakly humming, the vibrations of his voice tickling her neck.

“Hmm…” Seokjin tightened his hold around her waist, barely audible as he teetered on the precipice of consciousness. “… it’s the best.”

Y/N froze, her fingertips stilling their path over the smooth skin of his elbow. Heat bloomed over her cheeks, and she felt herself falling– hurdling, past the point of no return. Her heart was in trouble, and there was nothing she could do about it. Seokjin’s breathing became slow, mellowed, and his tail grew lax around her hips, and Y/N felt more awake than ever.

“Goodnight, Jin,” Y/N whispered upon deaf ears, and although she knew she’d be turning endless thoughts around her head for a while, it was nice to have someone to hold.

The next day, Y/N woke up by herself, but she expected as much. Unlike the first time she’d slept with Seokjin, she was relieved to not have him beside her as she woke up. It was probably best for her poor heart that she opened her eyes to just the indent of where his head had rested on her pillow, and she definitely had a bit of a champagne hangover that was currently pulsing through her skull as she watched Taehyung blow dust off of an old Led Zeppelin vinyl.

From her spot, laying haphazardly on the leather couch in the music room, she groggily passed a hand over her face as Taehyung murmured to himself, organizing his little collection of records in alphabetical order on the shelf.

“That’s a nice color on you, Tae,” Y/N complimented the Kodiak hybrid from her slumped position, lazily leaning over towards the coffee table to take a sip from her lukewarm coffee. He was wearing the cobalt blue v-neck long sleeve she had gotten for him, and it picked up the warm tones of his skin and eyes beautifully.

Taehyung ducked his head, a small smirk curving his lips, peering at Y/N through his peripherals. She noted that Taehyung was beginning to follow her around again, as he did prior to The Incident, so she was hoping that he was starting to move forward once more.

“Thank you,” his baritone voice still sent tingles down her spine, no matter how many times she heard it. “Where’s Yoongi? I thought he was supposed to be teaching you.”

“He wanted to take a shower after breakfast, he’ll breeze in any moment,” Y/N stretched her arms upwards, rolling her wrists like she had seen Yoongi doing before he’d start playing.

Taehyung nodded, criss-crossing his legs from his spot on the floor and curiously looking through some of the items on the shelf with the records. The shelf was mostly filled with her uncle’s old things; he was kind of an audiophile, and collected all sorts of musical equipment– Taehyung began to pull an ancient pair of Audio-Technica headphones nestled on top of a dusty radio, turning them over in his hands.

“I think you can use those with the turntable. My uncle used to hang out up here listening to records during family functions, and my grandmother had him wear those headphones so he wouldn’t disturb the Christmas party with Dio’s “Holy Diver”,” Y/N informed Taehyung, sitting up as she felt her phone buzzing away in her pocket. Eyebrows furrowing, she checked the screen– it was a number she didn’t recognize.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Yoongi stalked into the room, dressed in an acid-washed hoodie and dark jeans, his long hair damp and sticking to his cheeks. He paid Taehyung little to no mind, stepping around the Kodiak hybrid’s body as Taehyung tried to plug the headphones into the record player.

“One second, I’m gonna see who this is and then I’m all yours,” Y/N squeezed Yoongi’s hand on her way to slip out into the hall while holding up her phone, secretly hoping Yoongi would try to engage Taehyung in conversation in her absence. A girl could dream, after all.

“Hello?” Y/N traced her fingertips along the banister of the staircase, peering down into the foyer as she answered the call.

“Hi, is this Y/N? This is Ralph, from City of Boston Towing Impound Lot. I’m answering an inquiry from an email you sent earlier this week,” a gruff voice boomed from the other end of the line, the busy sounds of city life threatening to drown out his speech.

“Oh! Thank you for getting back to me so soon,” Y/N exclaimed, nervously tapping her foot. This was the last impound lot or junkyard to contact her back since she sent out several emails looking for Namjoon’s trailer on Monday, and her last hope to find it for him. “Any luck finding the trailer?”

“Well, we have one trailer in the lot, picked up during the timeframe you mentioned it was impounded. I’m not sure if it’s the one you’re looking for, though,” said Ralph, with a note of skepticism. “You didn’t give a description of the trailer, but this one is pretty beat up. Covered in moss, real old.”

“Um, okay. Can I ask a favor?” Y/N replied after a moment, sneaking into one of the unclaimed bedrooms that overlooked the backyard. Ralph grunted, Y/N scanning the backyard from the window to catch a glimpse of Namjoon, who she had last seen reading a book under the tree by the picnic table. To her relief, the wolf hybrid was still there, sitting in the grass and enjoying the shade. “Could you take a look inside? There should be tapes, lots of books. That’s how I’ll know it's the trailer I’m looking for, and if it is, I can pick it up sometime next week.”

There were noises of movement and heavy breathing on the other end of the phone, the jingling of keys, and the rusty sound of a door opening. Gnawing on her lower lip, Y/N prayed to the universe she’d finally get lucky, especially considering Namjoon’s birthday was fast approaching.

“Yep, there’s tapes and books alright. Looks like a nutcase was using this trailer, though, ma’am… all kinds of alien posters and… Christ, is that a picture of Bigfoot?” Ralph seemed amused, rifling through items in the trailer. Bingo.

“Ha, that’s me, the nutcase conspiracy theorist, and that’s my trailer! Can I pick it up next week?” Y/N fist-bumped the air, swearing to the sky she’d light a candle in thanks for the stroke of good luck. It was a miracle his trailer hadn’t been compacted at a junkyard yet.

“Yeah, you’ll have to pay a fee, though. Thing’s been collecting dust for a couple of weeks,” a surprised Ralph replied incredulously, to which Y/N expressed was of no issue. She hung up with glee, all but blowing a kiss to the wolf hybrid from the window for having so many identifying objects in his trailer.

Back in the music room, Yoongi was shuffling through a loose stack of sheet music, and Taehyung was lounging on his side on the floor, headphones on and a Soundgarden record on the turntable. Delighted that the Kodiak hybrid appeared to be staying while her and Yoongi had their lesson, Y/N skipped to the bench where Yoongi was sitting, promptly taking her seat beside him. Compared to last week, she was much more comfortable with being so close to the leopard hybrid, even finding it difficult to not lean into his sweet spiced warmth.

“Something good? Call from a boyfriend or something?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow at Y/N, using a pencil to scribble down musical notes on the staff paper. Taken so off guard, Y/N sharply snorted, covering her mouth with her hand.

“A boyfriend? Good one,” Y/N chortled, elbowing Yoongi lightly in the ribs. He screwed his mouth up, gauging her reaction, his eyes slitted. “When, exactly, would I find the time to date, angel? I’ve got my hands full with you all, at the moment.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, leaning over the sheet music so his hair curtained his face. Rolling her eyes, Y/N began to play the melody of Twinkle Twinkle, which she had mastered at an embarrassingly slow rate over the course of the week. Yoongi made a surprised purr in the back of his throat when she didn’t make any mistakes and was exactly on tempo, recovering from her retort.

“It was good news, however… looks like I found the perfect birthday present for Namjoon,” Y/N relented upon Yoongi’s silence, a smug smile on her face once she finished playing the melody. Perhaps, with the added motivation of wanting to please Yoongi, she had tried a bit harder with her piano practice than she would have otherwise.

“With how he acted last week, it better be a lump of coal,” Yoongi muttered, his spotted ears turning backwards against his skull as he placed the sheet music on the shelf above the ivory keys. “Alright, sweetheart. Great job practicing, I think you’re ready to learn some music theory; how to read notes.”

“Yes sir,” Y/N cracked her knuckles, narrowing her eyes at the line of notes Yoongi had penciled in on the staff paper. Taehyung yawned from across the room, singing quietly to the track he was listening to through his headphones, paired with the light crackling sound of the needle passing through the vinyl’s grooves. “Where do we start, teacher?”

Yoongi sucked his teeth, appearing to bite back laughter, before extending an index finger towards the staff paper.

“This is the treble clef, notes you’ll typically play with your right hand. There’s a mnemonic that can help you remember the order of the notes…”

Y/N listened closely, pressing each key down as he named them, enjoying the mid-morning sunshine through the windows and the company of the two hybrids. It was nice to share a love of music between the three of them, and Y/N had the faintest glimmer of hope that one day, her, Yoongi, and Taehyung could spend time together like this more often.

The following day, after learning a simple lullaby with Yoongi on the piano and ordering items for the hybrid’s rec center clubs online over a Friday night cocktail, Y/N woke up to a beautiful Saturday morning, complete with early autumn temperatures and golden sunlight. She started off the morning with a couple of texts.

Y/N: Morning, Namjoon! I think I want to do the protective wards around the property today- Saturdays are good for these kinds of rituals

Y/N: Does that work for you? I’m going to ask Jeongguk if he wants to help over breakfast :) oh, and pls wear black if you can

Y/N pulled on leggings and a loose, thin black sweater, taking soothing, deep breaths to center herself. The color black was associated with protection within her practice, and she’d made sure the ritual was performed on the best day of the week based on what her, Namjoon, and potentially Jeongguk were trying to accomplish. Her phone chimed as she heard a thump and a muted ‘fuck!’ from the other side of the wall, Y/N choking back a giggle at Namjoon’s clear stumble out of bed.

Jimin: Hi, Y/N, I put coffee on - Hoseok and I are going out back to work on the chicken coop this morning

Y/N: Sounds good! Thanks for making the coffee, make sure you and Hoseok wear sunscreen pls

Surprised that Hoseok had willingly gotten up so early, Y/N dared to peek out her bedroom slider to catch the fox or coyote hybrids heading to the back of the property, but caught nothing but the overgrown hedges taunting her for being such a poor landscaper. Tutting, she turned her attention back to stacking ritual items into a basket to carry outside, tuning into the sounds of the house coming alive with the hybrids moving about their morning routines– Jeongguk stomping into his bathroom, Namjoon fumbling about his bedroom and opening up one of his windows, the scent of Yoongi making bacon in the kitchen, and the sound of someone (Seokjin or Taehyung, perhaps) making their way down the stairs.

With everything she needed in her basket, Y/N set off for her morning cup of coffee. Passing by Namjoon’s bedroom door, it promptly creaked open as soon as she skipped by, Namjoon appearing with neatly combed-back silver hair and a tiny smile, contrary to the seemingly hectic start of his day Y/N had listened to on the other side of her bedroom wall.

“Morning,” Y/N greeted cheerfully, Namjoon’s tail swaying behind him as he shut his door and joined her in the hall.

Clearly, he had heeded her request to wear black; he had on black dress pants and shoes, along with a black wife beater and a dark gray cardigan pulled over it. Swallowing thickly, not used to seeing Namjoon in much else other than light earth tones, Y/N tried to push aside how attractive he looked in the dark outfit by averting her eyes to the foyer in front of her.

“Is there a reason behind wearing black for a protection ritual?” Namjoon asked her after repeating back her greeting, following her in the direction of the kitchen.

“It’s color magic– each color can represent a different element or intention. Traditionally, in witchcraft, the color black corresponds with protection and banishment. Think of it as an extra shield, absorbing any negativity we may encounter. Really, it's just another layer of insurance,” Y/N relayed, the wolf hybrid clinging onto every word.

His presence, while still a bit intimidating to Y/N with his height and musculature, radiated power. Perhaps, as her mother had begun to theorize at the cookout, Namjoon had practiced some kind of occult magic before… she still hadn’t had the courage to ask him. Maybe when she’d reunite him with his trailer, he’d be more comfortable opening up about himself to her.

“Do you think I can convince Jeongguk to help us?” Namjoon spoke again once they had made it to the kitchen, Y/N leaning against the coffee bar as she watched him fill up a mug for himself. “I thought he’d say something before now. If he’s dealt with these kinds of things before, wouldn’t he… sense that more needed to be done to break up the energy?”

“If you can’t convince him, I might be able to. However, I think he’s warming up to you, so let’s wait and see,” Y/N smirked, finding her mug of coffee on the island where Yoongi had already fixed it for her. The leopard hybrid himself appeared to be in the pantry; Y/N spotting the light of the closet on and a flash of his spotted tail from behind the half-closed door. “Also, there’s been a lot going on around here lately. He could have noticed but chose not to mention anything, but who’s to say.”

Namjoon’s cheeks grew a bit pink, nodding to himself and shuffling off to the breakfast nook with his coffee. Yoongi emerged from the pantry with a bag of dry pancake mix and the waffle iron, saying good morning to Y/N by catching her off guard and pulling her in for a side-hug. She could feel Namjoon gawking at her and Yoongi from the breakfast nook, a strange look on his face when she finally stole a glance of him, trying to shake off the tingles dancing down her spine at his steely expression.

“Any sign of Seokjin, Taehyung, or Jeongguk this morning?” Y/N cracked a couple of eggs into the bowl of waffle batter Yoongi was working on, reaching up to dust a bit of flour off of the leopard hybrid’s face. Blinking, Yoongi registered her question as her thumb brushed the debris off of the slope of his nose, licking his lips.

“Seokjin just joined Jimin and Hoseok outside, Taehyung is upstairs listening to records. No sign of the elk yet,” Yoongi murmured, resuming his task of stirring the waffle batter.

“Wow, you’re all up early today,” Y/N remarked, noticing Namjoon going through the contents of the basket of ritual items curiously. “What do you two think about going out to dinner tonight? There’s a brewery in town, good pub food. I can ask Alice if she’s free, too– we’ve been meaning to go together.”

“Sounds good to me,” Yoongi mused, pouring batter into the hot waffle iron. “I could go for some wings and beer. We don’t have many groceries, anyways.”

“Who’ll drive, if we all drink?” Namjoon frowned at Y/N, a bundle of rosemary in one of his fists.

“We’ll take a cab,” Y/N wanted to childishly stick her tongue out at the wolf hybrid, but managed to keep it together. “Don’t worry, I’m not that irresponsible, Joon.”

Namjoon immediately clammed up, hastily placing the bundle of rosemary back into the basket and turning to stare out the window. Yoongi’s tail smacked the back of her thigh, predictably, and Y/N was about to flick him in the shoulder when she smelt a cloud of smoke enter the room. Once checking to make sure the waffle iron wasn’t up in flames, she relaxed, when the cloud of smoke came with familiar notes of leather and musk.

“Hey Jeongguk, hungry?” Y/N spun on her heel, pleased to see the elk hybrid already dressed in his signature all-black attire, eyeing Namjoon and the basket on the breakfast nook suspiciously.

Y/N bit her lip, noticing Jeongguk was wearing the necklace her parents got him for his birthday– the sword pendant indeed resting perfectly between his clavicles above the loose collar of his Metallica tee shirt. Additionally, it looked like his velvet had finally stopped shedding; his antlers completely bare and his face and hair free from any caked-on blood droplets. Ignoring Y/N, he stalked over to Namjoon and the mysterious basket, Y/N able to see a bit of the tattoo on his back that creeped up the nape of his neck due to the looseness of his shirt. She wondered exactly what the tattoo depicted, as she had only seen a brief, hurried glimpse of it before. It was hard to make out with only about an inch of it exposed at the present moment, and she certainly felt like she was leering at the poor elk hybrid.

“What’s this for, Y/N? Not planning on doing another ritual to attract demons to the house, are you?” Jeongguk asked dryly, a note of bemusement coloring his tone. Yoongi grumbled from beside her, slicing through the flesh of a strawberry a little too aggressively.

“We’re placing wards around the property today. You and I didn’t do that the night banished that entity from the house, and both Y/N and I noticed that the energy still seems off,” Namjoon answered for Y/N, looking thankful for the elk hybrid’s arrival in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know. You two aren’t exactly quiet or subtle when discussing this shit,” Jeongguk sunk into the breakfast nook across from Namjoon, fiddling with a stray cigarette poised behind his ear. “You want me to help, right?”

“Only if you’re willing,” Y/N piped up, obviously not wanting to force Jeongguk to hang out with her and Namjoon.

“I’ll come out with you. I want to know why this thing is so persistent, anyways,” Jeongguk waved an inked hand, flicking through his phone disinterestedly.

“Great, it won’t take long,” Y/N grinned, her phone once again buzzing a hole in her pocket. Before she could excuse herself to take the call, Yoongi caught her by the hem of her sweater.

“Before you go out there, I want you to have some breakfast, okay?” Yoongi stared at her gravelly, Y/N nodding dumbly as he clicked his tongue and released her.

She answered the phone call from her dad out on the front porch, hopefully away from eavesdropping hybrid ears. Thankfully, he agreed to a favor she had asked of him and her mother; to go together and pick up Namjoon’s trailer and store it at their house until his birthday, as she’d be a bit busy the following week between getting herself to work and each hybrid to their clubs at the rec center and library. Relieved to have most of the plans for the wolf hybrid’s special day out of the way, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and headed back into the house to scarf down breakfast, clean up, and retreat outside to place the wards with Namjoon and Jeongguk.

“What’s your plan? Banging pots and pans, making salt lines?” Jeongguk asked over a drag of cigarette, gazing out at the small pond in the backyard distractedly.

There was a definite breeze in the air; one that carried the scent of sun-scorched grass and smoke coming from the neighbor’s chimneys. Y/N chose to let Jeongguk’s sarcasm amuse rather than annoy her, setting up a sort-of “center” of a circle for the ritual on a large, flat rock by the pond. It was smack-dab in the middle of the property, so it was a good place as any to focus the protective energy and send it outwards.

“Putting salt on the grass and soil is a no-go, it’ll kill everything. And banging pots only works in the house and if you’re dealing with a simple human spirit,” Y/N set up a large black pillar candle on the rock, using the end of a sewing needle to inscribe protective sigils she’d created when she was a teen into the wax. “We’ll use a combination of smoke cleansing with a simple prayer, and burying these protective jars in the four corners of the property. If this doesn’t work, we’re looking at a banishment ritual on the New Moon, at the end of this month.”

Lighting the candle with a match, Y/N mumbled a prayer to her spirit guides for additional protection and assistance. Standing from her crouched position, she handed out a bundle of rosemary to both hybrids behind her, as well as a tiny spell vial she had pre-prepared to bury at each corner of the property.

“Okay, Jeongguk, Joon– you two can take the front two corners of the property and halfway up either side. I’ll do the backyard, and meet you back here when we’re done,” Y/N passed her bundle of rosemary through the flame of the candle to light it– Namjoon mimicking the action– while Jeongguk used the lit end of his cigarette to ignite his own bundle with an air of indifference. “So here’s the prayer, just recite it as you see fit, and use your hand to waft the smoke around the edges of the property. When you reach a corner, just use a stick to dig a little hole and drop the spell jar into it, cover it, and come back here after. I think that’ll do it.”

Y/N equipped the two of them with a scrap of paper with a small prayer on it each, knowing that both of the hybrids were clear on the directions based on how they listened with intensity. It was quite nerve-wracking to have such close attention from both Namjoon and Jeongguk at once, but her heart felt warm knowing that they’d both willingly come outside with her to help out.

“Be careful, Y/N. Shout if anything happens, and we’ll be there,” Namjoon surprisingly laid a tender hand over her shoulder, bending low so he could look directly into her eyes, while Jeongguk had begun to purposefully stride away towards the front-right end of the property with the smoking rosemary already raised in his fist in a swaying motion.

“You too, Joon,” Y/N patted his hand over her shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. With that, he departed with a flicker of his half-bitten ear, and Y/N hoped that the protection ritual would go by without an issue. In all of the similar rituals she had performed in the past, they’d gone off without a hitch, but something was tugging at her gut, annoyingly so.

Y/N made sure the sigil-carved candle was well sheltered against the wind before heading off towards one of the back corners of the yard, steeling herself as she went. While she felt centered, this was the first formal ritual she was conducting since picking her practice back up again, so she definitely felt a bit of beginner’s nerves.

Crossing the bridge by the “guesthouse”, Y/N happily waved to Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin, who were in the middle of pulling rusty chicken wire down from around the coop, tools scattered around the beaten-down earth. Jimin looked positively in his element; his golden hair shining in the early morning sunshine, and once again her heart squeezed looking at him.

“Y/N! Good morning! What are you up to?” Hoseok hollered, his ears fluttering playfully as he tore down a section of chicken wire with ease. Y/N decided to pause, considering she’d have to smoke out the stable for the ritual, as well, shuffling over to the dilapidated chicken coop and the three hybrids surrounding it.

“Morning, you three,” Y/N greeted, using her free hand to brush some dirt off of the light material of Jimin’s linen shirt, able to smell the unique combination of his lavender shampoo and perspiration due to the proximity. As always, Jimin maintained intense, unrelenting eye contact with her, his butterscotch irises sparkling.

“What’s up?” Hoseok repeated, glancing pointedly at the burning bundle of herbs in her hand.

“Just doing a little protection magic. Namjoon and Jeongguk are helping, too,” Y/N replied, following the fox hybrid and Jimin into the stable. Jimin was telling Hoseok to stack up the old, rusted chicken wire in one of the vacant stable stalls.

Y/N wafted rosemary smoke around the old building, admiring the way beams of sunlight filtered through the weathered slats of the roof. She couldn’t wait to see how Jimin would fix it up, and planned on using every spare minute of her free time helping him. If they could get everything squared away before November, when the frost would begin to crystalize the backyard, they could definitely board horses throughout the winter. Y/N knew that having horses in the stable would make Jimin happy, and that was all she wanted, truthfully. Honestly, the possibility of extra income paled in comparison to the idea of bringing Jimin joy, and seeing his pretty smile.

“Y/N, would it be alright if I come into town with you on Monday? There’s a few things we’ll be needing right away to repair the corral and some of the stalls, maybe we could go to the hardware store after your shift?” Jimin approached her after several moments, leaning his hip against an ancient looking ladder leading up to the stable loft.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Y/N grinned, trying her best to direct the rosemary smoke away from Jimin’s face. “I think, in order to accomplish that, I’ll have to drop you off with Seokjin and Namjoon at the library for the afternoon, is that okay with you?”

“Of course,” Jimin replied immediately, returning her grin. Jimin was so effortlessly gorgeous, even after performing manual labor in the thick humidity all morning, it took her aback. “I’ve already read The Stranger, before, so I think I’ll be able to hold my own in the book club while I wait for you.”

Y/N was struck once more with how extensive the coyote hybrid’s taste in literature was. Sure, Namjoon definitely came across as very bookish, but Jimin seemed to be an equally avid reader. She never even asked him if he wanted to join her mother’s book club, which would pretty much be a perfect fit for him.

“Wow, I think you’ll make my mom’s month come Monday,” Y/N chuckled, reaching out to give Jimin’s shoulder a fond pat and squeeze. He leaned into the touch, once again flashing her an Oscar-worthy smile, his sandy ears fluttering delightedly. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be able to come out here tomorrow and Tuesday to help you with anything, too.”

Jimin had followed her around the stable as she both conversed with him and smoke cleansed the area, until the pair of them made it back outside and Y/N figured it was time to move on. Before she left the three hybrids, she asked Seokjin how his morning was going; his cheeks flushed from the heat and exercise and shy purr leaving his chest. Between the three hybrids milling about the chicken coop, Y/N felt her heart swelling, each of them so focused on their tasks it helped her to re-center, wanting to make sure they were all well protected by the wards she was placing.

Paired with Hoseok’s bright laughter and Seokjin’s grounding energy, Y/N felt invigorated to move further past the stable and to the slightly forested area where she would bury her first spell jar.

Fanning rosemary smoke around as she walked with her free hand, Y/N chewed her lip as she noticed a storm cloud darkened her half of the yard ominously, the temperature seemingly dropping and wind picking up. She couldn’t decide if she was simply overanalyzing natural occurrences or if something was stirring now that she was taking action, but she was unsettled to say the least.

Reaching the left-hand corner of the property, Y/N knelt to dig the hole for her first spell jar, placing the burning rosemary on a stray boulder while she recited the prayer from memory. She had just plopped the jar into the earth, when every hair on the back of her neck rose to attention, and a whispery voice from behind curdled her insides.

“If you dare…”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @gooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @lilmxchis @7evensin @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice

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#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #hybrid au #bts ot7 x y/n #bts hybrid au #bts fic #bts au #bts hybrid x reader #bts hybrid fanfic #namjoon fanfic #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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bestmusicalworldcup · 7 months

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Best Act I Finale Song Tournament

As a prelude to the Best Musical World Cup 2024, this tournament will find the best Act I Finale song in musical theater.

The tournament begins on 8 October 2023.

Details on the tournament format are here.

Submissions are now closed!

Additional notes: If a musical has had multiple Act I Finales over the course of its history, all of them will be eligible to compete. If a musical's Act I Finale is not a song but a scene, than I will accept the last song performed in Act I. Finales of one act musicals are not accepted.

List of Entrants below the read more link.

One Day More Defying Gravity Nonstop Why We Build the Wall Tonight (Quintet) All I Ask of You Reprise La Vie Boheme Ever After The Ball Coda (Act I Finale) My Own Best Friend Esmeralda Father to Son Tomorrow Belongs to Me A Little Priest Climb Ev'ry Mountain So Much Better Memory (Prelude) Happy Ending Blackout Bottom's Gonna Be On Top I Believe Marry Me A Little Elephant Love Medley Alive Reprise Bad Idea A Light in the Dark Santa Fe The Torture Tango The Last One You'd Expect Morning Glow The Night Belongs to Us Before the Parade Passes By Along Came Bialy Tomorrow Is Anthem Till We Reach That Day Je dors sur des roses Gold Damned For All Time/Blood Money Sunday Day-O (The Banana Boat Song) Our Love is God Journey to the Past Killer Quest! Singin' in the Rain Impossible/It's Possible One Seventeen Your Wagon is on Fire Status Quo Run Away! I Am What I Am Act I Finale (Urinetown) A New Argentina Loser Geek Whatever Upgrade This World Will Remember Us The Riddle The Impossible Dream Tonight Belongs to You Momma, Look Sharp Jimmy Autumn/Finale You're Nothing Without Me Me Myself and I You Will Be Found The Name of Love and Moonfall Who I'd Be If I Can't Love Her Out of My Dreams Final Storm Ich Gehör Nur Mir Reprise Fearless Finale Erster Akt Right This Way Now You Know Hell to Your Doorstep Dear Friend Stronger Soliloquy Be Back Soon One Day It's My Life The Gods Love Nubia Wie wird man seinen schatten los Sirens Somebody Will Do Something I Hope I'd Give My Life For You Aimer Natalya Daffodils The Beauty Underneath Pretty Funny Rush of Blood to the Head Starlight Express Say it Somehow Toledo Surprise A Man's Gotta Do (Reprise) I Got Rhythm What is it About Her? Defense Comfort and Joy Let it Go Just for Tonight It Must Be Believed to Be Seen Full Disclosure (Part 2) Until Tomorrow Monsters and Men Bright New Day Night of Our Lives Bugsy Malone (Reprise) It's A Grand Night for Singing The Trolley Song Cookies Woman Is Falling into You Before I Gaze At You Again Different I'm the Bravest Individual Crazy World A Blank Piece of Paper On the Verge My Favorite Time of Year The Plagues Bamboleo/There's a Tale Sunflower Bedknob Spell (Reprise 4) Interrogation Room / 취조실 / 取調室 It Is Not True! The Truth / 真相 Something is Starting to Change / 何かが変わり始めている

#best act i finale tournament

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ride-the-cyclober · 7 months

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Ride the Cyclober: A Uranium Teen Scream Trilogy Event

Hi, I'm @bird-likes-to-fandom! Welcome to Ride the Cyclober! It's an event for the month of October with prompts for Ride the Cyclone and Legoland.

I'm a little late with this event, so it starts on October 6th.

Regarding Prompts 16 and 17:

Apparently I put injuries on the card twice. If you'd like, consider "nightmares" an alternate prompt for day 16.

For the "fall fair" prompt on the prompt list, it was supposed to say "Fall Fair", with emphasis on the fall part, to make it more like a traditional halloween/autumn themed carnival! Apparently the italics and the bold got lost somewhere between switching from a google doc with arial font to a google slide in the fancy font I used on the official card.

Rules and tags below!

Rules:

Anything can be submitted! Art, writing, moodboards and collages, a list of headcanons, anything!

Please tag this blog and use the tag #ride the cyclober so that I will see your posts, reblog them to this account, and also so that they can all be seen in one place!

You have complete freedom of how many prompts you want to do and in what order, just make sure to specify which prompt you did somewhere in your post.

Make sure to also tag all of your content with any applying trigger warnings and such, please, especially the darker prompts!

Tags:

I will tag each entry with "(prompt #) - (prompt name)", all posts that are about the event but not an entry as "not a piece", all asks as "trick or treat pumpkin", and posts unrelated to the event as "not event related"

I will reblog any post for this event as long as you follow rule 2, no matter how late you post it!

If you have any questions, send it to the trick or treat pumpkin (my askbox), and if you don't want to post your content to your blog for whatever reason, you can submit it to this one! And, should you need it, DMs are always open on this blog and my main!

I look forward to making, sharing, and seeing everyone's entries for this event!!! Have fun!

#ride the cyclober #rules #bird chirps #rtc #ride the cyclone #rtc musical #legoland richmond #legoland play #rtc event #legoland event

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ellieswifie · 6 months

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hi!! i wondering if you could do a matt fic based off of the song “all too well (10 minute version)” by taylor swift? maybe it can take place a few moths after the reader and matt’s breakup? i love your writing btw!

︿︿ ੈ [ ☕️ ] ༉‧₊˚✧

all too well tmv | matt sturniolo

♪ all too well tmv - taylor swift

summary: you and matt were happy, but push comes to shove and years later you guys see each other’s future and your not in it. (ft. all too well 10 minute version short film.)

warnings: matt!exboyfriend x fem!reader, no happy ending (i’m sorry guys!), shouting, cursing, little gore, toxic relationship , use of y/n (once), the other woman

authors note: so this has been the drafts since august bc i don't think it's one of my best works. i tried my best to incorporate the film to this fic as best as i could but i believe i failed. i’m glad you enjoy my content, and i hope you enjoy this too!! ps!! i skipped some lyrics so don’t get too confused haha.

˗ˋ.*✧·˚ ೃ࿔₊•

an upstate escape, past

your walking hand in hand with your boyfriend, matt as you walk through the door of his parents house. it was freezing outside mid october. leaves were falling, air was cold, everything felt perfect.

"i walked through the door with you, air is cold. something about it felt like home."

matt’s head turned to you while he untwined your hands and rushed to turn the heater on. the house was quiet as you followed matt towards the living room where he lit a fresh fire in the fireplace.

you couldn’t help but smile at his face noticing how quickly he was to turn the fireplace on. his face grew flushed as you reached for the scarf hanging around your neck to place it on the near by couch.

“and i, left my scarf there at your sister's house and you've still got it in your drawer even now"

before kneeling down besides your boyfriend and wrapping your cold hands around him.

"warm enough?" he whispered, rubbing his hands towards the fire.

you nodded, kissing his cheek. a cheeky smile spreading against my face.

there isn’t much to do in small town boston. going into city causes loud noises and angry drivers, two options why you and matt decided taking a stroll through the woods is a better idea. matt grew up going to this creek that wasn’t too far away from where he lived. he enjoyed growing there with his brothers and old time friends.

you’ve met chris and nick several times before you and matt called things official. you admired how funny chris was, and how quick nick is at speaking his mind.

and matt. you lived just about anything matt said. the smallest things he’d say or do made you smile and stare at him like he was everything to you. and he was. he was everything you needed and cared about always.

"oh, your sweet disposition. and my wide-eyed gaze"

"so when’s nick and chris coming up?" you asked as you sat in the passenger seat while matt drove. his eyes were focused on the road ahead, attempting to find a parking spot or somewhere to park before the two of you started your trail.

"umm chris said sometime later tonight. but it’s chris he’ll probably not be leaving til tonight." matt replied, switching through the radio stations. you nodded your head, watching him. he turns and smiles at you before reaching for your hand once he’s found a good song on the radio.

"we're singing in the car, getting lost upstate."

your eyes tore from matt’s as you tightened your hold on his hand. nothing with matt felt real. it was incredible how the air felt so crisp and clean, the way the wind in your hair caused goosebumps along your skin. the leaves falling down like december snow.

it was like heaven with matt.

"autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place. and i can picture it after all these days."

the first crack in the glass

when matt asked you if you wanted to meet his friends, you were immediately excited at first. you already knew some of the kids he grew up with in the past, but meeting his new youtube friends seemed exciting, but also incredibly nerve racking.

you all sat at a large dinner table seated for eight while matt, nick, and chris and all their friends sat around it. you were seated beside matt as you listened in on what the group was talking about. majority of the group was doing big things.

it was youtube, music, podcast, etc.

but you. you were just you. continuing your major in college, just shaking your head when someone mentioned if we’re getting into social media.

matt and you knew social media wasn’t in the pictures for you, but you lived what matt was doing with his life and supported him and his brothers channel.

you listened as nick and chris called matt out for all of his silly childhood behaviors. you couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriends flushed face when his brothers started pulling out pictures of him from when he was younger.

"photo album on the counter. your cheeks were turning red. Your cheeks were turning red. You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed."

his friends all around laugh for a long moment, before bringing out more social media career opportunities. it made you feel out of place, unwanted. your eyes looked towards matt while he continued listening to one of his friends talk about touring. you wanted to feel matthew’s comfort in any shape or form, but his eyes were glued to anything but you.

you groaned, picking at the food in front of you, thinking about some of past conversations you’ve had with matt. every little conversation ending in sweet "i love you’s" or meaningful kisses. you just loved that about him. you loved his love language was always physical touch and affection.

"and your mother’s telling stories ’bout you on the tee-ball team. you told me ’bout your past thinking your future was me."

so you did what any girl who wanted comfort would do. you reached to hold your boyfriends hand, but his body jerked slightly, placing your palm back on the table where it was before. he patted softly, pissing you off, but crowding your thoughts with sadness. you couldn’t believe what just happened.

you felt embarrassed.

you just wanted to walk out right then and there, and leave. but you just sat there, staring at it hand for a long moment before meeting eyes with your boyfriend. he sent you a smile which made you more angry.

so you turned your body away from him, making yourself feel invisible.

"you taught me 'bout your past, thinkin' your future was me.”

"hey your quiet.." you heard matt whisper behind you as you tossed the remaining dishes from your guest into the sink. "what’s up?"

you wanted to ignore him so bad. you felt childish for getting mad over something so small and meaningless, but you just felt so out of place and angry. it just felt like he didn’t care. like you were a ghost.

"he's gonna say it's love, you never called it what it was."

"nothing." you hissed back, scrubbing the dish a little too hard. "i’m just tired."

your boyfriend nodded, moving around the kitchen to place a soft kiss against your forehead. "i’m tired too, dinner was good."

"yeah, sure whatever."

matt head darted toward your annoyed tone. he was finally catching on. “what’s wrong with you?"

the breath that escaped your lips was heavy. you wanted to shove your arms at his chest and shout and scream at how angry he made you feel, but you couldn’t snap the cord, not yet.

"nothing. i’m fine."

"you sound pissed and far from fine." he repsoned, leaning against a counter, across from where you stood, back turned.

"i’m not pissed, i’m just-" the plate in your hands shattered, making a loud clattering noise. you gasped, a large piece of glass scraping against your palm, causing blood to drip. "shit." you hissed, immediately grabbing the cloth.

"'til we were dead and gone and buried. check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same."

"fuck-" matt curses under his breath. walking toward you, but you placed your steady hand towards his chest, stopping him.

"and then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you. but all I felt was shame…"

"i’m fine." you argued. matt stepped back watching your eye brows draw together in anger. "just- why do you have this fucking problem with me when we are around people? it makes my skin crawl."

matt grew confused watching you. "problem? what are you talking about, babe?"

you nearly laughed at his comment. he knew exactly what you were talking about. it’s like he has this on and off switch. when your together, alone he’s obsessed with you. buying you gifts, loving you, he only has eyes on you. when you guys are in public, with friends it’s like he’s distracted, never noticing your there.

like at dinner…

"oh i don’t know, maybe the fact you dropped my fucking hand in front of everyone. then send me a smile like it didn’t happen."

matt stood still, watching you grow angry. he didn’t know what to say. that he’s sorry? no that’s just pathetic and a dick move.

"i’ve never felt so out of place, matt. it was like i was invisible, sitting in a room crowded of people." you confessed, letting the blood bleed through your towel.

"i look like a fool." you frown, noticing that the cloth isn’t helping and your just ranting.

matt switch turned back on, rushing to grab a larger cloth from the stove, placing it onto your hand. his eyes met yours as he shook his head. "your not a fool."

"i’m a fool." he whispered, looking at the wound. "the one girl i care most in the world felt uncomfortable and hurt and i was an asshole for not even noticing. i didn’t mean to drop your hand. i was distracted and just was being a dick. i’m sorry."

you just stared, watching him closely. his eyes were apologetic and his words seemed like they had some meaning, but you just weren’t sure.

"okay…" you whispered.

"i mean it. i’m sorry. your the only person i care about. you know that right?” you shrug, just nodding. "okay. good."

you both starred at the space between you guys, before matt mutters "come here", wrapping his large arms around you. "i really am sorry." he whispers against your hair and you just nod.

"and you held my lifeless frame."

"i know." you respond licking you lips. "it’s okay."

are you real?

"'cause there we are again in the middle of the night"

a smirk placed on your face as you held a single uno card up to your face. you had a plan, one the was currently working. you played your weakest card, so your now holding your strongest one, just about to win.

matt wasn’t too far from you, he had four in his hands, taking forever to take his turn.

"we’ve been playing since six matthew. it’s three." you giggle, wanting him to just play a card so you can win.

“wait your turn pretty girl, i’m thinking."

you blushed at his comment, narrowing your eyes at his lips pressed together, before you lock eyes with the cards.

"pretty girl?" you teased, twirling your hair with your free hand.

"yeah," matt whispered, placing the cards face down on the table. "you are very pretty."

you moved the hair tangling in your hair to poke his nose playfully. "thank you… but it’s still your turn boy. go."

matt held his hands up in defense, before placing down a plus four. but you weren’t fazed. you stared at the card, before stacking your draw four ontop of his. you giggled at his stunned reaction before jumping up from the table and dancing in his face.

"i win!! loserrr…" you teased, before matt snaps, and grabs you by your hips, spinning you around. you laugh at the sweet touch before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"you definitely cheated." he replies, swaying your hips as you guys began slow dancing in the middle of the kitchen.

"we’re dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light."

it’s dark, but you can see the light in matt’s eyes when his hands fully sneak around your waist, pulling you closer.

he looks beautiful in the light it’s impossible to look away from him. he’s smiling and his cheeks are a small tint of red.

"i’m no cheater," you whisper. his brows raise for moment, before he lifts your arms, spinning you like a princess.

"down the stairs, i was there. i remember it all too well."

"and there we are again when nobody had to know."

you bit the inside of your cheek as you stood behind matt, hand holding his behind his back. his head glanced down at you smiling, before he turned back towards his brothers nodding and listening.

you hated how this was how things was. you felt secretive, hidden, unaware of. you just stood in matt’s shadow always.

"you kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath.”

"what about you?" you heard nick say to you, lifting your head to face him. "tacos or burgers?" he asked, smiling.

matt rubbed his finger along the back of your hand, waiting for your answer.

you lips licked before smiling at them. "tacos?"

matt kissed your head, smiling at your answer, before slipping away from your hand. "tacos it is!"

"sacred prayer and we'd swear. to remember it all too well, yeah

the breaking point

when you wanted to ask matt to come over, your intentions was to hangout with your boyfriend and cuddle up along the couch. but when you opened the door and watched him linger there, you knew something was off.

his poster was low, his eyes seemed dark, he didn’t look himself.

you held the door waiting for him to walk in, kiss you numerous times, but he stood, quiet.

"well, maybe we got lost in translation, maybe i asked for too much."

"hey is everything okay?" you asked, forcing a smile. you stepped forward and matt backed away slightly, reaching his hand to his ear to scratch. you notice these small ticks. he only ever did it when he felt uncomfortable or nervous. you never made him feel either of those things through your entire relationship so seeing him now made your heart sink.

"but maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up."

"i’m fine- can we talk?" he asked, voice shaky, hands moving to shove in his pockets. you head turned to look over his shoulder. your neighborhood was walking into her apartment with her significant other, giggle and matt followed his glaze, tilting his head down. "please?"

"runnin' scared, I was there. i remember it all too well."

your head shook for a moment, bringing yourself back in time. "sure." you muttered, stepping from the door, hands feeling shaky. you moved towards the long couch, taking a seat as matt made his way in front of you, standing. your head looked up at him while he looked around your apartment.

it was cleaner, more decorative. you spent all of yesterday making the place look nice for matt, but seeing the expression on his face, you hated yourself for changing the place.

"the place look really nice." matt said, glancing at the pillows and blankets laid against the couch.

you ignored him, looking at your hands. "what do you want to talk about?"

"and you call me up again just to break me like a promise. so casually cruel in the name of bein' honest."

matt looked back towards you, kneeing down on his knees to sit in front of you. you looked at his face, seeing his eyes wonder anywhere but yours. he’s always distracted. "i wanted to talk about us…"

your breathing picked up as he placed his hands on your thighs, reaching for your shaky fingers. "i love you so much." he says, meeting your eyes. "your important to me and i want you to be happy always."

you waited for the but. there’s always a but.

he intertwined your fingers, looking at how small your hand looked in his. "but things between us have been off." he whispers, and you look away from his face, staring straight ahead. your eyes felt watery, but you weren’t going to cry. not in front of him. "and i know you’ve noticed, because filming and the podcast and everything really."

his voice gradually got quiet as you felt him just listing out excuses.

"i’m a crumpled-up piece of paper lyin’ here. 'cause I remember it all, all, all."

"matt stop-" you chocked out, stopping him immediately. your fingers slipped out of his and you kept staring away from him. "just stop."

"they say all's well that ends well, but i’m in a new hell everytime. you double-cross my mind."

he pushed back slightly, watching your watery eyes drop to his face. "this isn’t love." you whisper. "love is magic. it’s happy and healthy and you fight for love. you don’t push someone away because it’s getting too hard."

"i’m not pushing you out i’m-"

"matt you saying things have been off. we can work though off. if you care for me you’d fight for me."

"i’m doing what i think is best for you." "you said, "i think we should stop seeing each other."

"and that made me want to die."

"seeing each other? matthew what the fuck." you stood, causing matt’s eyes to lift you and follow you. he rose from his knees, standing up in front of you. "we’ve been dating for years matt and you think we’re just seeing each other?"

"no-" he quickly said, tilting his head down. "that’s not what i meant- you know what u mean."

"the idea you had of me, who was she?" a never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you."

"no matthew i don’t. you’ve been off. not us, you. it’s like your some switch where you don’t act like yourself when we’re with other people. it feels like i’m clinging to a fucking shadow. and i’m sick of it."

"not weepin' in a party bathroom, some actress askin' me what happened, you. that’s what happened, you"

"you don’t mean that." he breathed. "you’ve just been distant to us and it’s confusing me."

your nose scrunched as you stared at him. you were done you hated what was happening and it made your stomach twist, but you knew what had to be down. "matt get out."

his eyes widened and you were quite surprised yourself. "what?"

"i said get out." you said once more, but quieter and more hesitant.

"i wanted to talk, not us completely cut off communication."

"you’ve said and done enough." you whisper, looking at his eyes. "you want to stop seeing each other, then leave."

and so he did. just walking out, not hesitating.

the reeling

"time won't fly, it's like i’m paralyzed by it. i’d like to be my old self again, but i’m still tryin' to find it."

picking up the phone, you stared at the black screen for several long seconds. you weren’t happy. you were absolutely miserable, laying in your bed til twelve, falling asleep til three, you were unlike yourself and growing unhealthy.

it’s only been a month or two since your harsh break up and you couldn’t help longing for a message or a call from him, but you knew it wasn’t happening. you knew he was happier, healthier. and it made you want to die.

"after plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own. now you mail back my things and i walk home alone."

you finally turned on the phone, opening instagram and searching up his instagram. his posts hasn’t changed since you checked, his inactive on his insta. which didn’t bother you, it made you feel a sense of comfort.

you then open his shared account with his brothers. scrolling through the latest posts with him either smiling with his brothers or posing for the camera in the next. you smiled at how happy nick and chris looked, a small tear falling from your glossy eyes. you let your eyes linger on matt for a moment looking at the red sweater he was wearing.

"but you keep my old scarf from that very first week. 'cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me. you can't get rid of it"

it reminded you off the old scarf from you and matt’s past trip from the beginning of your relationship. it made you tear up even more, curling up in your bed, to continue scrolling.

"'cause i remember it all too well."

thirteen years gone, present

you rubbed your shivering hands together as you walked inside the small coffee shop. the autumn air was cold, it’s suppose to be a busy day in the office, so a small coffeee in the morning wouldn’t hurt

you found a small empty booth in the back of the coffee shop before pulling out your phone. the line is long and standing while waiting didn’t seem like your crowd. you quickly place a mobile order, waiting for your coffee.

you pull out your laptop, hiding in your tote bag, before scrolling through your recent works for work. your an interior designer for some company you applied for last spring. you love your job so much and the environment is healthy and makes you feel safe. your coworkers are crazy nice, and you have never felt happier.

as you scroll through your up coming projects, a waitress delivers you your small coffee to you. you mutter her a thank you before you hear the front door ding, causing you to raise your eyes.you have a bad habit of watching people in big scenes. not in a stalker way, but more in a curious way.

but when your eyes land on the man walking in, you nearly drop the hot coffee in your hands.

you handed seen him since he walked out your apartment years ago. it took you months to finally grow from how horrible and torn that relationship make you feel, and now seeing him dressed older, wiser, happier... it makes your heart sink.

"and i was never good at tellin' jokes, but the punch line goes, "I'll get older, but your lovers stay my age. from when your brooklyn broke my skin and bones. i'm a soldier who's returning half her weight."

his blue eyes still look and make your heart race the same. you can't help but let your eyes linger at him. his hair looks more put together, he has grown a few inches maybe, and his style as certainly improved. you have to tear your eyes away from him when you start getting flash backs from your past relationship.

"and did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?"

you stare at the computer seated in front of you before you hear your name from the side of you. your scared to turn and look, because you know who it is. it shouldn't surprise you he wanted to talk, it's matt.

your eyes turn and meet his bright blue. he's got a small smile, while he carries a refresher in his left hand. your not sure what it is, but it looks refreshing...

you let your eyes travel before they stare at the small ring wrapped around his ring finger. it looks beautiful, elegant.

you want to say something, smile, do something, but your heart is racing and your brain is fuzzy.

"i can't believe your here." matt says softly, letting his smile fall. "you look incredible."

"just between us, did the love affair maim you too?"

you loved when matt complimented you. it always made your insides curl and explode with butterflies, but does he compliment his wife like he use to compliment you? where is his wife? what does she look like? thousands of thoughts and questions about his relationship with this other woman fills your brain.

'cause in this city's barren cold. i still remember the first fall of snow and how it glistened as it fell."

a cold breeze goes straight to your cheeks when you hear the door ding again. you turn and see a smiley woman walk in. she looks around for a moment before she sees matt and smile. she walks towards where you and matt are, giving matthew a quick kiss.

matt whispers something to the woman and she then sends you a smile before finding a small booth. your eyes go back to matts, while he avoids yours.

"how have you been? it's been... forever." matt asks, looking back at you, and now your avoiding his glaze.

"i remember it all too well."

"i've been fine." you whisper, trying your hardest to hold in tears. "you seem to be doing fine yourself." you add, clearing your throat.

matt turns to the table the woman is seated at. "yeah... that's gigi. do you remember her from high school?"

your head shook, earning an oh from matt. a long pause escapes between you before you both speak up.

"y/n-"

"matt-"

"no please you first." matt says, stopping himself.

you have so many things to tell him. you want to shout at him for not fighting for you guys, you want to scream at him for breaking your heart, you just want him. again.

“just between us, did the love affair maim you all too well?"

you head falls, looking at the computer time. it's nearly nine and you don't want to be late for work. you start backing up your belongings, while matt stares at you confused.

his hands rest on yours as you feel your whole body react to the physical touch, but you tear yours away quick enough so gigi cant see.

your eyes lock with his and it feels like your nineteen again.

"i-i have work. i'm sorry." you swing your bag over your shoulder and matt watches you try to escape.

"do you need a ride? i know how much you hate driving in the cold-"

"matt." you stop and you both just stare at each other. it was so painful just standing there remembering how little he cared back then. your head just shook, grabbing your coffee and ignoring his pleading glaze. "goodbye."

and it was just a goodbye.

"just between us, do you remember it all too well?"

#ellieswifie #gracie writes #fem!reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew #sturniolo triplets #all too well #taylor swift #taylor's version #all too well ten minute version #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #angst #matt sturniolo angst #matt #request

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irabelaswriting · 1 year

Text

influx

pairing: morpheus x f!reader | rating: E | words: 8.7k | ao3

tags: sexy dream stuff blurries the line between dreams and reality you say?, count me in, alternatively titled what no dick does to a mfer, service top dream, afab reader, oral sex, masturbation, sexual fantasies, pining, mentions of choking, mentions of spanking, mentions of public sex, no use of y/n

summary: "My name. You wondered about my name," the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he's not a stranger in your home.

"Do- do you have one?"

"All beings do."

You meet a stranger in a dream.

And then you meet him again.

a/n: i am dipping my fat littles toes in this particular pond. hope y'all enjoy!<3 let me know what worked and what didn't!

It’s really starting to get cold out.

October has just rolled around – autumnal colors all around. Pumpkins freshly harvested from patches set out on the steps of the houses you pass, leaves slowly making their descent from tree crowns. A promise of frosts sits in the air; come morning, the cold would make the warm colors more vibrant.

If it gets too cold you might need to start commuting, you decide, no longer taking the oh-so familiar road you’ve incorporated into your daily routine for months now.

The streets are wide, a winding path you walk along – passing by garbage and street lights, small little shops and narrow alleyways just out of the corner of your eye every so often.

Every day, you walk down this road. It’s routine – just like how putting on socks or brushing your teeth is.

Yet, as you pass another alley, something stops you midstep.

Something about this particular alley on this particular day makes you turn your head as if you’d just caught the eyes of a long lost acquaintance across the room.

And unbidden, an image flickers across your mind.

Large hands pushing up your skirts, finding the gusset of your underwear between your thighs soaked through, all for him, deft fingers sliding beneath wet fabric. A teasing touch against you, the slick slide audible in the dark, quiet alley. Someone could find you, see you, if they had mind enough to just look hard enough for a moment longer.

Your heart skips a beat – the memory as clear as day on your retina.

As if it had been real.

The dreams… the visions, had started a while ago. Unbidden, as wet dreams – ugh – usually were. Of course, it was all just a normal part of being alive, you rationalized. Heated situations in a dream with a crush or someone whose outwardly attributes you liked more than the person themselves was a totally normal, natural response to non-reciprocated attraction.

What wasn’t normal was having them about a person you didn’t even know. And, that they were recurring.

Not one night of reprieve had been awarded to you since it all had first begun.

Every night, he visited you in your dreams.

The man in your dreams hadn’t been known to you. Well, not previously. Now, you felt as if you’d recognize him in a crowd, that you could pick him out in a lineup of all your previous lovers despite him not truly being one of them. Stoic and pale, tall and lithe, composed of lean muscles that rippled under smooth skin, with hands so very large in comparison to your own. A voice that whispered into your ear, deep and dark and holding promises of pleasure everytime it raked across your brain.

The first time you’d seen him it had been a seemingly ordinary dream. Usually, they’d be about losing all your teeth at once while simultaneously trying really hard at an exam in school only to realize you were taking it naked. All the people involved, witnesses to your embarrassment, were usually pieces of a puzzle coerced together simply under the guise that you had some bias from having them there.

Yet… the dream in particular had been nothing but ordinary; not even sexual. You had gone about your usual routine, said your usual hellos and goodbyes, walked on the very road you were trudging along right now, when he had caught your eye. A face in the crowd of muddled features.

He had stared back at you – with consciousness, a responsiveness that didn’t belong in dreams.

It had been impossible not to look back at him – meet his striking gaze.

One moment, he had been there, and in the next, he was gone.

They weren’t real, you tell yourself yet again, bending down, pretending to fix a shoelace in case some unbidden voyeur was privy to your mindless stop on the street. Above, a tree canopy rustles as a bird takes flight, the only evidence of it ever sitting there being the dark feather landing by your feet as you rise.

The way home is a winding one – but the scene replays in your head enough that you feel a sticky heat coil in the pit of your belly. A hunger wanting, no– needing to be slaked with the ease of your own fingers (all the while imagining someone else's) sliding across heated skin.

You think that you must've met him somewhere.

That your subconscious is pulling a mean prank on you with blurry half-imagined images of a man you might’ve maybe (hopefully) snogged on a night out and can’t recall more than that fuzzy encounter of.

That it’s not a stranger, but rather surely some acquaintance or a mutual friend of a friend you’ve been introduced to at a party and promptly forgotten the name of.

That you’ve somehow baked him into your subconsciousness like a calzone.

That you’re so starved for attention that you have wet dreams about the one guy who has proved to be somewhat of a constant in your life.

Good gods, were you really that starved for affection that you had wet dreams about a guy you’d only seen in your dreams?

Your depravity was endless, a bottomless pit.

Because it hadn’t happened just once – no, now, the image of him panting above you was etched to your mind as the code into your apartment complex was.

Finally, you reach your destination – home. You take the steps to your apartment two at a time, riled up by the promise of what awaits in the solace of your bedroom. The steps are made of polished limestone filled with fossilized ammonites that you’d otherwise stop and look at but you’re on a mission now.

Everything lays forgotten as you move into your abode, closing the door and securing it with a physical deadbolt. Then, the weight of the day hits you. A layer of grime and dust surely lingers on your skin, sweat and dirt that came with moving about your business–

A change of plans.

Instinctively, you move towards the bathroom, chucking clothing items as you go, leaving them for a future you to take care of.

You let the water get hot before getting in.

In the shower, you let yourself go, fingers slipping down between wet skin to an even wetter core, teasing yourself just slightly before really getting to work at easing the orgasm out of your body.

In your mind's eye, in your dreams, it’s easy to let fantasy do the work; change your position, have your hands tied or free at a mere whim, shoved faced down or facing your unknown, nameless lover.

It blurs together into a mess – but it’s orderly, kind of – every whim you have is met.

If you imagine him grabbing fistfulls of your hips and pushing down, spewing lewd vitriol against your ear – you get it.

If you imagine your hands tied and him using them for leverage until the change of altitude makes you woozy – you get that too.

Every urge is abid and sated, the fantasy adjusting at once depending on however you’re feeling inclined.

That’s the easy part, recalling the intimate moments as if they’ve been real, emulating his touch on your body.

His hand moving down along your naked front; cupping your pussy in his hand, fingers skirting along slick folds but being withholding, not giving you anything, not until you’re writhing in his grip, reduced into a needy, begging mess–

He talks, too, you recall, fingers picking up their pace – with a deep, baritone voice that ushers praises and harsh little words at just the right moment. Instantly, you incorporate it in your fantasy.

“So good,” he whispers by your ear as you titter on the precipice of yet another orgasm at his hands, fingers working inside you just so, “so good for me.”

No, take it slow, you inwardly scold. Prolong the pleasure just a bit longer. Listening to the constant stream of water running over your body and down down the drain, you steady yourself.

Rewinding, you alter the daydream.

Fingers pressing into you only after you’ve earned them on your knees – your reward a perfect curling motion that has you keening. A sound that only has him roughly pulling you deeper down on his fingers, your back arching as heady pleasure rolls over you in thick, heavy waves.

You moan into the air, air that’s filled with water vapor that condenses, droplets of saturated water that run down your bathroom mirror. Despite the water steadily streaming across your body, you feel the sensation of sweat beading behind your knees; a surefire way of predicting the impending orgasm. Swallowing thickly, fingers pick up their pace.

Hands tied tightly behind your back, large fingers skirting along your innermost thighs, grabbing fistfulls of plump, supple flesh, lightly smacking the fat of your ass, the soft waves of pain and pleasure making your belly coil together hotly. Knowing what’s to come when–

Just right, you curl your fingers, pinching a nipple simultaneously. Teasing at first, building up the anticipation of filling yourself up with your fingers, circling your core until you can’t take it any longer and give into the first few moments of blissful fullness.

One moment, on your back, the other, on your knees. Throat stuffed with cock and cum, and in the next–

Shamelessly moaning into the air, you goad yourself with more to tip over the edge.

His hand twisting in locks of hair, gently coaxing your head towards him, tucking his face against your shoulder, hand covering your mouth as he whispers for you to be quiet, pounding you through an orgasm in a dirty back alley.

Hips undulating, you tense up – voice vibrating in the humid air, reaching a crescendo.

Slender fingers circling your waist, before finally settling on your hips and pulling you down on his cock with soft, pliable resistance–

But it isn’t him. It isn’t real. Has never been.

You stop abruptly.

Defeat washes over you – and still, you try again, scratching at that particular itch, that particular daydream, yearning for the release.

The fall over the edge never comes. Blissful pleasure never arrives despite being right there, and soon the movement of your fingers is a chore, the throbbing in your lower belly almost hurting.

A groan leaves you, head against the bathroom tile, as you flex your cramping fingers, finally relenting. Panting now, hot all over, water still flowing freely across your body.

Only thing you were achieving now was running up your water bill.

Pride swallowed, you twist the blender into icy cold, dousing yourself until you’re nothing but a shivering mess.

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, cursing yourself under your breath.

This was all so– so stupid.

It had never been an issue before. Really, you could bust a couple out in an evening if the mood struck – but since this all started, your statistics for masturbation ending with a climax had dwindled hard. Had the graph of your sexual habits been recorded somewhere it would’ve been exponential in it’s decline – off the charts with failure.

You take the disappointment and frustration out on your hair, doing your best in drying it before making your way into the living room. It’s cold there too, and you feel goosebumps rise along your arms, prickling on the back of your neck. Even the mess you’ve left for yourself to take care of annoys you, no help in bettering your rapidly souring mood. You kick a shapeless mass of clothing into a corner, trying to stop the beast in your belly from blossoming and tearing through.

One blanket secured later, you plop down into the sunken down couch – exhausted. Still shivering, you turn on a rerun of some show you’ve already seen a hundred times on Netflix.

All in all – it serves as a little distraction from your already wandering thoughts.

The failed orgasm is still lingering in the back of your mind, a steady thumping in your core that won’t go away with anything other than time. You don’t click the little skip intro prompt that pops up this time; and boredom soon takes over as a scene you know by heart starts playing. With a sigh, you turn over, starting a mindless scroll on your phone instead, nuzzling into the couch that’s finally starting to warm up your shivering body. The show provides a soft chatter in the background, filling the void with some non-tangible noise – a mere background buzz.

Body heavy, you sink down, down, until there’s nothing but the soft embrace of sleep to catch you.

Bent over a desk, cheek pressed into unrelenting varnished wood, slender fingers around your neck as he thrusts inside you, buried to the hilt with one languid roll of his hips. A deep groan ringing through the air, your own sounds muted from his grip around your windpipe.

Your ass high in the air, fingers digging into the divot where thigh meets hips, one large palm ghosting over the round surface of your rear, rising up to give the already tender flesh another well placed hit.

The same rough pace still persists, forcing stuttering little words from your lips, fingers now digging into the softness of your sides. Livid bites left along your neck and shoulders, a hand slipping between your thighs. A sheen of sweat covers your back, as well as the forehead that’s pressed to a shoulder blade.

The gasp that escapes you as the room contorts until it’s no longer recognizable echoes through the void. It’s not even your bed anymore, the sheets you’d hand picked out of the bargain barrel replaced with the softest of silk that flows like water between your clutching fingers.

He’s in front of you, above you–

Behind you.

Fingers tug the towel wrapped around your body off.

You yelp – instantly going to cover yourself.

“Nothing I haven’t already seen,” a murmured whisper intones, goosebumps rising along your skin. “Don’t be shy.”

His hands are cold – in clear difference to your already much too hot body – and your back arches as if to escape from his light touch against your ribcage.

Instead, he’s behind you, and you’re in his lap, with nowhere to run now.

You try again to cover up, but large hands grasp your wrists and pull them back.

Finally, you relent, relaxing.

“There we go,” right by your ear, you hear him, feel him rest his chin on your shoulder, peeking down the valley of your now bared breasts.

Eyes glimmering like stars watching as his own fingers trace gently along bare thighs before finally pushing apart the sticky folds of your pussy. Soft, teasing graces toying with you before finally pushing inside. Curling just right, adding just the right pressure, until you throw your head back against his shoulder, a leg darting out for purchase against the incoming wave of pleasure, thumb flicking against your clit just as he finds that spot inside you–

He stops.

You whine – almost crying from the let down, feeling that fire die down by not being tended to.

“So desperate,” he chides, lips barely tracing yours as you jerk more, convulsing in his hands from being denied. “Still not enough?”

“No– please, more,” you murmur against soft lips, speech rendered into a mess of sloppy and slurred kisses. It could never be enough – you want him, you want to beg for him, want a name to call out into the night, some title to give him more than this shape that comes to you each night.

Your hand digs into him, keeping him close. As if he would disappear if you didn’t.

You want to know him – taste him, share more than just this simple fantasy with him – you want more, crave it even as he’s on top of you, inside you–

“Tell me, do you think you’re awake?”

His voice echoes in the nothingness surrounding you.

What did he mean by that?

He has deviated from the usual course, the script that you’ve willfully, intently, set in your mind and eagerly fulfilled your role in–

“Realizing you’re dreaming wakes most people up.” His hands are on you again, moving across your skin until he’s right by your ear, whispering. “Interesting.”

Halfway – that is how far your fingers, reaching out to grab his own, make it before the world tilts and changes again.

With a start, you wake up, immediately sitting up from the pile of blankets on top of you.

Blearily, you blink.

Are you still watching? Netflix questions, mockingly.

You– you must’ve fallen asleep – the throb between your legs has only intensified, coupled with your heart hammering in your throat and you know– you remember what he had said–

Out of the corner of your eye, something moves.

A man is in your living room.

Not just any man – it’s him.

As clear as day – across the room from you. Dressed in all black and staring at you with familiar, gleaming eyes.

“Um,” you start, heart hammering hard behind your ribcage, working overtime in keeping you alive, “c-c-can I h-help you?”

Ah. Yes, the good ol’ fight or flee or freeze or fawn or–

Customer service.

You clutch the blanket around you even tighter, backing up into the corner of the couch – hyperaware and noticing everything in what feels like a millisecond.

How you’ve slept through at least two episodes of the show you put on. That the street lights outside your windows are bright, casting luminosity on the streets below. That there’s no immediate sign of a break in, no broken door hanging off its hinges. That you’re in nothing but a towel and covered by a blanket.

And, that the man currently across your living room is staring at you.

“My name. You wondered about my name,” the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he’s not a stranger in your home.

“Do–do you have one?”

“All beings do.“

At a loss for words for a moment, mind racing (how did he know that? followed by a frantic oh god why is he here? and how did he even get in?) you offer him your own name, and the side of his mouth twitches upwards, as if he’s known it all along.

“I am Dream of the Endless. Lord of dreams and nightmares, and ruler of the Dreaming.” His voice is deep and calm, much calmer than you yourself feel at the moment. A rich baritone that carries across the room despite him not even raising his voice.

It sounds… pompous, but not untrue. Still, you can’t keep yourself from asking. “Any more titles?”

“Morpheus. Lord Morpheus.”

You hadn’t seriously considered that there’d be more.

“... The Dreaming?”

“Yes, it is my realm, where I hold sovereignty,” he explains, “I am the maker of dreams and nightmares for all beings of this plane.”

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone insane. If not getting your rocks off for the past weeks has changed your physiology somehow, that you’re so pent up that you’re hallucinating this. That this isn’t real – just a dream of a dream to soothe your already fragile, underfucked psyche.

“Sleep well?”

Your breath hitches in the otherwise silent room at the question.

At once, you’re aware that he knows. He knows. He’s solidifying that fact with that question – a question he probably knows the answer to too, and is simply asking because your inherent uneasiness of the situation must also be known to him.

Or, as you might suspect when your eyes flick to meet his own and notice the hint of smugness present in them, he is simply asking to embarrass you further.

“Ah, yes, uh,” the heat on your cheeks is mortifying, shame welling up at the base of your throat, “I’m sorry. If– if you’re able to see them and all–”

“I do.”

No need in explaining what they are, then.

“So sorry about that, erm,” the words fumble out of your mouth, “they’re just– fantasies, right, my, uh– my l-lord?”

You probably actually don’t need to address him as such, one of the many titles, but something about him demands your attention, your respect. Is it shame? A part of you cringes inwardly, finding it difficult to meet his hard eyed stare. Eyes that are simply observing you – not eating you alive, not even undressing you. Yet you get the distinct feeling of being under a microscope, every part of you being dissected. Evaluated.

Deciding to err on the side of caution – he is, afterall, a stranger – because you’re not completely sold on what he’s selling you.

Which is an explanation to all of this.

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you– are you the one doing this to me?”

Dark brows pull down. For a moment, you think he’s cross with you–

Maybe that’s just the guilt rolling together in your stomach, all bile and acid, because he knows. He knows everything. He’s the unwilling participant, no– object, of your fantasies.

“... These dreams are–” Morpheus pauses.

Filthy, dirty, wholly indecent, you mind intones on its own, preemptively wincing.

”Very imaginative. Thoughts that are all your own work.”

No hammer falls to sentence you – judgment simply not present in his tone.

Unbeknownst (or simply not caring) of your internal dilemma, Morpheus takes in your space, the adjoining kitchen and door to your bedroom before continuing, voice the same even tone. “My involvement never stemmed greater than simply… appearing. It seems you’ve grown attached.”

Attached to the idea of him, just as you’d find a kind stranger enticing. It wasn’t… had it truly been him?

“I just thought–” you don’t even know what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve cause this more than– “that since I daydreamed about it– it could alter what I dreamed of while sleeping–”

“It does. Not to this extent, usually, but you seem to have acquired a gift not many are even born with.” Morpheus says, carefully stepping over the heap of clothes you kicked earlier. “A form of lucid dreaming.”

“... I’m shaping my dreams?” You had seen a couple of videos on lucid dreaming during your teenage years. Followed the seemingly simple instructions a lady in harem pants had listed in a 16 minute long youtube video – but to no avail. Now, however, you would envision scenarios, make up context for your fantasies, was that what he meant?

“Are you surprised?” Morpheus asks, head tilted to the side slightly. “Every day life affects dreams, yes, even fantasies and wishes do. That is not the unusual part.”

Pieces of a puzzle started to form a cohesive picture – you couldn’t control what happened in your dreams as much as you could perhaps entice a certain end to happen. Set one ball rolling and hoping it triggered a response in kind.

Maybe, if you could still find it, you should leave a comment on that video praising its effectiveness.

“Willing them to happen as you see fit, however, is.”

Immediately, you think back on the dream you’d just been pulled out of rather roughly – where you’d been denied, where he had denied you–

“That is why I’m here.” He answers your unasked question as he steps further into your living room, continuing. “It’s usually a gift sought out and refined by dark arts practitioners, not by… lonely girls.” Morpheus almost scoffs a bit at that, as if he’s noticed the singular plate drying on your dish rack, the adjoining single pair of cutlery and glass from last night's dinner, and realized exactly what you are.

Now, you glower at him. You weren’t lonely in many ways of your life – you had friends, family, hell, even coworkers who all adored you. It was just… a lonely life in one particular department, one that you weren’t fully ready to admit to even really coveting.

Yet he isn’t outright judging you – nor the contents of your dreams. Moreso, he seems mildly annoyed at being pulled into this.

That wasn’t wholly true though, was it? No, he had done this – he was the weird magic dream guy, not you.

“I didn’t want this,” you almost hiss back at him, “you’re the one– who's done this– you’re the reason I can’t–”

The words hang in the air, unfinished.

–can’t get my rocks off.

You don’t want to say that – to frame it that way, to admit it.

Some part of your subconsciousness obviously found him desirable, attractive – you couldn’t keep that from him, even now, as he imposed himself in your apartment and had almost scared you half to death – because he had been in every single dream since you’d first laid your eyes on him. Appeared in them, he had said, as if he was just a supporting role in all your fantasies. Knows about the predicament the dreams leave you in every morning – has to know.

Instead, you just glare at him now, grit your teeth. Accusingly. “Fix it.”

At your words, he looks like he’s on the verge of an emotion – but like he can’t decide on which one. Incredulity and genuine curiosity both flit over his stoic features; you dare order him? as well as clear unfeigned interest that that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“As I said,” he finally says after a moment, “you’ve grown attached.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You mortals do like excuses.”

Instantly, you regret all the very good things you’ve inwardly thought of him, a flash of annoyance welling up inside of you. Morpheus was certainly much ruder like this than in your dreams, where he was all willful, enthusiastic compliance to your whims. You suck your teeth at him. “Why are you even here?”

“I have already told you. It’s a phenomenon rarely seen, and I’ve come to inspect it further.”

Describing it like you’re nothing more than bacteria on a petri dish, a mere body ready for autopsy – clinical, medical, distanced.

“And you’re doing that by… breaking and entering my home?” You look away from him, fighting against the flush of emotion moving up your shoulders and neck. “Could’ve just knocked on my door instead of sneaking up on me in my sleep.”

“Only one of those statements is true.”

You’re just about to question which one he meant when you note the faint lilt of amusement in his tone.

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s pressing closer to where you’re still sprawled out on the couch.

“Here I thought you were inviting me over when you asked for more.”

Your head whips back to him – just to find him peering down at you.

Much closer than before.

Tendrils of heat sink their clutches into you at once.

“I can’t help but wonder… if you got a taste of the real thing, would it stop? Would you stop calling me to come fill you up in the middle of the night?” Leaning down, his fingers wrap around your chin. “I do have a realm to tend to, other duties to… see to.”

The shift in the air is palpable.

Your mouth is so dry now. This feels so much more real than anything else before – you’re conscious, this is not a dream, you finalize like a mantra, fingernails digging into your palms.

A light slap to your cheek, ordering you to open up your mouth, to show him his spend on your tongue before being allowed to swallow.

The image had come unbidden – that it’s a particularly degrading one is even more mortifying. Pupils blown wide, you peer up at him through your lashes.

“Even now, you want it.” His thumb brushes against the plump of your lower lip as he regards you. His tone indicates that he’s almost… surprised at it, your willingness.

Embarrassed, you come to your own defense.

“I don’t.” You lie.

A peculiar sound leaves him – something halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“You are as predictable here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking, thumb sweeping along your cheekbone.

Then, he kisses you, all slow and soft.

The protest that had sat on the tip of your tongue is swallowed down.

One hand curls in the front of his shirt, the other wrapping around a bicep reached out to support himself on the couch’s backrest, searching for purchase. The rest of your body freezes, not yet answering the kiss in kind.

Eyes squeezing shut, you try making sense of this, this whole situation. The interest that’s been rewarded you has been for reasons you barely understand, abilities you didn’t even know you possessed in the first place–

At once, you sink into the couch pillows, escaping the kiss but not the hand that has settled on the back of your neck. Still, it lets you fall back with no resistance.

He – Morpheus, you inwardly remind yourself of his name – hovers above you, tilting his head to the side imploringly. Like a crow would, or how dogs do at funny sounds.

Swallowing uncomfortably, you break the gaze he has you in. Despite that, his eyes stay on your face, pinning you to the couch as much as the weight of him above you does.

At first, you don’t know how to put the words that sit on the forefront of your mind. You were overthinking this, you were thinking far too little, you were–

“What you said before… Am I controlling you? H-have I been controlling you?” Your eyes search Morpheus' face.

He snorts. “You are not nearly powerful enough for that.”

Good to know, you think, shifting beneath him, still. At least there’s that.

Even with his body hovering above you, with layers of clothes and fabric separating your bodies, you feel yourself flush, an instinctive reaction to him, the object of all your desires and pining, being so close, so real.

After a moment of silence, you start again. “You’re doing this to make it stop? Will it work?”

Morpheus seems to weigh his options a bit – all of them, the consequences of whatever reply he’ll give you obviously fluttering across his mind – before he goes on.

“It is… a working theory. If simply fulfilling your imaginations in the Dreaming would have been enough to keep you satiated,” he lingers on the word enough that you feel a fresh flush travel up your shoulders, “then I would worry about how much power you’ve already managed to steal from me.” After a moment’s longer deliberation, he adds: “... Honestly, it is seldom something like this occurs.”

“I haven’t stolen anything.” You huff. You hadn’t willfully robbed him of anything.

“Maybe not. Perhaps it was a gift.” Fingers trail up your bare arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, his eyes following the path he traces. Almost contemplatively, as if he’s just seen you for the first time, he goes on. “When I first felt the promise within you as you dreamt… it was a mistake showing myself in your dreams. Now, I am simply dealing with the consequences of my own recklessness.”

Reassurement aside, it is also a bit gratifying, knowing that he’s at your beck and call. That he’s here because of you – because it’s you. That the interest is mutual, in some capacity.

That this isn’t a pity fuck – not one solely reserved for lonely girls who happen to call the Lord of Dreams into their own little fantasies. This was as much him as it was you.

“Then– take it back.”

“Oh, I am eager to make sure it is returned to where it belongs,” the slightest uptick of his mouth punctates the last bit, a promise of imminent closeness, the word stressed with weight as he leans down to whisper right by your ear, “for the both of us.”

And even though he’s kissed you hundreds of times in countless dreams – this first, proper one is tentative, uncertain. A chaste press of his lips to your own, all soft and unimposing.

Searching for any lingering doubts, making sure–

A pause follows as your eyes meet again. Morpheus pulls back slightly, brows tugging down again. Instantly, your arms move on their own accord, wrapping around his neck. You pull him back down, into another kiss, this one claiming more, allowing more. Fighting against the smile you feel spread across your lips when he answers the kiss with the same fervor is hopeless. At once, fire starts to spread under your skin, cinders smoking in your belly, his hands clutching you against him in return.

He tastes soft, like rainwater and fog, and dark and deep like wine, musky and minty all at once. Something to get drunk on, lost in. Nothing like you could ever conjure up yourself.

Your hands leave his neck – moving down his collar between layers of fabric and shoulder blades, feel them move as he settles against you, hands adjusting you underneath him, scratch your nails against whatever skin he’s allowing you to see, to touch. Searching for a definite clutch to assure you that it’s real. As if on cue, he lets the dark coat fall off him, your eager hands just as helpful as his own when in return he makes short work of the fabric between you. The towel falls off your body as easily as it had in your dream, discarded and out of sight.

Despite yourself, you keen into the kiss, feeling a soft haze settle into your mind, as if you’re on the verge of slipping into easy sleep, hitting your senses and spreading through you like the first warmth of a bath.

It’s delicious, languid bliss.

Bodies molding against each other, settling into the natural curve of each other, thighs spreading to let him between them; teeth and tongue and lips mingling together in the kiss. Your fingers tread through the hair at the nape of his neck, humming softly when he pulls back from the kiss.

Slender fingers dig into bare skin, his hands maneuvering you beneath him. They touch every inch of skin within reach; the pads of his fingers dragging against hip bones, along every rib, between your bare breasts and trailing along the natural curve of them.

Finally, his hand sweeps across your neck, the tips of his fingers running along the column of your throat before lightly tracing your collarbone. When the hand pulls back, it’s replaced with his mouth finding the side of your neck, teeth biting down. Your breath hitches from the sting, clutching at him even harder as a delicate sound leaves his own lips.

“What do you want?” Morpheus mummers against your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “Ask and I’ll give.”

“Mouth,” you whisper out, breathlessly, “I want your mouth on me.”

He must know what you meant, where you mean.

Yet the path there is tortuous and slow.

Arms unwrap around him to give him freedom to travel the path further down, another press of his lips to the intimately hidden skin behind your ears, your clavicle and sternum given the same attention. Little love bites left in his wake, never hard enough to bruise or break the skin even if they make you squirm beneath him.

Finally, he finally seals his lips around one stiff nipple without anymore of the slow, teasing buildup. Toying with the hard nub with lips and tongue, teeth nipping lightly, shockwaves of warm pain and pleasure spreading out from your chest, curling in on itself deep in your abdomen. It’s not until you start to shake and whine earnestly that he switches over and lavishes its twin with the same attention, kneading the other in his broad hand.

Your fingers tread through dark hair, urging him down with more force than needed to further incite him downwards. Even as he maneuvers you easily, your fingers fist in the back of his collar, tugging upwards before he catches on and lets you drag the shirt off him.

When he finally relents, it almost takes you by surprise. Large hands get a hold of your hips, hauling you down until you hang off the edge of the couch, before letting them settle on the back of your knees. The soft pressure of his forearms urges them up, like you’re nothing but a doll in his hand, tilting your pelvis up while he simultaneously sinks down his knees. Hearing his breathing deep at the visual of your spread legs, center slick and heated, is almost as gratifying as the swipe of his thumb against your clit that follows. Eyes locked with yours, he tastes the wetness as your mouth falls open as a new wave of want rushes through you, hips arching up to entice him into hurrying up.

As if on demand, a large hand circles around a thigh, butterflying out against the softness of your belly, a throaty hum leaving Morpheus.

It’s a visual for you too – seeing him on his knees, framed by soft thighs, eyes gleaming as he finally leans down–

Slowly, a silken, dexterous heat envelopes your clit.

The sound that leaves you is desperate; long and pitched low in your throat, the joints in your fingers almost locking with how you tense up. It nearly hurts with how good it feels – and you let it be known, vocal cords not able to keep in the loud moans. Thighs clamp shut around him, starting to squirm with a needy gasp as his tongue flutters over your clit in broad, slow strokes. His grip tightens around your thighs, giving a hard squeeze, the soft pressure on your belly increasing.

It’s almost impossible to not tilt your hips up and meet the unhurried laps of his tongue, and it’s almost harder to remain unmoving when you notice the prickly friction of stubble across your innermost thighs. Not a wholly unpleasant sensation but rather… tickling. The soft laugh that makes it past your lips as you squirm yet again is rewarded with a hard stare and an even harder hold circling your thighs, keeping them open as he pushes you further into the couch. A silent order to keep still.

You bite your lip as he uses his teeth softly against your thigh, fingers flexing in the upholstery below you. Morpheus has given you all the incentive to obey.

Not until you're well and properly still does he move again.

He’s warm, not at all like in your dreams, and he’s velveteen against you; tongue rolling in repeated soft circles against that bundle of nerves, swollen with need.

You think that there’s an easy way around this all – Morpheus doesn’t need to do… any of this. Not only the reassurement he had so willingly provided after you’d shown the slightest of doubt, but also–

You’d been slick and ready from the moment you woke up. Really, the dream he had pulled you out of had been more than enough to ensure that. This was as needless as an AC on the North Pole. Maybe, it’s simply because you asked.

Yet, as you peer down at him again at a particularly long stroke of his tongue, you meet his eyes yet again. The striking eyes are already watching you; taking it in, watching you come apart underneath him. A new rush of arousal surges through you, wetter at the mere thought that he’s enjoying this, that this is for him as much as it’s for you – following your whims, making your fantasies come alive–

Morpheus’ motivations are a mystery to you – and impossible to focus on, too busy letting the high tide of pleasure swallow you whole. His tongue circles around your center without pushing past the ridge into you, so close in giving you something to tighten around.

“Please,” you gasp, hands twitching with need to hold onto something, to ground yourself with, to fill you up with, “I– I need–”

Two fingers sink into you.

Instinctively, one hand tangles in his disorderly dark hair, anchoring him closer, harder into you, the other grabbing his hand splayed out across your belly still.

Morpheus’ smug hum vibrates through you, nose brushing against your clit as you start to stutter.

Soft and easy, meeting plump resistance and your own tightening walls, soft and wet heat, a slick sound as he starts moving the digits. Lazy, languid movements that give you delicious stretch, friction. A steady rhythm that’s just what you need – flashes of electricity moving up your spine with every slow pump of his fingers.

Then, they curl into a coaxing motion, and the pressure is almost punishing, coupled with his lips locking around your clit again, sucking as he repeatedly taps against that soft place inside of you.

It’s devastating.

“I’m– I’m gonna– oh–” you breathe out, managing to unravel your voice from where it’s stuck in your throat, everything seizing up into one big wave, grip on his hair turning steely. He doubles down – giving you just what you need, latching onto anything you’ll give him.

Hot white lightning floods your veins – and the pent up weeklong backlog of being denied bursts through, wringing itself out, tightening up like a vice. Stars sparkle behind your eyes, a broken moan leaving your lips as you twist on the fingers working the orgasm through your entire system, legs trembling. All of your synapses are on fire, feeling every precise flick over the oversensitized nub wreak havoc on your nerve endings, every crook of his fingers prompting an influx of heat.

The force of it nearly makes you fall off the couch.

Luckily, his hands are there, holding you down, securing you against the furniture so you have no wiggle room, unable to do anything but take the shockwaves that flood your system, no choice but to just take the fingers working the orgasm through you.

When your muscles finally relax and you go limp in his hold, you fill your lungs with oxygen, chest rising and falling. Panting into the air, feeling the aftershocks sending flickers of electricity through muscles contracting. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, the faint soapy smell of your showergel, as well as something wholly different from yourself. The hand on your belly moves, and you notice that you’re still clutching at Morpheus’ hair. You let the cramp like hold relent, and he unlatches himself from between your still shaking thighs.

A line of gossamer slick still connects his mouth to your core. Thoughtlessly, you dart your hand out and collect the wetness with your fingers. All motor skills leave you in his hands – your body acting on its own accord rather than how you want it to.

Heady eyes move between the slippery fingers and your own gaze, peering up at you through thick, dark lashes. With the barest of motion, he takes the digits into his mouth.

Eyes wide, pupils blown, you watch the peek of pink tongue run over your fingers, heat coiling together tightly in the pit of your abdomen. His lips are warm, soft against the pads of your fingers, as he pulls back, drinking in the look plastered on your face.

“You are just as demanding here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding too amused for your liking. A secret joke you’re not wholly in on.

You watch him rise up between your thighs, eyes immediately lowering–

Now, you notice that he’s as naked as you are as he stands between your spread legs. And he wasn’t done with you yet.

You gasp when he pulls you up with him. He grabs just below your knees as he stands, adjusting you until your knees bend inwards towards your head.

A thin, barely there, trail of hair on his chest and stomach catches your eyes, almost translucent and unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. You run your hand over it, fingers skim along his adonis belt, following the natural curve of the bone and down. “Imagine if I was more demanding,” you say, a bit breathlessly, watching alabaster skin twitch under your touch, the flesh that’s stretched over bones and lean muscle, pressing your fingers to his heart to really see if there’s something there, “what then.”

In return, Morpheus grabs your wandering hand, pressing his lips to the back of your fingers hastily. The both dark and bright glimmering eyes catch your own. The cosmos must be in them, you think, as they sparkle with something much more indelible than you could ever hope to be.

What you’re thinking of, the realization that hit you, must show on your face, because the faintest of smiles graces his lips as he traps the wandering hand to your side, stopping any further investigation of him.

“More,” he finally answers, as something blunt and slick presses between the apex of your thighs, the glide made easy by your own wetness, when it catches on the ridge and–

“I’d give you more.”

With one surefire thrust, he’s filled you to the hilt – the baritone groan leaving him reverberating through the room.

Your mouth agape as your vocal cords work, but no sound comes.

Quickly, you snag your fingers around his wrist, around one bicep, and his own fingers dig into soft, pillowy flesh. He pulls back and thrusts down, the stretch of him instantly making your legs quiver, supporting himself on the edge of the couch, easily maneuvering a leg over his shoulder.

Staggered at first, the pace he sets has your eyes rolling with every inch pushed into your waiting cunt. A groan rattles through his narrow chest, cock seated inside of you, grinding his pelvis against your own. You moan, hips arching up, plainly asking for more. And he grants it; the leg over his shoulder that he’s keeping there almost cramps up from the pleasure, and you feel a hot breath let out against the soft skin behind your knee, his lips pressed against the skin he’s able to reach.

He fucks you through the couch.

At least, that's what it feels like.

It’s a pounding – the couch springs underneath you doing little to absorb the shock as you take his cock, barely offering any plush comfort. He fills you completely, reaching deep and hitting something completely shattering within you. Broad hands grip your thighs, keeping you flush and filled completely with him. Every snap of his hip brushes against your clit, adding little bursts of stars behind your eyelids.

When you start calling out his name, begging for more, he murmurs against your skin, back bending to kiss the salty sheen off your brows and collarbones.

And suddenly, you’re caged under him.

Slender fingers settle into the plump of your rear, and instinctively your ankles lock over narrow hips. Letting gravity do the work as he thrusts down, Morpheus drives the pace even further, making your wail and digging your nails into his back, shoulders, anything you can reach, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck.

When his mouth covers yours it’s mostly to keep you quiet, you’re sure.

It’s comforting – the heat of him above you, covering you like how blankets of snow cover the streets in the middle of winter. Finding comfort in being wanted and needed, coveted, in the way that you feel you need him, cling to him, head thrown back as his strokes hit deeper and deeper, whispers of encouragement leaving his lips all the while.

What was tentative and searching at first turns into a fervor; more, you think, more.

Even as he surrounds you utterly, completely. In every breath, you smell him, taste him, feel him as he rocks into you. Lips eagerly opening for each other without any hesitation, a hot need, a want, rising in your chest. Every ounce of closeness that he offers, you take and swallow whole. Nails dig into his shoulders, as his own fingers do the same to your hips, grip on the cusp of bruising.

You feel bent in half – his forehead against yours, a salt sweat covering your body. You start to moan in earnest; you feel yourself clutching around him, the first warning pulses of an orgasm rippling through from your toes to the veins in your throat seizing up. All the air rushes through your lungs – up and out, twisting into a shout.

Every movement is precise, every caress and kiss and bite he rewards across your skin serving a purpose. It’s perfect; it has you keening, writhing like molten metal has filled your veins. The air is filled with your quick, rapid breathing. His own low, dark grunts and praises against the shell of your ear are private, reserved only for you. Your toes curl as if there’s hot sand below them, like you’re racing across the hot dunes of a desert, like you’re falling into quicksand and sinking down into the hot center of the earth. The way he takes you is rigorous; leaving nothing behind to have you wanting. It’s deliberate, knowing, of both you and your wants, and you think that anyone else would pale in comparison to him.

No one would – could – ever compare.

The second orgasm unfurls, wicked and hard, crashing through you. It burns a hole in the pit of your stomach, clutching at Morpheus, back arching to keep him close–

It doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop, not relenting an inch as he pushes you over the edge you’ve been begging for, imagining for weeks on end. Every thrust tightens your cunt until everything inside you is fierce and tense, chest heaving with almost seismic force, wet and hot bliss.

It’s devastating, utterly destructive – complete pleasure that soars through you.

Head dropping to your shoulder, Morpheus drags himself over that same brink as soon as you’re done toppling over, hips stuttering against your own until his pelvis presses against yours and stays there, grinding deep with a throaty groan.

Gradually, things start to return to you; Morpheus' forehead pressed to your sternum, the tranquility around you, watching dust particles dance in the soft light coming from outside your window. The breath he takes as he holds you still is deep, slowly pulling himself out of you. Immediately, gravity makes itself known by the sticky wet that runs down your innermost thighs. You shudder at it, the unpleasant feeling of cum slowly leaking out of you.

It doesn’t matter though – no, you couldn’t do anything about it if you wanted to.

You’re boneless. Joints all locked up, stiff from the position, panting breath rising towards the ceiling. A dull throb still persists between your legs, aftershocks of the way your muscles have been working, the comedown starting to kick in.

The couch is worn down, sunken in after years of diligent use.

But at the moment, it’s the most comfortable thing you've ever felt.

And you sink down into it, let yourself be taken into Morpheus arms as he leans down into the couch.

You groan into the air, hand thrown over your eyes.

“Sated.” Morpheus’ voice is soothing, but the statement is plain. As if you’re some fairytale beast he’s just offered a sacrificial lamb to, and was now awaiting a boon. Pleasure lingers, as does the weight of him, the feel of him inside you. His voice is smooth, lulling, a promise of the sleep that would come, eventually – as inevitable as dreams themselves.

Fleetingly, you wonder if he’d still meet you there, in that inbetween place, where all your previous encounters had taken place.

“Are you serious? Who– where else could I get fucked like this? I’m ruined.” You moan, like you’re a maiden who's just been sneaked out of her virginal purity by showing too much ankle.

The thought, that certain consequence, hasn’t seemed to dawn on the King of Dreams, Lord Dream or whatever it was. Or at least, that’s what his silence tells you. When no reply comes after another moment, you part the fingers across your eyes, just in time to see him move.

And then, he’s rolling you over, hovering above you as you lay beneath him, heart suddenly stuck in your throat – staring down into your eyes intently.

“Maybe,” Morpheus closes in on you again, leaning over you, lips barely skimming yours as he follows up that particular thought, “this shouldn't be the last time then?”

---

i read a total of three (3) morpheus/reader fics before i started writing this. happy sandman renewal and what not!!

is the ending a set up for a sequel? well,,,

let me know what worked and what didn’t! <3

EDIT: this ended up getting a sequel! read halcyon here

#morpheus/dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #the sandman #morpheus smut #dream of the endless #my writing #influx #yes i posted this a couple hours ago on ao3. what about it #anyways tags are for secrets;#yes this would absolutely not leave me until i wrote it. it eroded my brain until it was out #it's filthy. wholly indecent.#am not abandoning any other fics for this dw dw this just needed to come out in a cathartic fashion #mdni

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accio-victuuri · 6 months

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Sugar Rush : October CPNs

This was an insane month to say the least, I’m not even exaggerating. Things happened that will go down in fandom history. Our detective skills in looking for places and trying to piece a story was tested and the clowning was at it’s peak. I would have to say that by far, this year, it’s this month that generated lots of noise. Both sides were just throwing sweets at us and we can’t even keep up.

It also proved once more the charm of turtle cpns and why context, history and time is important to fully enjoy a candy:

“The charm of turtle candy is that it is incomplete. It is not a one-time solution. You feel suspicious at the beginning, but you are more sure later, and then at some unknown moment in the future, you suddenly get it. The correct answer, everything forms a closed loop, it's so cool”

• YH poster for WYB is from a BJYX fansite

• On 10/1, there has been some talk about WYB’s hair hiding beneath his beanie when he arrived at the airport to Paris. People’s guess is that he is blonde. Some people are connecting it to the blonde character in the XZS vlog.

People are free to interpret this however they want, as a candy, it appears to ZZ giving us a clue as to WYB dyeing his hair. Personally tho, this person is a member of GG’s staff & his friend who also takes part in putting out the amazing materials we get. People particularly remembered one of them had blonde hair during MFW. Anyway, I understand why people are so happy about this & interpreting it the way they do and go ahead and it this if you want 🍭

It also doesn’t help that the character kinda looks like WYB in Paris which is some next level coincidence. I can’t even with this fandom.

• I’m adding this beautiful analysis of Pie @potteresque-ire about the Mid Autumn festival photos posted by our boys. It’s technically from last month but i already published it before I read this meta. It just gives more weight to the meaning of it aside from how it matches 🌙

• Mengniu exhibit with zz and wyb standees

• Camera/Leica CPN : This has actually become everyone’s favorite candy of the year. It started out so simple and almost like a galaxy brain sort of clowning but both sides ended up “confirming” what we speculated. I have talked about this at length and in different parts below :

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

10/6, WYB continues to show off his camera. Almost all the photos in the set released by YBO, he is holding it, and there are falling cameras on Weibo in that post!!!! 📸

There is also this CPN on what WYB is taking a photo of and with people using google earth and comparing, they found out it’s the number 23. What a beautiful number. He really loves it! ♥️

• Same place, different times. This is so bittersweet to me. One day, they will get that Romantic Paris getaway together 🖤

• XZ 1005 birthday CPNs : one // two 🎂

• A photography studio shared a shot of GG for his bday and the kadian is 18:23. This same company also released a bday photo for WYB’s. They have worked with the boys a couple of time.

• The same description of something being like a film

• Glasswork art piece from France that could have been a gift and souvenir for GG

• Camping site and it’s connection to WYB selfie - At this point, there’s been so many “evidence” collected by bxgs and the most accurate date is really 8/14-8/15 that this “celebration” was done. There are also posts from people who visited the place and a motorcycle “parade” took place, so we know it’s a popular place to ride your moto. It’s one of the “services” they provide and looks like something that WYB took advantage of.

• Is one of the photographers yibo? 📸

• GG’s rope necklace and it’s meaning

• XZS birthday video taking some inspiration from a queer themed short film “we are animals”

• The camping trip was a team building of XZS and YBO?

• Both of them so sexy 🔥🔥🔥🔥

• 10/12 ZSWW rumor house & fake story content 🤍

• WYB’s 10/13 Selfie : part one / part two

• A galaxy brain cpn of XZS 10/13 post’s caption

• On 10/16, XZ released a tribute song which is government sponsored of course. In the past months, the go-to person we usually see singing for these causes is WYB and now it’s XZ. This is not exactly CPN, but i like the way that they are both people seen as positive influences and may be used to sing for certain events. Maybe one day they can do a duet? LOL.

• This one is so funny, there is an interview in a Taiwan TV show i guess. and the question was, “Talk about the general interests of gay men in Taiwan” ; the person answering is also gay and he said it’s : fitness, mountain climbing, raising cats, and Shiba Inu. 😂😂😂😂

LOL. Why does it remind us of two people? It’s so specific. Who have always wanted to raise both a car and a dog (shiba inu) and is currently loving fitness and mountain climbing. They might as well add camping on there 🤪🤪🤪

I don’t really believe in stereotypes and that there is a certain “checklist” that makes you gay or whatever— your interests are personal and what you enjoy. maybe you will be influenced by your environment but just do what you want. Tho I understand why this was so amusing to c-turtles cause they immediately thought of ZZ & WYB when they saw this.

• Even holding the camera is the same 😂✌🏼like a true photographer. Not acting all cute and using a camera to “pose” but actually using it.

• Updated mole signature by XZS

• XZS video x Bottled Joy Parallel. 🫶🏼 ; and the fact that Bobo’s is by Bottled Joy, a brand who is known to be BJYX bias ( allegedly ) . Tho this was most likely filmed before that XZS video. A happy coincidence. && This is the renewal we have been waiting for.

• Luoyang Tourism video uses a BGM of a song by ZZ

• BJYX and Skydiving 🪂

• 130 fake rumors compilation

• Wuzhen Day 3 Yibo shirt CPN ⛳️

=======

See you all next month for another round up! 💛

Previous Posts: Jan-June 2023 / July / August / September

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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mirai-e-jump · 7 months

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Uchusen Vol. 182 (Autumn 2023) Kamen Rider Gotchard Main Cast Member & Staff Interviews (translations below)

Publication: October 2, 2023

Junsei Motojima (Houtarou Ichinose) Interview

"Motojima-san, please tell us what made you want to become an actor"

Motojima: My parents love movies, and that was the main reason for my interest in them. I especially like action movies. When I was young, I watched alot of action movies with my parents, and when I started middle school, I started watching movies I myself liked. Then, when I was in high school and thinking about my future career, I thought, "I can't think of anything else but acting."

"What’s your favorite movie?"

Motojima: I love the "007" series, which I first watched when I was in my third year of elementary school. Among them, I like "Casino Royale" the most. I also watch a wide range of other genres, both Japanese and foreign, as well as horror films. I also like anime.

"That being said, what's your favorite anime?"

Motojima: I like "Tokyo Revengers" and "Jujutsu Kaisen," and I love "ONE PIECE," which I've been watching since I was a child.

"Do you have any actors you're aiming to be like?"

Motojima: It would be Yoshizawa Ryo-san and Suzuki Ryohei-san. Yoshizawa Ryo-san is a senior at my agency, and is also my senior in Kamen Rider (Kamen Rider Meteor). I was moved by the preview screening of "Tokyo Revengers 2: Bloody Halloween." I've admired Suzuki Ryohei-san ever since I saw his powerful performance in "The Blood of Wolves 2." My goal is to act in a way that conveys power, even through the screen.

"Did you watch any of the Kamen Rider series when you were a child?"

Motojima: I remember watching "Kamen Rider OOO." I also had some Rider related toy swords at home, and I remember my parents scolding me with, "That's dangerous!" when I would sword fight with my friends (laughs).

"Please tell us about your audition for Kamen Rider Gotchard."

Motojima: During the audition, I had to play the role of Houtarou, as well as another role. Since I didn't know in advance which role I'd be playing, I prepared for both roles.

"What was it like when you received the news that you had been chosen?"

Motojima: My manager called me into his office for something else, and when I got there, with a serious look on his face, he said, "Junsei, I need to talk to you, so take a seat." Then, the conversation started off as if I had failed, with him saying, "You tried your best in the Kamen Rider audition, but…" I thought, "Guess things didn't work this time, huh?," and then he said, "You've been chosen to play the lead role" (laughs). Even though I was in the office, I was jumping up and down with joy.

"How did your family react?"

Motojima: After hearing that I had been chosen, I rushed home to tell my mother as soon as possible. My mother had been the biggest supporter of my Kamen Rider audition, so she cried tears of joy.

"Did you feel any pressure when you were chosen to play the main character?"

Motojima: Of course I did. I was happy, but at the same time I was worried about whether I could play the main character, as I had little experience as an actor. However, I thought it'd be a waste of time to be anxious, so I decided to read the script anyway.

"What were your impressions on the production of Gotchard?"

Motojima: I thought it was a very upbeat show. The story of the search for 101 Chemies is interesting, and when I learned that there are more than 50 transformation forms, I was shocked thinking, "That many?!" With some simple math, that means that there'll be at least one new form each time, right? I felt like my head was going to explode (laughs).

"How did you prepare for the role of Houtarou Ichinose?"

Motojima: In the materials we received in advance, it said, "He's not very good at studying, but he's athletic and has a very bright personality" So, in my daily life I thought about things like, "What would Houtarou do?" and, "How should Houtarou speak?," with that in mind, I always try to be Houtarou Ichinose. As I worked on the role, I began to get a clearer picture of Houtarou's character, and from episode 5 onward, I added some new performances that differed from the previous ones, further solidifying the role.

"Are there any elements of Houtarou that you noticed while performing?"

Motojima: He's "full of energy". Also, he has the personality of saying what he thinks immediately. Even in the first episode, there's a line where he said, "I have to say something!" I think another characteristic of Houtarou, is that he takes action immediately, not just with his words. I'm also trying to learn how to act like Houtarou. When I see an elderly person on the train, I want to be the kind of person who takes appropriate action and give up my seat.

"Has anything else in your life changed since being cast in Gotchard?"

Motojima: Filming starts very early in the morning, but I try to go to the gym before heading to the set. My routine is to get up alittle earlier, go to the gym, make a salad at home, take a bath for about an hour, and then go to the set.

"We think that routine is abit demanding….."

Motojima: Houtarou is always in good spirits, so I'm committed about going onto set in good spirits myself. So on days when my body is tired, I get up early and go to the gym to get my adrenaline pumping. I want to make sure that my energy and cheerfulness never changes, even as we continue filming for Gotchard.

"Are there any similarities between yourself and Houtarou?"

Motojima: Houtarou was suddenly entrusted with the role of "Kamen Rider," and I feel the same way in that I was also entrusted with the important role of "Houtarou Ichinose." This is the first time for me to try out a full time performance, so I have alot to work on, but, I think we both have one thing in common, and it's that we both will never give up.

"You mentioned that you make salad every day, so cooking is also something you have in common with Houtarou."

Motojima: That's true! I make my own salad in addition to the boxed lunch I receive on set. It's not a creative dish like Houtarou's, rather, it's just an ordinary salad (laughs).

"It'd be interesting to see a project like, "Houtarou Ichinose's Creative Cooking Course."

Motojima: No? What would I do? (laughs). "Junsei Motojima's Cooking Course" would be fine, but Houtarou's creative cooking might not be very helpful (laughs). But, I actually did do some creative cooking during the auditions. In the script I was given in advance during the audition, there's a scene where he makes a, "Cucumber hamburger with mustard and pollock mayonnaise," and in order to become Houtarou, I actually made and ate that creative dish before heading to the audition. Then, after each audition, I thought of creative dishes that Houtarou might make and made them. On the day of the final audition, I came up with the dish, "Spaghetti with pollock roe, cucumbers, and a suika bar (watermelon popsicle)."

"A suika bar?!"

Motojima: I think Houtarou's creative dishes are filled with things that children will love. I wanted to copy that too, so I also added a suika bar. The taste was……I'm not so sure about the taste (laughs).

"Are there any other things you pay attention to when playing Houtarou?"

Motojima: I think it's important to be aware of the camera. When I watched back episodes 1 and 2, I realized, perhaps due to my lack of experience, that I wasn't fully aware of the cameras.

"You have the most scenes with Rinne, so what are your impressions of Matsumoto Reiyo-san?"

Motojima: Reiyo-chan's personality is the complete opposite of Rinne's. Rinne is abit arrogant, but Reiyo-chan is very honest and cheerful. She's very easy to talk to, so we read the script together the day before and discuss the performance.

"What was your impression when you first saw Gotchard's suit?"

Motojima: The sparkling reflections were so cool, that I could see them from far away. I was excited to think that I would be able to do the dubbing for this sparkling Rider for the next year.

"What kinds of discussions did you have with Suit Actor Eitoku-san?"

Motojima: I've talked with Eitoku-san about many things, including movements. There are parts of the sword where I use Eitoku-san's movements as reference and try to match them, and there are also parts where Eitoku-san watches my movements. In a way, Eitoku-san and I are one and the same, so watching Eitoku-san play Gotchard is a good opportunity for me to look at Houtarou Ichinose objectively. It's not often in other dramas that two people play the same role, so it's an experience unique to Kamen Rider.

"How was the transformation pose decided?"

Motojima: After much thought with Action Director (Hirofumi) Fukuzawa-san, we settled on the pose of "Gather 2 Chemies, mixing them together, creating a triangle with an alchemy symbol, and then clapping." However, Eitoku-san's pose in episode 1 was so cool that I changed it to incorporate the same movement starting with episode 3. Please think of the transformation poses in episodes 1 and 2 as special editions, with the definitive version starting with episode 3!

"Isn't recording for the dub difficult?"

Motojima: No, it's alot of fun! When I'm doing voice acting, I’m in Gotchard's point of view, so I feel as if I’m actually fighting. It's also alot of fun to be able to put my voice into movements that can't actually happen. When Steamhopper Wild jumps up high in the first episode, I adlibed yelling, "Whoo~!" (laughs). Of course there are tough parts, but more than that, I'm very excited by each new experience I come across.

"What kind of stories can we expect from now on?"

Motojima: So far, Houtarou has managed to overcome obstacles on his own. However, I believe that there'll come a time when he'll face an obstacle that he can't overcome alone, so I'd like to see a development where he can work together with Rinne and his friends to defeat a strong enemy.

"If you've been going to the gym, you may have the opportunity to show off your well developed muscles."

Motojima: I'll tear off my clothes and say, "Now it's my turn!" (laughs). It'd be interesting to see such a development, but since Houtarou isn't a muscular character, I think it'd be great if there was a setting where his body changed due to the influence of the Chemies (laughs).

"Finally, for our readers who are excited about Gotchard, what can they expect in the future?"

Motojima: Suddenly, Houtarou has been entrusted with the role of Kamen Rider, but from now on, he'll become friends with many Chemies and continue to grow stronger and stronger. I'm working hard to grow as an actor with Houtarou, so I hope you'll pay attention as you watch the show. As for future developments, Houtarou and his friends will be going to unusual places for school events. Rinne and his best friend Kajiki will also play a big role, so please look forward to it! _

Reiyo Matsumoto (Rinne Kudo) Interview

"Please tell us how you became involved in this production"

Reiyo: I knew (Hoshino) Yuna-chan, who played Kurama Neon in "Kamen Rider Geats," so I would watch Geats's broadcast. I was thinking, "I want to do this too," and was then offered to audition for the role of Beroba, which I accepted. At that time, I was told that my image was alittle different, and I thought, "As I thought, it's difficult to get into Kamen Rider," but then, I was given the opportunity to audition for this role.

"How did you perform in the audition?"

Reiyo: The materials I received described her as an "honor student." But, I myself am not an honor student and I'm not very smart (laugh), so I tried my best to play the role of a tough character. I tried to develop my own image of Rinne, answering questions in an honor student like style, and wore my school uniform with my hair in a ponytail so that I would look like an honor student. The script we were given at the audition was set up like a school drama, and I think there was a line from Rinne where she says, "Rules are meant to be obeyed!" At that point, the setting didn't involve alchemy or spells, so I was surprised when I read the actual script after getting the role.

"Please tell us about the situation when you were informed that you had been chosen."

Reiyo: When I received the notification from my manager that I had passed the audition, I was studying for an exam in the study room of a library. That's why I didn't scream even though I was so happy. I rushed outside and was once again happy, shouting, "I did it!" (laughs).

"How did your family react?"

Reiyo: Everyone's reactions were as happy as mine. My father said, "When Reiyo came back from the audition, her face was different. That's why I definitely knew that she was chosen." (laughs)

"You've been active as a model, but have you always been interested in acting?"

Reiyo: I wanted to challenge myself to trying a wide range of other things, not just modeling. I've especially loved Kamen Rider since I was a child, so I was really happy when I got the role.

"What's your favorite entry in the Kamen Rider series?"

Reiyo: In particular, I remember "Kamen Rider OOO" well. I also remember "Wizard" and "Gaim." I have 2 older brothers, so I watched them with them. We had "Den-O" and "Kiva" transformation belts at home, and we used to play Rider, but it took a long time for us to actually start because my brothers and I were always fighting over who got to be the hero (laughs). My older brothers played the role of heroes, and I had many roles where I offered support. Come to think of it, my oldest brother is the same age as (Yasunari) Fujibayashi-san, who plays Spanner, and the younger brother is the same age as (Junsei) Motojima-kun, who plays Houtarou, so they're linked with Gotchard (laughs).

"What did your brothers, who influenced you, say to their sister when she was chosen to play the heroine?"

Reiyo: They said "You've surpassed us~" and, "Play the same way you played the hero when you were a kid" (laughs).

"Other than tokusatsu, what kind of shows do you watch?"

Reiyo: When it comes to anime, I like "The Promised Neverland," "My Hero Academia," "I Want to Eat Your Pancreas," and "Beyond the Boundary." There are so many other shows that I like, but when we start talking about anime, it seems like I'll never stop (laughs).

"Going back to Gotchard, do you consciously play the role of Rinne in the same way that you did before?"

Reiyo: I did it with "harshness." When she was little, her father went missing, and I think that's why she distrusts people and didn't make any friends. But as I read through the actual script, I noticed the kindness in Rinne. However, if I'm too gentle, it's difficult to see Rinne's strength, so it’s hard to find a balance. Rinne has a gap between harshness and gentleness, and I think her tsundere personality is charming. In episodes 1 and 2, there was alot of "tsun," but I hope you'll pay attention as her heart gradually relaxes.

"What did you think of the alchemist setting?"

Reiyo: I wasn't familiar with "alchemy," so I immediately went online to find out more. The cloak, rings, and other parts of the costume are also unrealistic but very cool. I love spells and magic, so when I read the script I excitedly thought, "I can do this!" I was so happy because it felt like the playground games I used to play with my friends in kindergarten were coming true (laughs).

"What are some of the most memorable alchemy scenes that have been broadcast so far?"

Reiyo: It's the scene in the first episode where the fallen leaves come to the surface. When I saw the broadcast, I thought, "So cool~" and fell in love with Rinne myself (laughs).

"There's a scene where you climb a staircase connected to a wall and recite a spell to open a door, but how did that play out on set?"

Reiyo: At first, it was difficult to visualize. When I read the script, I imagined that a hole would open in the wall when I cast a spell, but I was surprised to see a scene where a door was opened during filming. When I saw the finished video, I was very impressed with how it turned out and thought, "So that's what happened!"

"Did you receive any requests or advice from the Directors regarding your performance?"

Reiyo: Director (Ryuta) Tasaki advised us that, "Acting is a drive." While showing the actors a miniature toy car, he told us, "An actor cannot move without the gasoline of emotion. When you drive at top speed, you can give a great performance." So in other words, you have to perform from the heart, not just from your hands, in order for the viewers to understand what you're doing, and for you to be able to perform effectively as an actor. In order to give an emotional performance, I read the script in detail and try to understand Rinne's feelings from each line.

"What's the atmosphere on set like?"

Reiyo: We get along incredibly well and everyone is kind to each other. When we have free time during filming, we play games together, and it's alot of fun. We play puzzle games like, "Word Wolf" or, "Sea Turtle Soup." I also love gummy candy, so I always have some with me and give them to everyone (laughs).

"Please tell us your impressions of Junsei Motojima-san, who plays Houtarou."

Reiyo: Junsei-kun is really just like Houtarou. For example, when filming stops for a scene that's difficult to act in, the scene sometimes becomes an issue. At such times, Junsei-kun can just say a few words, and the scene instantly becomes more relaxed. In the beginning, I couldn't tell jokes and spoke with honorifics, but now I can laugh at Junsei's jokes and he can respond to mine.

"What are your impressions of another female cast member, Oto Abe-san, who plays the role of Renge Icho?"

Reiyo: We often work together in the waiting room, and Abe-san speaks in a straightforward manner, just like a Kansai person, which is extremely interesting. Abe-san's own laughter is so loud that it makes me happy to hear it. Abe's laughter lights up the atmosphere on set.

"How much do you know about future developments?"

Reiyo: I don't know anything at all! (laughs), that's why I always look forward to receiving the next script, and every time I go on set, I check to see if a new script has arrived.

"What do you want to do in the future as Rinne?"

Reiyo: First, I want to become stronger than Houtarou! Most heroines are saved by the hero, but I want to, "Become a heroine who's stronger than the hero" (laughs). That's why I want to challenge myself with action. And also, I want to transform into a Kamen Rider. Since I was a child, I've always wanted to transform into a Kamen Rider, and my older brothers and I even competed with each other for the belts (laughs). Recently, the number of female Kamen Riders have been increasing, so I hope that I'll get a chance to become one of them.

"Finally, please tell us about some future highlights"

Reiyo: Through her involvement with Houtarou, Rinne's mindset, which used to put rules first, has gradually changed. Some people may have watched episodes 1 and 2 and thought, "Isn't Rinne a scary kid?," But I think you'll gradually see a different side to her than the strict honor student character, so it's exciting. Please look forward to seeing Rinne's image crumble! (laughs). Still, I'll keep Rinne's strength and respect for the rules until the end. Thank you for your support throughout the year! _

Hiroki Uchida, Yosuke Minato, Keiichi Hasegawa Interviews

"First, we'd like to ask about the development of Kamen Rider Gotchard. When did Minato-san receive the offer to become Chief Producer?"

Minato: Last year, I was preparing for "Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger" with Chief Producer (Takahito) Omori. Ryohei Takahashi, a talented junior staff member, joined us as an assistant Producer, and we were ready to go at last. Whenever I join a production, I always keep one goal in mind. In King-Ohger I had set my goal as, "Moffun will take the world by storm!" But during this I was told, "Please take charge of the next Kamen Rider," and Moffun was left up to Omori and the others. The result was that Moffun became very popular…..(laugh). I immediately started meeting with Producer Ishimori-san, TV Asahi, and Bandai, where we decided to use the cards as the transformation items. On my way home, the first thing I did was call Uchida-san.

Uchida: Originally, I was invited to write the script for King-Ohger, so I thought it was going to be about that, but was surprised to hear that it was about a new Kamen Rider. I'd already cleared my schedule for King-Ohger, and I've been in contact with Minato-san since our school days, and we also worked together on "Kamen Rider Saber," so I was happy that he asked me to work on it, but I was honestly concerned, as the two of us are still young, would we be able to handle it?

Minato: When a new Producer launches a project, veteran Producers Shinichiro Shirakura and Hideaki Tsukada are supposed to watch over them. However, if you don't have a solid idea of what you want to do and what you want to achieve when launching the project, it'll end up becoming Shirakura and Tsukada's work. That's why, the first thing I asked Uchida-san, an old friend who I could easily express my true feelings and weaknesses to, was to participate in this project. However, Uchida-san was a main writer for the first time (at Toei), so I thought it'd be difficult for him to write for an entire year by himself. So, I asked Hasegawa-san, who helped with Saber, if he could join us as a sub writer in advance.

Hasegawa: You called me on the phone, right? To put it simply, at the time, I was so happy to be invited to work on Minato-kun's first project as a Chief.

"When he approached you two, you already had a card motif in mind, but where did the theme of "alchemy" come from?"

Minato: Over the course of our meeting, the word alchemy came up. This is a theme that so far, has never been used in the Kamen Rider series (in the main series), and the combination of cards and alchemy is rare. I thought, "Wouldn't it be interesting to depict this?"

Uchida: Also, at that time, the existence of Chemies hadn't been decided. I wasn't at the meeting, so, when I was briefed on it, I smiled bitterly at what a difficult path I'd chosen to go down…..

Minato: When Shirakura worked on the card battles in "Kamen Rider Ryuki," he concluded that the cards were like a proxy war, so he needed a gimmick that would allow the user to intervene. In "Kamen Rider Decade," the value of the cards was further enhanced by allowing users to become any Kamen Rider when using them, but this time, we needed to draw out the appeal of the cards even more. During all of this, the design of the cards that Bandai sent to us looked like living creatures, and the idea flashed in my mind that these were homunculi, monsters created through alchemy. That led us to Chemy. We agreed that it'd be exciting if the Kamen Riders fought using the cards that contained the various abilities of the Chemies, and that it'd actually be fun to collect the cards.

"At that point, was it also decided that there would be only one Kamen Rider appearing in the early stage?"

Minato: It was. If we were going to depict a hero who fights while switching cards, rather than increasing the number of Kamen Riders, it's better to increase the number of forms for each Rider, and this direction coincided with my desire to create a small number of Riders. In the early stages of the project, the idea was to keep the structure similar to "Kamen Rider Agito," with only 3 Riders. In the end, it became a single Rider, and he has to fight using all of his cards and switching between them.

"Did the current story come out of that initial plan?"

Minato: While working with Uchida-san on the scripts for the episodes 1 and 2, the flow of, "There are Chemies," "Alchemy is used," and "Houtarou enrolls at the Alchemist Academy" was determined. However, since there's so many people involved in the Kamen Rider series, when we were putting together the script, both Uchida-san and I were constantly receiving so many different opinions, that we felt like we couldn't accept them all…..With the way things were going, episodes 1 and 2 would get lost in story, and would never make it into the final script. After consulting with Shirakura, Tsukada, and senior Producer Kazuhiro Takahashi, it was decided that we ask Hasegawa-san, who had been asked to participate as a sub writer, to help us sort things out.

Hasegawa: Just when I was thinking, "Isn't it about time?" I received a call saying, "They're finally here!" But, when I thought it would be about episodes 5 and 6, I was told, "Please do episodes 1 and 2. These are the main ones." I was surprised and said, "Eh?!" and "They're not done yet?!" (laughs). At that point, it had been decided that Houtarou would be the son of a family restaurant, that he would meet Hopper1, and become a Kamen Rider. However, Houtarou was supposed to release the 101 Chemies. Houtarou, an unconventional guy, feels sorry for the Chemies he's stored in the cards and releases them, but then collects them again because of the trouble they've caused. It was a, "Cause problems and get credit for the solution" type of story. There was no clear enemy, and the Three Dark Sisters didn't exist.

Minato: I thought that if the Chemies were scattered all over the world and merged with bad people in town to become monsters, there'd be no need for a villain for the main character to face. Even if it became necessary halfway through, I ultimately didn't think it was necessary to have them appear in the first episode.

Uchida: There were so many elements revealed in the first episode, that I thought if we included even the villain, the audience wouldn't be able to keep up with the story

Hasegawa: By abandoning the "problem to solution" development, we needed an enemy.

Minato: At first, TV Asahi's producer (Chihiro) Inoue insisted that "It'd be better to aim for an easy to understand enemy." Then, Assistant Producer (Daigo) Matsura remembered this and proposed it again to Hasegawa-san, where the Three Dark Sisters were created.

Hasegawa: We had alot of discussions about what kind of enemy to make. "Kamen Rider Saber" had 3 males, and "Kamen Rider Revice" had 1 female and 2 males, so I came up with the idea of having 3 females to differentiate our characters.

Minato: I thought it was an interesting story, and that having three female villains would leave an impact. As a result, the first episode had a high proportion of female cast members for a Kamen Rider.

"It's true, the only male characters were Houtarou, Minato, Fuga Kudo, and Kajiki."

Hasegawa: At first, Kajiki wasn't there either. It started out as a couple students talking about urban legends, but then Inoue-san asked us to, "Make Houtarou have a friend," and so Kajiki was created.

"Chemies are living things, and we asked about this earlier, but was Hopper1 originally going to be the current mascot?"

Minato: It was Hasegawa-san's tastes.

Hasegawa: Ever since I read the first draft, I knew that Hopper1 had to be cute. Grasshoppers don't make noises, but I thought, "Let's make it cute!," so I improvised and wrote in that it says, "Hopper."

Minato: Hasegawa-san joined us without any prior knowledge, so he suggested out alot of ideas that we didn't think of, which was very helpful.

Uchida: I was happy to see that he kept the refreshing male and female buddy element, which we'd been advocating for since the beginning of the project.

"Did Uchida-san originally plan on making the male and female combination of Houtarou and Rinne the center of the story?"

Uchida: We were aiming for a fun and cheerful story about two teenagers, Houtarou and Rinne, who are both students.

Minato: In terms of casting, we planned from the beginning of the project to cast a young teenager as Houtarou.

Uchida: We also talked about how difficult it would be to find an actor who could play the role of Rinne.

Minato: Unlike Houtarou, who suddenly became a Kamen Rider, I thought that since she was his senior and came from a line of alchemists, even though they're classmates, she would require a slightly more mature attitude than Houtarou. I thought that the actor would be in her early twenties, older than Houtarou's actor.

Uchida: And then we met Matsumoto Reiyo-chan at an audition.

Minato: We found Rinne. And she's a mature 15 year old!

Hasegawa: Motojima Junsei-kun, who plays Houtarou, is exactly the image of Houtarou that I had envisioned. I thought they both fit their roles wonderfully.

Minato: I'm truly grateful for the opportunity of meeting Junsei-kun and Reiyo-chan.

"From episode 2 onwards, Renge Icho and Sabimaru Tsuruhara will appear as students of the Alchemist Academy."

Minato: They also existed at the time of Uchida-san's initial ideas. However, as I mentioned earlier, there was no villain at the beginning, so Renge and Sabimaru were set up as a rival team led by Kurogane Spanner.

Hasegawa: It was a 3 person team with Spanner as the leader, and Renge and Sabimaru as its members. They were going to fight for the Ride Chemy Cards with them. During the rough plotting stage of episodes 3 and 4, it was suggested that Spanner should be left alone.

Minato: I decided that Spanner would be like an elder brother, who guides Houtarou until he grows. That being the case, Spanner must be a strong character who can fight alone. That's when the characters were reconstructed, and Renge and Sabimaru became classmates of Houtarou and his friends at the Alchemist Academy. Come to think of it, it was Hasegawa-san's idea that Renge start speaking with a Kansai dialect.

Hasegawa: In the script for the episode 2, we had Renge speak with the Kansai dialect to differentiate her character.

Minato: I thought, "It's not going to be easy finding an actor who can speak in the Kansai dialect!," but it was fate that Abe Oto-san, who's from Osaka, was there for the audition. I asked her to improvise some lines in the Kansai dialect, and she really got into it. The only character in the Kamen Rider series with a Kansai dialect is Akiko Narumi from "Kamen Rider W," but it's rare for a character to have a Kansai dialect all the time.

Hasegawa: But, episode 3 reminded me of Akiko. There's also a takoyaki scene (laughs).

Minato: Originally, Sabimaru was set to have a VTuber avatar, rather than use AI. However, creating a VTuber was difficult, so we settled on AI.

Uchida: I had been in contact with (Rikiya) Tomizono-kun, who plays Sabimaru, for a long time, but I presented him with an audition without saying I was happy. I was happy to hear that he made it to the final audition. I knew he had experience as a voice actor and that he'd be able to play the voice of AI, so when he was chosen, I thought it was the perfect casting.

Minato: For the AI…..there was a proposal to use a voice actor, but despite his looks, Tomizono-kun can produce a low, handsome sounding voice, so we decided he could play the role of the AI as well. We were happy that we found someone who exceeded our expectations.

"We'd also like to ask about staffing. Director Ryuta Tasaki is the Pilot Director, and Hirofumi Fukuzawa, who was previously in charge of Super Sentai, will be the Action Director."

Minato: When Uchida-san and I, two newcomers, started Gotchard, we decided to ask a veteran Director who we could rely on to direct the pilot, so we asked Director Tazaki, who worked with us on "Avataro Sentai Donbrothers." I also asked Director Fukuzawa, who I had worked with on Donbrothers, and consider to be one of the top ten Action Directors in Asia, to be our director. As a result, the main staff, except for the writers, are the same as Donbrothers (laughs).

Uchida: Since the planning meeting, I've been wondering, "How would the alchemy be visualized in the first place?" On top of that, Director Tasaki carefully creates a format for the worldview and creates a work that's even more exciting than the script. Both episodes 1 and 2 had great visuals.

Hasegawa: The acting of the cast was also excellent. Kajiki was my favorite, but when I saw Kabe Amon-kun's performance in the show, I loved him even more. It's hard to resist the urge to only have him in more scenes when I'm working on the script (laughs).

"Please tell us about the opening theme song "CHEMY×STORY" and the insert song "Rising Fighter."

Minato: Since the very beginning of the project, I've been committed to the "Rider Kick Supremacy" principle. I mentioned Agito earlier, but Agito has been a special work in my life ever since I saw it for the first time when I was in my first year of middle school. The coolness of the combination of the Rider Kicks and the song "BELIEVE YOURSELF" has left a strong impression on me. Because of this impression, I'd always said that I wanted to leave the Rider Kick scene in the memories of the children watching Gotchard. We decided to play the "Kick Song" during the Rider Kick scene from the very beginning of the project, and it led to the song "Rising Fighter" sung by Beverly in episode 2. When music producer (Mayu) Ida-san asked me what kind of theme song I wanted to use for the opening, I said, "I want it to be an upbeat song." Then, BACK-ON was chosen as the artist, and we came up with a song with a bright, youthful feel that's typical of a high school Kamen Rider. I told Fujibayashi Seiko-san (who wrote the lyrics) that Gotchard was a bright, youthful school drama, and she wrote wonderful lyrics. Director Tasaki also responded to my wishes with a fast paced video, for which I can only express my gratitude.

Uchida: When I saw the opening video, I felt that we had to keep this positive feeling. It felt as if we received a message from Director Tasaki that the story of Gotchard should be like this.

"Broadcasting will continue for the next year. What are your goals for the future?"

Hasegawa: Our goal is to take good care of the characters. I'd like to continue to make the characters more appealing and continue to depict them throughout the year, including the villains.

Minato: If we look at some previous works, there are some characters who leave the show halfway (laughs).

Hasegawa: That's true…..(laughs) Right now, we're still at the stage of thinking about how to make the characters appealing in the drama. A year is a long period of time, and it's impossible to predict what kind of "chemical reactions" may occur. After overcoming these challenges, we may discover some aspects that we never thought of. First, I'm aiming for the final episode, and I'm going to write carefully without giving up on these characters.

Uchida: Of course, we value the characters, but when we actually met with the actors, we felt that, unlike in anime, one of the characteristics of live action productions is that, "Actors who aren't colored with any colors create their characters from scratch." As for Gotchard, Junsei Motojima-kun, who plays Houtarou, and Reiyo Matsumoto-chan, who plays Rinne, are making their first attempts at acting, so I think we must create a script that'll bring out their charm and brilliance even more. I'd also like to make Gotchard a show that can inspire the hearts of not only children, but also adults.

Minato: I'm going to get through the year thinking, "I must never lose the feeling of youth." Youth is a time of unconditional brilliance, and I think it makes not only the individual but also those around them smile. In Gotchard, I'll carefully depict the story of Houtarou and Rinne so that we can share the "sparkle" of youth together.

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choochooboss · 6 months

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October Magma event approaching!!

Choo chooOOOoo...! "A swift, chilly autumn wind sweeps past you. As soon as it fades, a letter lands by your feet. You look down and notice that the fancy looking envelope bears your name. You get a little nervous not seeing who sent it.

You flip the sealed envelope in your hands a few times while thinking what to do about it. Eventually your curiosity wins and you decide to open it up. It reads...

"Pasio Glamour Fest. Starting on Saturday, October 28th-30th. At Magma mansion. We are expecting you."

It's time for another monthly Magma event! Wooo!! Here is the event guide, make sure to check it out!

Main event theme: design a special costume OR a Sygna suit for any official Pokémon character(s) and draw them strike a pose!

What's a sygna suit you may ask? For those who don't play Pokémon Masters EX: it's a stylish costume themed after the character's partner pokémon! However, the pokémon doesn't have to be originally in the character's team, so you can choose your inspiration freely and make them pose together!

Please don't worry about picking the same character/pokémon as others. I believe each of your design will be unique! You can also pick a pokémon the character is already partnered with, like sygna suit Emmet & Archeops!

Halloween themed costumes are appreciated but not required! Also they don't need to be cool and stylish, you can go totally silly and/or cute with it! If you don't want to make your own design or nothing pops in your mind, you can make the character cosplay as other characters (can be outside games/Pkmn series). Just write down in the piece who they're dressing up as!

You can draw as many designs as you like, but you can reserve up to two slots at the start: if your pieces reach the coloring phase/show good progress, you can reserve more slots!

If you already have a design prepared, you can use that no problem! Working on your ideas in advance is recommended! Not sure if I've mentioned this before, but you can draw your piece in other art program than Magma (or traditionally) if that suits you better! Just make sure to DM me your piece(s) by the end of October 30th!!

For free doodle session we will have a dedicated page for ghost type pokémon! We also have a grandiose ballroom for your OCs & favourite characters to enjoy the spooky atmosphere and show off their moves. I also hear there is a mischievous little witch running around & turning naughty people into joltiks..! Trick or treat?

All aboard!! I hope you'll have a spooktacular time with us!

#jun's magma events #magma #pokemon #submas #I hope you enjoy our special banner designs!#Trash merchant Emmet has arrived! If you give him pink or teal items he will give something nice for you in return!#chemmet witch & floofball joltik are too darn cute!!#If you're not being nice this little witch will turn you into a joltik!#chemmet

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be-my-ally · 6 months

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Autumn Leaves Falling Down

(Like Pieces into Place)

I've inserted the sneak peak/1st part from last week into this to make it easier to locate and read, so if the first 1k reads as familiar that's why.

summary: it's autumn 1972, and Elvis' girl on the side, Laura (from All Revved Up), who is no longer the girl on the side -- has come to stay at Graceland. There's the Memphian, an attempt at a trip to the morgue, and Elvis in a sweater - oh, and smut.

wc: 7.6k

warnings: 18+, kissing, making out at the cinema, there's an argument with Red that results in a gun being drawn but doesn't go off, mentions of dead bodies, p in v sex. this could probably do with a ton of editing but i am fundamentally lazy.

the memphian scenes are totally inspired by @whositmcwhatsit’s The Gate Girl — I've avoided rereading the past couple of weeks to try and forget it but i’ve read it upwards of 55 times and i think i’ve absorbed it all into my brain as fact - and really, she does it much better than me so everyone (if you haven't) pls go and check it out.

October 19th 1972 Graceland.

It’s quiet as Laura pads down the stairs, suspicious of the silence in the house - hoping that Elvis hadn’t actually up and left her on her own. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed, hoping to find him quickly and work out what she should wear today, and besides, it was early - knowing him they’d end up back in bed soon. But she hadn’t really anticipated having to go all the way downstairs before she could call to him. She wraps her arm around herself as she looks around, it’s the first time she’s been cold at Graceland, really she’s only been there a handful of times anyway - and last year in the colder months he’d had her over in Palm Springs. Sure, he kept his room at a frankly ridiculous temperature but under the warmth of his heavy comforter and arm she barely felt it. Now though it feels as though there’s a cool breeze running through the house. The late summer having certainly given way to autumn, bronzed leaves starting to fall off the trees.

Elvis is nowhere to be found as she peeks around doorways and arches, and she wonders if she should give up and just wait for him to show up in the bedroom - but she’s sure he’d have woken her up if he was leaving, so he must be around here somewhere. She’s grateful there’s carpet in the kitchen for her bare toes when she creeps around the corner, the breeze suddenly stronger. The mystery is quickly solved; the door to the hallway flapping from the exterior door being left open. Laura huffs as she slams them shut, but it does at least explain where they’ve all gone (and why it was so breezy in the house). She looks down at herself, considering if she was prepared to venture out, but it’s just this side of too cold, and besides she’s pretty sure Elvis would flip out at her parading outside in just her silk robe. She heads down to the den, intending on just getting a little glimpse before going to get changed.

She quickly spots some of the guys, as she peeks out of the glass, but they’re all just a little too far to the side for her to see everyone. She leans against the windowsill to help her stretch to peer as far as she can out, tiptoes rubbing into the plush green carpet. A football comes flying and Joe comes running past, red-faced and struggling to breathe in an attempt to catch it. She can’t help but giggle watching him as the collection of men come trotting around the corner to join him. Elvis at the end of the group, looking pleased with what had clearly been his throw. Laura leans as close as possible to the window, ducking her head under the little curtain, appreciating the look of him having fun. He’s practically bouncing around outside, dressed casually in a way she hasn’t really seen before - his velour zip-up looking particularly cosy. He’s a little thicker than he was in the height of the summer and in Laura’s opinion it looks good on him; she’s a fan of how he’s styling his hair at the moment too - the slightly longer shaggy length of it that seems to look like he’s either just combed it into a gentle swoop or like he’s been rolling around on it. Both looks make her tummy flip if she looks at them for too long. He’s foregone his tinted glasses, whether because it was overcast and therefore the light manageable to his eyes, or simply from fear of the football being thrown Laura didn’t know. She could, however, just from looking at the set of his shoulders tell that for once he seemed untroubled. As calm as he could ever be, his carefree attitude was evident even from a distance. He spots her at the window after a couple more passes, his face lighting up as he jogged over to the window.

Even though Laura was watching him she still startles when he taps the glass, through the decorative metal, grinning at her. She beams back - thrilled at his happy face.

“How’d’you sleep honey?” He shouts at her, muffled but still audible, she giggles in response - shaking her head at his antics. She’s pretty sure she’s somehow alone in the house, but she wasn’t about to start shouting through a window at him. He folds his arms, leaning back to look her up and down, frowning suddenly and insistently tapping the glass again in mock outrage.

“Get dressed!” Laura shakes her head again, teasing him and watches as he signals something to the boys who all jog off to one side. She’s too distracted by all the movement to notice Elvis himself disappearing, until the door slams open. She stumbles, caught in the drape when she attempts to whirl herself around - but before she can right herself there’s an arm suddenly wrapping around her middle, holding her tight and close. Despite the plush velour rubbing against her back, she can feel the chill on him; they must have been out there playing for a while already.

“Jesus Elvis! You’re freezing!” He shakes his head, laughing and shoving his cold nose into the crook of her neck, “Elvis!” She tries to dance and wriggle out of his hold, but he has a surprisingly tight grip onto her.

“Not my fault Lor! Y’gotta get dressed, honey, catch yer death runnin’ round like this!” He tugs her away from the window, bundling them towards the middle of the room.

“Didn’t need - didn’t need to before.” His hands brush up her sides and she squirms as he tickles her. “‘Fore someone kept shoving their nose places it didn’t be-” Laura yelps when his nose makes another appearance, now with accompanying snuffle-snorting noises. “-long!”

“Oh yes you do. Can’t have you like this -” Elvis holds her with one arm, the other hand trailing down to brush across her bare thigh, large hand parting her robe and pushing up her nightgown. Laura involuntarily clenches her thighs and immediately feels his huff of laughter as he feels it. His voice lowering as he leans closer to her ear, the gentle vibration sending goose-pimples across her skin. “Not like this.” He flicks at the hem, now high enough to send a gust of air across the crease of her upper thigh, just the threat of exposure enough to make her gasp.

He smooths the fabric back down, mock outrage back in his voice; “Anyone could see you!” As if he wasn’t the one exposing her. He prods his long fingers into her tummy, making her crunch in an attempt to squirm away from his tickling, giggling the whole time.

“No, no!” She shrieks, “No more! I give!” He stills his hands and between gulps of air she tells him, “I’ll get dressed! I give.”

“Y’better!” he growls against her ear, squeezing her tight to his torso for a long second before releasing her with a grunt. Self-satisfied smile on his face when he pulls her around to face him, her own rosy cheeks matching his. He flicks at the hem of her nightgown again, shaking his head at her.

“Go on then.” He turns her to the stairs, slapping her behind as she stumbles calling out to her as she heads up the stairs and back up to his bedroom “Hurry! Want you to be my little cheerleader out there!”

So, Laura hurries. She gets ready as quickly as possible; dabbing on a little makeup and brushing her hair. She’s casually dressed when she heads back down towards the back door - jeans and a ribbed rollneck, fully expecting to change again later in the day. She grabs one of Elvis’ coats out of the coat closet on the way, wrapping herself in the thick fabric and liking how it fell past her knees - she’d really not been prepared for this early fall chill, having brought with her light jackets and layers instead of anything with a focus on warmth. Elvis grins over at her, pretending to throw the ball at her when she finally exits the house, and she giggles back at him, standing to the side of their playing space,

“Gimme a E!” She shouts at him, and he roars with laughter, shaking his head as he loudly tells the boys;

“Oh, you’re in for it now! Got my little good luck charm out here, haven’t I? Where’s all your missus’ huh?” Jokingly shoving and jostling as they come in closer. The game continues - seemingly some sort of bastardised version of football wherein it was every man for himself, and Laura contented herself with watching from the sidelines, every now and again giving Elvis an encouraging cheer at what she hoped was a particularly decent run or pass. It was growing a little boring watching by herself and she wondered where all the other wives and girlfriends were, if they’d had other plans or turned down an invitation to watch - or, as she hoped (despite her boredom) if she’d been specially invited out to the boys-only impromptu game. But Elvis looked happy, practically beaming at her every time he ran close by and so she was more than happy to burrow into the lapels and collar of the large overcoat, enveloping herself in his scent while she watched on. It’s only about ten minutes later that he runs past and pauses, hands outstretched,

“Aw, Lor, baby, I’m all chilled to my booones, you gotta warm me up ‘fore I freeze!” He tries to shove his cold hands up her sweater and she shrieks, dashing away from him -

“Oh no you don’t!” He pouts, arms crossed, and she shakes her head, “Not gonna work this time mister, you’ve got icicles for hands, and you can keep them to yourself!” Elvis huff in a faux put upon manner, and calls the boys in;

“C’mon guys, I’m gettin’ bored of kickin’ all your asses… and ‘m hungry - let’s go have somethin’ to eat and warm up a bit.” Laura goes where he nods towards the house, slowing to let him catch up with her and letting him curl his cold hands onto her warm stomach from behind as they walked in together.

Hours later, after the afternoon light had turned to darkness and they’d spent the day fooling around in the house - if she didn’t know better she’d be wondering where all their energy was still coming from - Elvis was again calling for her to get dressed so they could leave for the Memphian.

“Maybe you wanna get changed sweetheart? You know, into, uh, just something, you know, honey, just, just a bit more, uh, flattering…” He’d followed her up the stairs, and she found it hard to be annoyed at his disparaging comment towards her jeans when he’d playfully chased her into the bedroom. Laura shrieked and danced out of his hands, screeching when he got close enough to dig his fingers into the sensitive flesh just above her knee. She careened through the door and they both fell together once he tackled her when she was close enough to the bed.

They ended up rolling around on the bed for a moment, both laughing. She allows him to pepper her face with kisses, rolling on top of him to return the favour. He clings to her, unwilling to let her wiggle off of him even when she tries to lean back fearing she was squishing him. “Elvis, you’ve got to let me get offa you; I bet you can hardly breathe under me!” He rolls his eyes, flexing his forearms as he squeezed her even tighter to him,

“Can’t breathe! I’ll show you can’t breathe.” She can practically feel her ribs cracking and she yelps,

“Elvis!” Elvis laughs, releasing her, making Laura relax on top of him, sinking against his body. She leans back to observe his face, running a gentle hand over his cheek, stroking the side of his intense eyes and trailing it down to trace his plush lips. He playfully nips at her finger, growling and she blushes at how the noise immediately sent her tummy into somersaults. She feels herself tingle at the sensation of his breath on her now damp finger, and her eyes slip closed for a long second. When they reopen he’s staring at her, mouth slightly open, eyes lidded and she no longer cares about being on top of him, his hands sliding down her sides to hold her as she bucks her hips, manoeuvring her to slip her legs on either side of one of his. She grinds down, tangling her fingertips into his sideburns as she captures his mouth again. It’s delicate for one short moment before they both seem to sense an urgency in the situation and she suddenly feels like she’s a willing victim being devoured, his tongue and teeth everywhere all at once. She pulls back to catch her breath, and he chases her lips even then, kissing the side of her mouth until she recaptures his. He ruts up against her once, twice, before stilling and rolling her to the side - Laura lays there panting,

“El, what’s? what’s wrong?” She pauses, she doesn’t want to embarrass him but she can’t help but ask, “Did you - did you, uh, finish?” Elvis smiles a little bashfully, eyes crinkling at the sides as he shakes his head,

“No, no, honey, no just, just gonna save myself - be better later if we just wait; I’ve got plans for you this evening, jus - just lemme hold off for the mo.’” She nods, it makes sense, even if she impatiently wanted him now - and she whispers as much against his jaw.

“Want you all the time, want you in the morning, in the evening in the - god, Elvis, I just - I want to be here all the time, want you right now.” He rolls them so he’s leaning over her, caging her in with his arms and wrapping one of his legs between hers.

“You got me darling, you got me - we just, I want to make it special, tonight - just, just cool it baby yeah? Gotta,” He leans forward into her to kiss her, pressing his mouth hard against hers, tongue licking into her long and slow, before pulling back, breathing heavily again. Elvis reluctantly stood up. “Gotta get ready now. Get ourselves looking uh, presentable.” He cracks his back, stretching his arms and Laura feels abruptly cold at the loss of his warm body heat, panting as her heartbeat slows and the throbbing between her legs cools to a faintly warm glow.

—------------

Laura stares at her hair in the mirror, pinning half of it up, brushing through the rest gently, trying not to lose too much of the volume from the day. Her mousy roots are showing from where she dyes it near-black and she absentmindedly makes a mental note to ask if Elvis knows where she can get some dye, or if there’s time for her to go to the hairdressers. He’d already left for downstairs, having gotten changed unusually faster than she had and left the bedroom long before she was done in the bathroom, telling her,

“Take your time, baby, ain’t going nowhere without you.” She’d blushed at her own reflection at her reaction to his words - it had clearly been a throwaway sentence for him, not something she should take to heart and yet she couldn’t resist it. It was too much, too soon, too close to everything she wanted that she could practically feel it fluttering around her head, feeling herself locking it away tight in her chest. It had been on the edge of every interaction with him the past couple of years, the knowing that she was kept around for a reason, and that she kept coming back for a reason. She’d never been much of a fan of the men in Vegas; they were all too lecherous and desperate – even those that weren’t there to partake in all the sins and pleasures. The few dates she’d been on with guys she’d met while working out there had ended fast, and often slightly uncomfortably. Elvis wasn’t like that though. She’d thought he might be, expected he would be - had rolled her eyes at herself when her stomach flipped at his fingers calling her over. Had lain in bed telling herself it was just her stupid crush from years ago rearing its ugly head, making her see things that weren’t there. She wouldn’t ever even see him again, and don’t be stupid Laura, he probably wasn’t all that nice anyway. Besides, he has a wife and she knew enough not to get involved.

But somehow, her feelings and heart ruled over her sense and before she knew it her life revolved around him in a not unwanted way. She’d not had to worry as much about the men in Vegas then, they could behave how they wished — her dating life that had previously been slim was pared down even more, too anxious that she might be out when Elvis would choose to call and she’d miss him or have to explain where she was. It meant dates were few and far between, but as much as she thought herself a terrible idiot - she couldn’t bear to let anything get far enough that she might have to turn Elvis down.

She shakes her head at the reminiscence, it's been years since that first encounter during one of his early residencies. She’s getting too emotional about it now she’s allowed to be here, tangled in the domesticity of Graceland life, allowed to be photographed, and publicised. She just needs to stay in the moment, worry about how her feelings are getting involved when she gets home - she’s only here for a month, she should just make the most of it. She finishes getting ready quicker with that in mind, rushing through her make-up, a voice in her head telling her not to stupidly waste time. Before long she had her mini dress on and shoes quickly buckled before she headed down the stairs.

Laura had seen photos of Elvis when he was younger, knew that he wasn’t opposed to knits, it just wasn’t something she’d yet had the good fortune of witnessing. But there he was, sat on the couch in the music room, waiting for her and everyone else to be ready. Open V neck knitted sweater with a little collar. She stilled in the hallway, reluctant to break his silence. He’s just sat there with his thighs spread and his legs stretched out, arms across the back of the sofa, his eyes closed and head tipped back. She must make a noise, or something, because he suddenly jolts his head up to look over at her. They make eye-contact and she freezes even more still, trapped in his intense gaze. He looks well, like she wanted to climb into him and never crawl out, cuddly and soft and yet thick and masculine. Laura swallowed, her hands shaking a little, as he pats his thigh. How ridiculous that something as little as that could make someone so nervous - she’s just about to take a step towards him, ready to curl into the plush fuzzy softness of his sweater and tangle her fingers in the similarly plush fuzzy softness of his chest hair when there’s a sudden ruckus from seemingly all sides as all the other men and woman, ready for a night out, suddenly appear. Laura mourns the loss of her cuddle, but Elvis’ hand in hers as he effectively shows her off on their way out makes up for it a little.

The step out into the late evening air was even chillier than the day, Laura shivered in her thin jacket - it was downright unseasonable for Tennessee in October to be this cold and she wishes for the second time that day that she’d thought to bring a heavier coat, but then the heavy thump of Elvis’ arm comes down around her shoulder, enveloping her in him. She finds she doesn’t mind the cold so much then, able to enjoy the scent of the wet, crisp fall air and how it just feels different to the summer within the warmth of his grasp.

They’d filtered into the Memphian and Elvis immediately grasped her wrist, pulling Laura with him. He ignored the hustle of the others to head straight up the stairs to the balcony, she goes where he leads - he’d taken her to the Crosstown the last time she’d been in Memphis, so she didn’t really have much choice; not knowing where he was going beyond the ‘balcony’ sign on the door. The door slams behind her, and she jumps at its loud echo in the empty movie theatre.

“I didn’t wanna ‘embarrass you ‘round the guys, I just, uh, want you all to myself.” He pauses while he shuffles down the aisle, “Figured this way,” He settled himself into a chair one row back, in the very centre, “this way you can - “

Elvis suddenly realises she hasn’t followed him down the aisle and laughs, “C’mon, darling, what’chyu standing out there for?” Laura hurries down to him, and he clasps her hand as she gets herself comfortable in the seat next to his, bringing it to his lips. She blushes at the feeling - it was so startlingly romantic that she can’t think of what to say, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s. He settles back into his chair, dropping her hand to stretch his arm across the back of her chair. A couple of the others come thundering up the stairs, laughing and joking, but they go silent when coming through the doors, taking seats right along the back wall - Laura’s head turns to see who it was but Elvis’ hand from her chair blocks its path, two fingers pressed against her cheek as he cups her face - keeping her looking directly at him.

“Don’ worry about them - they won’t bother us none.” She nods, unable to stop herself leaning her head further into his hand — he smiles softly - cheeks crinkling into his eyes. His hand falls to stroke at her shoulder,

“There we are. Now, what was I saying?” He pauses, “Oh, yeah, if - this way if y’get scared I can cuddle ya.” He pauses, “You’re alright with a…. uh…. slasher flick aren’t ya?” He prods her far shoulder.

She nodded enthusiastically, although her head was ringing alarm bells - she wasn’t normally a huge fan of any kind of horror. She lived alone - life was scary enough without worrying about x hiding behind her doors at night.

But any reservations Laura had were quickly lost when after the title card came across the screen accompanied by some ominous instrumentals Elvis’ hand came creeping across to her thigh,

“You scared?” She shakes her head.

“Course not.” He nods, although his smirk suggests he’s unconvinced,

“Good, but just so you know - ‘m packing…. I could protect you from anything. ‘Specially a man.” He’s looking at her almost too seriously, and she feels trapped under his intense gaze, all she can do is nod.

“Of course - I know, I know you would.” He stares a second longer, before leaning back into his chair, and he indicates with his head the unoccupied seat next to him.

“Besides, if you’re just scared, I got my big ol’ flashlight with me too.” She nods again, not quite knowing what to say in reply - she can tell he’s waiting for her to speak though so all that spills out of her mouth is,

“That’s-that’s the police one, right?”

“Mmhmm… got it direct offa the sheriff.” She turns to say something else, but the opening scene starts to play and he shushes her, pulling his hand off her thigh, enrapt in the movie.

Clearly, it fails in holding his attention for very long. Mere minutes later he leans over, sighing, not bothering to try and keep quiet. She squeaks in surprise as his hands grip hold of her arms - tugging her, she scrabbles over the arm of the chair to go where he’s pulling her — arranging her to be sat on his lap. She looks around, suddenly coming to the realisation that at some point he must have shooed away everyone else from the balcony. He tuts, a finger going to her mouth in a keep quiet gesture when she opens it to speak, pointing at the screen as if telling her to keep watching. Laura does, but she’s lost track of whatever was going on and can’t find it in herself to care when she feels one of his hands curl around to creep gently up her uncovered thigh, the other gripping tight on her side, just below her breast. He teases her like that for a few minutes, although Laura’s lost all sense of time, too focussed on the tickle of his fingers and breath on her neck. She can’t take it anymore, turning to throw an arm around his neck, shifting on his lap to draw him into a kiss. Elvis pulls her tighter, fingers tensing, and she moans into him.

He tugs Laura’s leg a little, pulling her to be straddling his lap. She’s embarrassed almost, or would be if there were anyone around, to be sat on his knee like this, rocking against him and necking him like a goddamn teenager. She’s not done this since college, and he feels so different. He’s got solid thighs and sure hands, manoeuvring her and masterfully keeping his lips on hers - just the right amount of pressure, of tongue, and nibbling bites.

Elvis’ fingers slide up her skirt, toying with the fabric of her slip while his other comes around to palm at her like a teenager himself, hand roving over her breast. She gasps into him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his jaw as she grinds against him. He seems to gain confidence at her reaction, moving to push the wide strap of her dress off her shoulder, tugging it low enough to reach the soft cotton of her bra. His fiddles with her nipples, pinching one just the tiniest bit between his fingers and Laura’s eyes roll back in pleasure. He bumps her panties with the other, but goes no further, moving to grip her back in an attempt to keep her balance on his legs.

She pants, uncaring now if she’s louder than the actors, gasping as he pulls away. She’s never been gladder he’s wearing a v-neck when she rocks against his thigh, leaning forward to suck a bruise against his collarbone. His hips dislodge her accidentally when the pressure gets too much and he bucks up, jerking her away. Laura’s fingers tangle into the fabric on his shoulders, her nails making little divots in the knit; he was going to have to have someone steam this sweater to get it straight again. He’s breathing rapidly against her cheek, hot breath tickling her nose,

“‘s no good baby, I got - I got plans for you tonight.” Laura grinds against him, unabashed at her wanton display.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah baby, wanna,” His thumb rubs a circle on her hip as he slows his own jerking pelvis. “Wanna show you something. Something a lil’ spooky” Laura grins back at him, hand slipping down between them -

“Oh yeah, you got something you want to show me?” She attempts a particularly awful Transylvanian accent, “Something spooky you wanna show me?” She brushes her hand over the not insignificant bulge of his trousers, the outline of his cock clearly displaying he’d forgone underwear. He moans, eyes closing for a moment before he shakes his head, clasping her wrist and tugging her hand away.

“No, no baby, honey, I got, ah, lord, got something serious I wanna show you.” Laura pauses from her playful wriggling, curious.

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh Lor, but, uh, let it be a surprise.” He pulls up her strap, patting her shoulder.

“A surprise?” She’s unsure now that he’s not joking about sex.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He’s looking at her so earnestly, lip caught in his teeth that she couldn’t dream of refusing him.

“Of course!” He pushes her off his lap, brushing himself off and straightening her collar when he joins her in standing up,

“Well then darlin’ let’s go.” He holds out a hand and seems to take a mischievous glee in practically running away; leaving the boys downstairs none the wiser to their disappearance. He opens the car door for her with an exaggerated wave and bow before trotting around the front to climb in himself.

They pull up to the nearby funeral home and Elvis starts to climb out of the car but Laura stays frozen where she’s sat, more uncertain than ever. “El I’m not sure about this,” He cuts her off,

“Nah baby, trust…you said you trusted me.” He leans down to peer through the door at her, “Don’t go lying to me now, doll, Cilla liked it - she told me herself it was uh, enlightening!” He’s tripping over his words in his haste to convince her. He’d mentioned his trips to the morgue before - endlessly fascinated with the spiritual and scientific notion of the still bodies. But Laura’s conflicted - she can’t help but feel it’s fundamentally disrespectful to stand there gawking at some poor person’s body but, on the other hand, the reverent way he spoke about the trips and his persistent aura of peace means that she can’t help but feel that it’s ok. As long as she’s with him. She nods, climbing out to follow him. He once again takes her hand, and the unease builds again the closer they get to the door - she was concerned before with the morality of going in there but now it’s her squeamish nature that’s starting to make her tummy hurt.

“C’mon hon, it’ll be good for you.”

“If you say so -“ She mutters back. He raps on the door that was now in front of them. There are no lights on, and she shakes her head,

“Elvis - I don’t think there’s anyone in there, they’re closed.” He tilts his head, frowning, as if confused that a door might remain shut to him before insistently knocking again.

“I got, got special permission, Laura, they - they can’t just lock us out. Hello?” He bangs on the window to the side of the door, he huffs, turning away when there’s a sudden loud crash from inside. Both him and Laura jump at the noise, both whirling back - Elvis jogs down the path, standing back to be able to see all the windows but still no light turns on to indicate anyone inside. He marches back up to the door, raising his arm to pound on it again but Laura catches his forearm, tugging it back to her;

“C’mon El - we’ll come back another night. I’m - I’m scared now, and maybe if they know we’re coming they’ll have the lights on…” He looks down at her, gaze softening at the way she’s quivering a tiny bit - a combination of the anticipatory fear, her jumpiness, and the cold.

“Goddamnit.” He swears, “Well, guess we’ll have to come back another night.” He makes it sound like his idea and accompanies it with a shake of his head. Laura had fully expected him to be more annoyed - and he is, somewhat, ranting the whole way back to Graceland; but thankfully less at the funeral home and his inability to sneak in and more at the movie they’d left. Blaming it for his rash idea to come here with no planning involved.

Most of the cars were already back and parked along the driveway when they got there; either the movie had finished and they’d all left before they started another, or more likely - they’d noticed Elvis’ disappearance and abandoned the movie all together. Red shook his head at Elvis as they walked in,

“Man - don’t you go looking at me like that.” Red baulks at the suggestion,

“I wasn’t Boss, wasn’t looking at you like anything, swear it -” Laura tactfully takes a step back, removing her jacket and taking Elvis’ coat in an attempt to remove herself from the conversation. She goes to the kitchen in the hope of finding someone to hand them off to, before taking a second to collect herself to be, hopefully, a calming influence on the raised voices she could now hear. She slinks back into the hallway,

“I can go where I goddamn like - you sayin’ I can’t protect myself?” Elvis’ waving his pistol in the air like he’s in a western, and Laura bites her lip to stop from giggling. Red’s backtracking now, his hands up as if warding Elvis off,

“Of course, I wasn’t - I wasn’t suggesting that I’m jus’ - just sayin’ you disappeared is all and what with the threats -”

“You hear about anybody threatenin’ me at home?” Elvis roars back, his finger inching ever so slightly to the trigger; Laura panics desperate for them to not get into this now - God forbid there had been a threat made, they’d all be up for hours while they reassessed the security. Red shakes his head,

“Well, no - but people move about, EP, they don’t just stay in one-” Laura takes her chance and steps in, lightly touching Elvis’ arm,

“Baby, I’m tired.” Elvis does a double take at her, completely ignoring Red still talking. “Can we go to bed please?” She blinks owlishly at him to convince him to leave it be, and Elvis seemed to relax, his tense shoulders coming down as he lowers his arm with the gun in hand. There’s a long pause,

“Sure, sure, doll, sure.” He gestures for her to go ahead, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, “Get him the fuck out of my house, I’ll talk to y’all tomorrow.” Elvis ignores Red’s reply, climbing the stairs himself. He shushes Laura when they reach his bedroom, fiddling with the security camera feed until he watches Red leave. He sighs, heavily, and shakes his whole body out, “Awh, baby, I didn’t - didn’t need to get all worked up like that, just - those assholes just don’t understand what it’s like to be me. I can’t be all, all, all cooped up like this all the time.” He whines, gesturing expressively as he talks.

“It’s ok.” She shrugs, running her manicured hands gently up his arm, “They can be pretty overbearing huh?” She presses her chin into the crook of his shoulder as he sighs, kneading his biceps. He sighs back at her,

“I know he’s just doin’ his job, but…” He trails off, taking another deep breath, “Anyway, enough of that now. I want to get back to the night - all m’plans were ruined tonight - you deserve well, you deserve the perfect night.” He turns in her arms, and Laura frowns up at him,

“Why don’t you let me worry about that. I’m fine, I’ve had a great night; such a shame about not being let into the morgue…. How about you let me take care of you?” He shakes his head,

“Naw, naw darlin’ I want to -” He cups her face in his hands, the size of his palms dwarfing her cheeks, “want to show you how much I like having you here.” Elvis tips her head up, bending over a little to reach her lips even as she’s stood on her tiptoes.

She’s enrapt in the moment, not really even conscious of his hands fiddling with her zipper on her back until she suddenly feels his fingertips on her bare skin, chasing the zip all the way down until it's falling off her on its own. His hand comes up to clasp her face to his when she moves as if to pull away, using his free hand to shove her dress to pool at her feet. He pulls back with a tug on her bottom lip, and Laura surges forward to hurriedly tug at his sweater - he takes the hint, pulling it over his head and Laura turns her attention to his trousers. He rushes to unhook her bra, even as he stumbles out of his pants, and it's only a few seconds later before her panties join her dress on the floor.

“C’mon now, honey, s’ok, just - just wanna love on you some,” He pulls on her wrist again, smiling almost shyly down at her naked form. Gently lowering her on top of the covers, he kisses her neck, gentle presses of his lips - every few seconds sucking down with a little more pressure in one spot, before moving to the next. He moves down Laura’s chest, one hand on her waist keeping her still, the other joining his mouth. He kisses across her breasts — capturing her nipple in his mouth, he wets it with his saliva, pulling back to blow his breath across it, Laura’s skin pebbling in response as she quivers. Her hands come up to tangle in his hair, and Elvis stills when she tugs just a little too hard - the sting sparkling down his spine. He pants against her, eyes closed as he rests his head on her chest, trying to regain any semblance of self-control so he could continue, his hands splayed across her stomach. The heat that had been building in Laura’s body all day is back with a vengeance, and already she can feel her heartbeat throbbing between her legs.

He presses little kisses down the soft folds of her stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself up onto his knees. Laura takes a moment to drink in the sight of him - the way his hair is fluffed out from where her hands were just in it, the dark shadow that hints at stubble around his chin catching her attention, and below that a flush that matches hers colours his chest. She’s almost embarrassed at the little moan that slips out of her mouth as she follows, with her eyes, the thick patch of chest hair past his necklaces, and down, down his soft tummy before she rests them onto Little Elvis. Who’s already popped up to say hello, rosy and chubby. He takes her moment of stillness as his cue to go on and shifts one hand to tweak her nipple, the other going down to gently trail across her thigh. Laura gasps, urging him on. He dances his fingers across, hovering them over her until she’s about to beg. The moment his rough fingertip finally touches her she jolts, legs falling open even as her thighs clench.

“Oh Lord, you’re, you’re, Christ Lor, you’re ready for me already.” He strokes his finger up her wetness, adding a second to the mix to expertly spread her sticky folds. Laura tries to respond but all she can manage is a frantic nod as she struggles to find her words while Elvis busies himself with teasing her in little circles, dipping his finger in just the teeniest bit to gather more wetness and bring it back to circle almost directly on her clit. He’s got the same burning focus he does on stage, eyes blazing and his mouth open a little in concentration, pouty lips looking even more appealing in their bitten state. Laura’s eyes fall closed and she feels Elvis’ hand come back to her stomach, pinning her in place while his other plays with her, stilling her jerking hips a little. Laura doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but the problem quickly resolves itself when Elvis leans back to rub his wet hand over himself, before lining himself up and sinking into her hot, soaking, heat. Laura’s hands fall to grip at his shoulders, uncaring of her nails sinking into his delicate flesh.

“El-Oh, god, bit, bit of warning - next time, would be, ah, would be ni-ice.” She was ready but it didn’t stop her from feeling the stretch of him pushing into her. He pauses,

“You want, you want me to, fuck, come out?” He looks pained as he says it, and Laura grins,

“Christ no! Just, give me a-,” She wiggles a little, “No, no. It’s fine.”

“Yeah? You sure, honey? I don’t wanna - meant to be about you baby,” He says this, even as he can’t help but nudge further into her, his eyes begging her to say he can stay.

“Elvis. God, you can move.” He’s slow at first, barely rocking his famous hips, eyebrow quirking as he teases her.

“Yeah, baby? That - that what you wanted?” She groans, red-faced and sweaty,

“Elvis. Please.” It’s the magic word for a reason and he smiles before he concentrates again, his own eyes rolling back a little at the pleasure of it all as he builds up speed, rapidly fucking into her.

Laura rocks her hips into the air, legs shaking as Elvis brings his thumb down to rub directly over her clit, and their tight connection keeps her in precisely the right position even as her legs seem to flail. Her orgasm hits suddenly, and she falls off the precipice with a yell, mouth open and eyes wide as she catches sight of them both in the mirror, Elvis’ sweaty self-satisfied grin as he slows his fingers.

She shivers with the aftershocks, suddenly realising there were tears streaming down her face.

“Oh - Lord, what’s, ugh, what’s wrong baby, am I - am I hurting you?” He slows himself until he’s almost completely still, although, not totally. His voice strains with the effort of not moving, high-pitched, and Laura just shakes her head, “No - honey, I gotta know, you want me, you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” Laura sniffles, “‘s just, just a bit much - please Elvis, I want more.”

“Bit much?” Elvis takes her at her word and thrusts into her again,

“Just can’t get over you wanting me - ‘s just,” she moans, “just over, oh, overwhelming.”

“Baby, you feel what you do to me? What you done to me all day?” He pushes the hair from her face, staring down at her. She gazes back at him, glossy-eyed. “Awh, now baby, don’t look like that - you’re so pretty - Jesus, Lord, even,” He thrusts again, starting to fuck into her at a solid pace, “Even, fuck, even crying baby - makes your eyes all big, and your cheeks all rosy … god you look so fucking pretty.” He drags her even closer to him, his hands tight on her hips and waist, finger bruises being left - she babbles at him that he looks good too, pretty, and handsome and sexy. He doesn’t last much longer, maybe another thirty seconds before he’s shouting,

“Oh fuck, baby,” and his hips still, mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back as he groans. He collapses half on her, half on the bed and despite the almost overwhelming heat of him Laura welcomes the sensation of his heavy presence over her and the way he rubs his face on her shoulder. It should disgust her, the fact that he’s essentially covering her in his musk and sweat, but instead she finds it endearing, her pulse jumping in reaction to it. She kisses the top of his head and he responds by gently pulling out of her, rolling to one side. She tries to find it in herself to be brave, the afterglow making her bolder than she would normally be, but still not quite enough on her own.

“Can feel them cogs whirrin’ from here - did I not give you ‘nough attention?” He rolls over to face her. Laura shakes her head, taking a deep breath - it’s hard to have this conversation when she can literally feel his cum still sliding out of her, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he refuses.

“Elvis, can I - I want to stay here. Can I stay?” He pauses,

“For Christmas?” Laura frowns, starting to shiver at the cooling sweat and her stress at the discussion. Elvis tuts, rubbing her arm,

“Well, maybe? I mean I’d love to - if you’ll have me. But I mean, maybe that could - I’d really like to stay with you.” He hums, as if finally understanding what she’s getting at, there’s a long enough pause that Laura opens her mouth to say she didn’t mean it, explain that she was caught up in the emotions of the evening and she didn’t want to - honest, but Elvis beats her to it.

“Well, hon-ey,” He’s talking slower than normal, his southern drawl even more pronounced, “I don’t, I don’t see why not - I sure like having you around.” Laura turns to face him, finally,

“You mean it?”

“Wouldn’t say if I didn’t.” He says it sarcastically but he’s smiling softly at her and Laura grins,

“Oh! Thank you,” He strokes a circle against her arm, and she continues the only thing she can think in her mind that’s not just Elvis Presley agreed I could live with him is the next thing that comes falling out of her mouth, “I’m gonna need a thicker coat.” Elvis laughs,

“Baby, you wait ‘til Christmas - I’ll get you the warmest coat you’ve ever seen.” She smiles back laughing a little with relief, “Now, let’s get you warmed up again.” He rolls himself back over her and she giggles as he digs his fingers into her sides and his lips find hers once again.

—————

taglist!

@thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @lookingforrainbows @literally-just-elvis-fics @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @arrolyn1114 @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @18lkpeters @lettersfromvenus

#elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fanfiction #be-my-ally #fic rec!!#elvis x oc #writing prompt game #elvis-o-ween #elvis fanfiction #1972 elvis smut

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fanficbarbie · 7 months

Text

❝i might just give you a bite.❞

part 1 of this fic

A/N: this is for my besties who don’t go out on saturday nights, but are instead reading fanfics in bed. before we start off this chapter, i’m gonna explain the au a bit so it’s not confusing when you read this. the characters included will be mostly from TLOU2 so SPOILERS. although there’s no outbreak and it’s modern-day joel, sarah still dies. TLOU characters will be referenced (deaths, reasons they’re not around, etc.) The only person who is not the same age as they were at the beginning of TLOU2 is Joel because i didn’t want to write a big age gap lol. he’s still daddy tho. this also isn't edited so ignore any mistakes. enjoy ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

Chapter Summary: the sweetest baker celebrates barbieween.

Chapter Warnings: death of parents (mentioned), death of a child (mentioned), language, alcohol and drugs (mentioned), slight age gap (F!MC and Joel are 6 years apart), symptoms of anxiety and depression.

Key Tags: chef! Joel, single! father Joel, no outbreak! Joel Miller, Joel x Ellie x Reader, slow burn, fluff, flirting, friendship, eventually established relationship, eventual smut, original character, black!fem!MC, no y/n.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist, joel masterlist ⋆ spotify playlist ˖ ݁ 𖥔.

⋆ word count: 6.3k ⋆

October 31st

Adding a final sugar bat wing to the specialty cupcake, I tuck a stay curl behind my ear with a huff. After 2 hours of baking and decorating, I decide it was time for a break. Taking my headphones off, I turn towards my neighbor’s little sister, Dina.

Dina's ponytail bounces as she bops around the front with her headphones in, making sure the bakery is ready to open in an hour. She’s only 15, but she’s been a massive help with the bakery. She works part-time shifts, but I’m paying her holiday pay for being here since 6 a.m. at her age. Waving my hand through the open window between the kitchen and the register, I grab her attention. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Do you want anything?” I ask.

Dina shakes her head and smiles. “No thanks,” she says.

I shuffle around the kitchen grabbing my things. “Okay, I’ll take you to school when I get back,” I accept her answer. Dina’s probably stuffed from me feeding her croissants and donuts this morning.

Dina beams, seemingly grateful she doesn’t have to take public transit today in the city. “Cool. Do you need help after 4?” she offers.

Shaking my head, I secure my bag on my shoulder. “No, Dina. Go out and have fun. There’s gotta be a party or whatever you young kids are doing these days,” I argue. No one I know should be working on my favorite holiday. It’s the best time of the year.

Dina’s nose crinkles and she leans on the counter. “I don’t really party,” she confessed.

Nodding, I think about the fact that Dina's sister is probably working the E.R. night shift tonight. “Do you want to come over tonight? I’m just handing out candy and probably watching a movie later,” I offer her someone to hang out with.

Dina happily nods, accepting the offer. After reminding her that I’ll text her sister, I turn the handle to the door. The cool autumn air nearly whips me in the face as I step out onto the small threshold.

Staring down at my phone, I start to formulate the message to Talia. I only take two steps before I bump into a small figure. Setting my hands out on the tiny human’s shoulders, I look down and notice a brunette girl peering up at me. Her face twists in anger and she shrugs my hands off her shoulders. “Ow, fuck. Watch it,” She puts me in my place with so much attitude, it reminds me of myself when I was a kid.

Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself. The younger version of me would’ve given her a piece of my mind, but it’s the best day in the world. Halloween. “I’m sorry, tiny human. I wasn’t paying attention,” I apologize and try to move past her to get coffee.

She steps in front of me again with her arms crossed. “Hey, I am not tiny,” she counters.

“Don’t take it personally. I call anyone under the age of 18 a tiny human,” I placate her.

She huffs before shifting a bit. “Well, now that your main concern should be avoiding a lawsuit, maybe you’ll hear me out,” she snips.

My head tilts in confusion at her statement. “Lawsuit? What do you mean lawsuit?” I ask in disbelief.

Her eyes roll in response to my question. “You know? I got hurt at your business & you discriminated against me. You should pay me or something,” she explains as if I should know this already.

I’ve spent enough time with tiny humans to know when one wants something from you. “Smart, but we’re on the sidewalk. It’s public property,” I break the news to her, gesturing to the cracked concrete beneath our feet.

The brunette teenager’s face turns red as her eyes dart down and then back up at me. “Shit, maybe I should’ve done this another way,” she thinks out loud.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I daydream about a vanilla latte with almond milk. “Look, I need some coffee. Can we walk and blackmail me at the same time?” I ask.

She gnaws on her bottom lip, shifting back on her heels. “Well that’s the thing…” she pauses and waits for my name.

“Ginny,” I inform her.

She nods, seemingly internalizing every syllable. “Ginny. I have a class in 30 minutes. My da–” she stops herself, cursing under her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut right and takes a deep breath. “Anyways, he forgot to pick up the order last night. It might be under my name or his,” she blurts before opening her eyes.

I usually don’t allow customers to pick up orders a day late but the kid looks like she’s going through it. “Okay, how about you come inside and we figure it out so you get to school on time,” I say.

Her face instantly softens and a smile replaces her frown. “Cool. Thanks, Ginny,” she replies.

I open the door, motioning for her to step into the shop ahead of me. “What’s your name?” I ask her.

She looks over her shoulder and watches as I lock the door. “Ellie,” she beams.

Nodding, I start to walk with Ellie toward the back of the bakery. “Nice to meet you, Ellie,” I extend my hand and she shakes it.

When we get into the kitchen, Dina is sitting in the corner with her backpack at her feet. “That was fast,” she comments, ready to stand.

I motion for Dina to not get up with my hands. “I didn’t get coffee yet. Ignore us, I can handle this,” I chirp, breezing over to the iPad.

My fingers tap the screen looking for the list of pick-up orders. “Okay, let’s do this by process of elimination. What’s your last name so I can look you up?” I ask Ellie.

“Williams,” Ellie states clearly.

Typing the letters into the search box, I press enter. “Well your name isn’t in the system so let’s try his name next. Last name?” I try to move on to the next name.

“Miller,” Ellie replies.

Miller, that name sounds familiar. Miller, Miller, Miller. It’s on the tip of my tongue.

My brows twist as I try to place the name. “First name?” I finally give up and ask.

“Joel,” the name rolls off Ellie's tongue as sweet as lilies in May.

Shit. That’s why the name was so familiar. Maybe it’s not the same Joel. “Joel Miller? The chef?” I ask for clarification.

Ellie's brows furrow and she nods. “Yeah. Do you know him?” she counters.

Nodding, I click Chef Miller's order. “Yeah, I didn’t know he had a kid.” Not that’s it a bad thing. It makes him more attractive knowing he has the patience to be a support to a teenager.

Ellie rocks on her heels, looking over her shoulder at Dina. “Joel’s my adopted dad,” she mumbles.

“You don’t have to explain your relationship with him. I get it,” I chirp, turning to grab a box for the first half of the order. “It looks like you need 20 cookies. I haven’t put them out yet. Did you want to come to the rack and pick them out?” I ask Ellie, pointing to the back corner.

Ellie’s face lights up and she nods. “Fuck yeah. But I have to be quick. Art is first thing this morning,” she informs me.

“Let’s go, then,” I smile, waving her in my direction.

My eyes flood with tears as I weep in my office around 3 p.m. My body jolts when the office door slams open against the wall. “Ginny,” I hear my employee Grace start to say. I swivel towards my chair, wiping the tears from my face. “Woah. I’m sorry,” she apologizes with wide eyes. I understand, I probably look like a hot red mess right now.

Motioning with my hand for her to ignore me, I take a deep breath. “You’re okay, what did you need?” I ask.

She nods, shifting to lean on the other leg uncomfortably. “There’s a customer in the front saying he had an order but we can’t find it. Can you help us?” she asks.

Nodding, I stand from the chair. “Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I chirp, trying my hardest to plaster on a fake smile. Grace gratefully takes this as a sufficient answer, turning on her heels to hurry back out to the front of the bakery.

My pink heels carry me over to the cabinet where I grab a pack of baby wipes. A sharp pain shoots up my soles as I shuffle over to the floor-length mirror in my office and I smooth my hands over my dress. My hair still looks perfect, which I'm grateful for. Grabbing some of the wipes, I try to clean my face as best as possible.

Once I deem my appearance acceptable, I toss the used wipes in the trash. The click of my shoes fills the back kitchen as I make my way up to the front. When I round the corner I see the back of a man with salt and pepper hair. “That’s the boss,” Chloé, another employee, says loudly over the noise in the large room.

My brain sparks, mentally preparing myself for the worst as the tall man slowly turns around. When I see his face, my tense body instantly relaxes. “Oh, Chef Miller. Hi,” I sigh and smile, genuinely this time.

Chef Miller looks me up and down while I close the large gap between us. My nose crinkles when I stop in front of him and he still hasn’t said anything. “Hi. I - um- I’m sorry,” he stammers.

Feeling confused, I break eye contact to look down at my outfit. There’s no flour on my costume but I’m suddenly feeling insecure. “Is everything alright?” I capture Chef Miller's chesnut irises again.

Chef Miller inhales sharply, letting his arms fall to his side. “Mhm, just didn’t know you owned this place is all,” he informs me.

Thank fuck. I thought I had a booger front and center. I suddenly remember forgetting to call The Austin after Ellie came in, as promised. “Yeah, and shit. I meant to call your restaurant and tell you. Ellie came in earlier and I gave her the school order,” I try to ease his mind.

Chef Miller lets out a heavy sigh, doubling over. “Oh lord. I forgot ‘em once and thought I forgot ‘em again. Been so busy at the resteraunt, I –” he cuts his rant short. The denim shirt seems to constrict and I notice his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

My eyes go wide and I step a little closer to the chef, putting my hand on his back. “Chef Miller, are you alright?” I ask.

Chef Miller nods with his face still towards the pink tile floor. “I’m fine. It’s just the cold air all of a sudden,” he lies and I feel the bass of his voice in my palm.

My hand instinctively rubs circles on his back. “Chef Mill-”

“Joel, sweetheart. Call me Joel,” Joel cuts me off.

“Joel,” I say, and the name almost feels foreign on my tongue. “Do you want to sit down for a second? Try a Halloween brownie?” I offer, hoping it’ll keep him from going down this continuous spiral.

Joel shakes his head and slowly starts to stand, straightening his back. “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up more of your time,” he acknowledges the long line of customers in the bakery.

Taking a step back, I clasp my hands in front of me. Something about Joel intrigues me, and I quickly think of an excuse to keep him in the shop. “How about you sit because you’re saving me from the joy of interacting with rude Halloween patrons,” I practically beg him.

He peers over his shoulder at the case with the sweet treats. His eyes return to mine with a gleam in them. “Okay, deal,” he agrees with a small smile.

Nodding, I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. Joel picks a booth to sit in while I scurry to grab him a brownie and a glass of water. When I get back to the booth, I’m out of breath from trying to function in the pink block heels. “Here, it’s on the house,” I suggest, pushing the items towards him.

Joel shakes his head, pulling out a 10-dollar bill. “This is all the cash I have on me but, I can offer two redo meals for the price of one,” he proposes, sliding the cash over towards me.

Shaking my head, I slide it back over towards Joel. “It’s not a big deal,” I argue.

“No, it is. You saved her from embarrassment. I should be tipping you 10 fold,” Joel contests, pushing it back across the table.

Getting frustrated, I reach out and push the cash back in his direction with finality. “Put it in the fucking tip jar. For Christ's sake, Joel. I don’t need it. My staff will split it at the end of the shift,” I declare trying to convince him I do not need the extra cash.

Joel looks down and grabs the cash, tucking it into his back pocket. “Fine,” he mutters under his breath. “So, how was she?” he asks a bit louder.

My head tilts in confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask for clarification.

Joel picks up the brownie, examining the spiderweb marshmallows covering the dessert. “I mean what was she like? Just trying to make sure she’s on the right track is all. Happy and everything,” he explains before taking a bite.

My eyes squint as I study Joel chewing. Every muscle in his jaw flexes and he closes his eyes. “Mmmm, this is good,” he moans and I feel the color drain from my face. My stomach flutters and I try to force the bile back down my throat.

It’s platonic, Imogen. Not even that. We’re acquaintances. “She reminds me of when I was a teenager. Didn’t think I’d ever meet someone that swears more than me,” I finally answer him.

Joel picks up the water, taking a sip of the cool liquid before setting it back on the table. “I told her no more goddamn swearing in public,” he complains.

Pursing my lips together, I try not to laugh at how ironic the scenario is. “Um, Joel,” I say, trying to fight a snicker while Joel takes another bite.

Joel's eyes flick up to mine and I almost crumble. He hums for me to continue while he chews.

Clearing my throat, I try to think of the best way to put this. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to tell him how to parent his kid. “If you want her not to swear in public, you have to lead by example,” I advise the mesmerizing man sitting across from me.

Joel instantly stops chewing and takes a big gulp. “Shit, you’re right,” he swears again and I stifle another giggle.

The desire to spend more time with Joel creeps up my spine once again. “Can I ask you something? And you can say no,” I start feeling a slight warmth in my chest.

Joel nods, wiping his mouth with a pink napkin. “Yeah, sure,” he confirms before going in for the last of the brownie.

My fingers tap the table beneath me, feeling anxious about what I’m going to suggest. “Did the two of you have plans tonight?” I investigate.

Joel takes a few moments to finish chewing while he shakes his head. “No. It’s Ellie’s first Halloween with me, too. I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t plan anything.” he addresses their plans.

A small smile creeps onto my lips. “Well, I’m closing the shop early. My neighbor’s little sister is coming over to hang out and watch a movie. You should bring Ellie by for a little while. Maybe they’ll end up being friends,” I ramble.

Joel’s face brightens as he processes the information. “I think that’d be good for her. I took off work and she should be out of school in an hour or two. I’ll get her fed and we’ll be on our way,” he voices before finishing the glass of water.

A few drops of water slip past his bottom lip onto Joel's beard, and I resist the craving to reach up and fix him. “Sounds good,” I note his plans while I slide out of the booth. “Look, I have to get back,” I tell him, seeing the line grow in size.

Joel nods and waves, following suit behind me. As I glide away, I feel something gnawing at my insides. He’s so worried about Ellie and I just want to reassure him. “Joel,” I grab his attention before he gets too far away from me.

He turns around to face me. “Yes, sweetheart?” Joel asks so kindly, I could melt butter on his words.

“You’re a really great dad. I mean, you’d have to be blind not to see that. She’s smart, beautiful, and healthy. I don’t know about happy but, what teenage girl is?” I sincerely express to him what I’ve observed already.

I can tell Joel’s trying his best when he gives me a half smile. “That’s sweet of you, darlin’,” he husks.

Shrugging, I try to push away the flush creeping into my cheeks. “It’s just the truth. And she loves you too, Joel,” I add.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. His head hangs and he stares at the ground for a moment until a customer needs to pass his large frame to get out of the store.

Joel moves to the side, seemingly regaining his focus. “Thank you, fuck. I needed that,” he swears.

Smiling, I reach out and caress his arm. “I know. I’ll see you tonight,” I wink, spinning on my toes and floating away from the door.

“See you later, Ginny,” he returns the farewell, pulling open the door to my shop and exiting. The lingering smell of his cologne dances in my brain as I try to refocus on the current customers.

“Happy Halloween!” I cheer, scooping the last of the candy into small bags.

It’s always been my favorite holiday and this year, I’m dressed head to toe in pink as Baker Barbie. Once the rush of kids passes, I turn to join Dina in the booth next to the window. My heels click across the floors as I strut towards her.

We opted out for pizza pickup after school and I let the closers handle shutting the store. She made quick work of packing her back at her sisters when we stopped by, having already picked out her Tinkerbell costume.

Just as I make it to the booth, I hear the doorbell jingle. “Hey, Ginny,” I hear a familiar voice.

Turning around, I face the short brunette girl dressed as Wednesday. “Oh! Hi, Ellie. I love your costume. Where’s your—“ I start to ask when my thoughts are cut short. Joel Miller grudgingly saunters into my bakery dressed in a black t-shirt that tightly hugs his body.

Just like the first day we met, I felt my body start to heat up. “Look! I made him dress up as Ken since you don’t have one today,” Ellie proudly points to the pink ‘Ken’ lettering in the middle of Joel’s chest.

Blood rushes to my cheeks when I think about the possibility of us being together. Of him being my Ken. But I know it’s just my delusional thoughts.

My feet involuntarily move forward towards them so I’m not shouting across the bakery. “Oh that’s, well,” I stammer over my words trying to ease myself out of a bootleg Parent Trap. “You did a fantastic job with his costume,” I compliment her smoothly.

My legs almost give out when the corners of Joel’s mouth curve into a small smile. Ellie’s face lights up and she hits Joel in the chest lightly with the back of her hand. “See, Joel. She said you’re Kenough,” she jokes with him.

His brows knit together and he turns towards her, placing his hands on his hips. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” he questions her.

Standing next to him, my hands slide under his arm, tugging him towards the booth in the back. “Don’t think about it too much,” I giggle, trying to ignore the electricity I feel beneath my palms.

His bicep is so muscular, that I find myself wondering if he could pick me up. I make a mental note to charge both vibrators so I can fantasize about him later tonight. “Cupcake?” I offer pointing to the case, trying to dust the dirty thoughts out of my head.

Joel relaxes under my touch and I use him to stabilize myself in the tall heels. “I’ve had ‘nough sugar for today,” he grunts.

Tutting, I smile up at him. “Joel Miller, you can’t expect to come into a bakery and not get any sweetness in your life,” I challenge him. I can’t be upset though, he did try my brownie and my croissant earlier.

A small smirk creeps onto his lips. “Don’t think I have to eat anythin’ for that,” he flirts and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

Shifting my attention to the teenagers awkwardly standing within a mile distance of each other, I try to form introductions. Dropping my grip on Joel’s arm, I cross the space to the booth. “Ellie, meet Dina. Dina, meet Ellie,” I babble, pointing back and forth between the girls.

“Dina is my neighbor,” I say for the two of them, but mostly for Joel's sake. The likelihood of the teenagers caring about our relationship is none. Sliding into the booth, I wave my hand inviting them to join us. Ellie softly smiles and she lifts her hand, awkwardly waving. “Hey. You look familiar,” she greets Dina.

Dina blushes, seemingly wanting to hide behind me. “Hi,” she mumbles.

A small girl dressed as a gymnast does a back walkover outside the window and my face twists. The city sidewalk is fucking disgusting. “Shit, shit, shit,” I hear Ellie start to panic.

My face is plastered with confusion as Dina scoots over toward me. “What’s her problem?” she whispers.

My face turns towards her and I shrug with my eyes wandering back to Ellie. She looks as though she’s about to crawl out of her skin.

Joel leans across the table and puts up his hand to cover his mouth from Ellie’s view. “She has an irrational fear of gymnasts,” he rasps lowly.

Nodding, I try to think of a way to peel Ellie away from the window. “Okay well. Dina, why don’t you and Ellie go grab some cider while Joel and I catch up,” I suggest.

Dina’s face turns red and she nods. My hands make contact with the cold table as I use it to slide out of the small booth.

Ellie looks unsure of what to do. “Joel?” she looks up at him with nervousness and asks.

“You’ll be fine,” Joel reassures her, following suit across from me and the girls disappear into the kitchen.

A smile creeps onto my face as I watch Joel awkwardly readjust his t-shirt. “So…” I start, pausing to awkwardly gnaw on my lip.

Joel seemingly notices how awkward I feel, leaning forward towards me. “How long have you owned this place?” he asks, tongue laced with curiosity.

Slouching a bit, I remember the reason why I started this career path. “A couple of years now. I opened it after my parents passed away,” I let him know.

His eyes dart down towards the table. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he apologizes.

I reach across the table and grab his calloused hands. “It’s okay. I wanted to do something I loved and so I found and bought this space a couple of months after,” I explain.

He doesn’t flinch and the heat radiates in my palms. “So it’s just you running things? No partner?” he inquires.

The realization that I just grabbed his hands hits me, and I drop them like they’re a hot potato. His nose crinkles and I think I catch a grimace from him. “No partner,” I answer.

He leans back into the pink pleather booth and the seat beneath him crinkles. “Wow, that’s impressive. The Austin would probably crumble,” he acknowledges.

A giggle slips my lips. “Well, Daylight Bakery is not gunning for a Michelin Star,” I point out.

He tilts his head to the right and raises his eyebrow slightly. “You could do it,” he muses.

My left hand waves him off. “You flatter me. But can we stop talking about me? I’m getting embarrassed,” I express, feeling particularly vulnerable when talking about the success of my business.

Joel lifts a brow, looking at me with a surprised expression. “I thought Barbie doesn’t get embarrassed,” he points out.

Shaking my head, I smile at him. “She doesn’t… wait. You’ve seen The Barbie Movie?” I ask him. Honestly, I’m astonished.

He nods, brushing his hair back with his hand. “Mmmhm. I do have a daughter,” he elaborates.

The urge to ask him about his situation with Ellie creeps up my back. I want to know how Chef Joel ended up adopting a teenager who swears like a sailor. “About that. I hate to be nosey but, I can’t help it. How did you end up adopting Ellie?” I blurt out the compulsive thought.

He grunts and my eyes wander down to his shoulders. His whole upper body looks tight and uncomfortable. “Long story. Had a daughter, Sarah. She passed a couple of years ago,” he starts, voice laced with sadness.

My face softens and I fight the urge to cry again for the millionth time today. I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a child. Worse than any pain known to man. “Oh, Joel. I’m so sorry,” I apologize.

Sadness glows in his eyes and I feel the desire to jump across the table and embrace him. “It’s okay, I was able to grieve. Still grievin’,” he adds.

My head bobs up and down, processing the information. “Yeah. I totally get that,” I voice quietly.

I try to stay silent to allow him to continue if he feels like it. The air between us feels solum. “After she passed, I put all my energy into the restaurant. Ellie’s birth mother died givin’ birth to her, and her mom’s partner worked at The Austin,” he notes.

“Worked?” I question him. I assumed she was still working there.

He rubs the scruff on his jaw and lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, she uh. She has an addiction. She was doing well for Ellie's whole life and then, somethin' happened and she relapsed. Asked if Ellie could stay with me for a while. Never came back,” he expands.

Shaking my head, I feel like a house is sitting on my heart. No one deserves to be left like that by someone they love. “That’s, wow. Poor girl,” I express sympathy for Ellie.

Joel shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Yeah. What was I supposed to do? Say no?” he chuckles, running his hands over his face.

My lips press together and my eyes capture his bloodshot ones. “No,” I murmur.

“Right. After a while, she just became mine I guess. She still reminds me I’m not her dad every once in a while,” he vents.

Tucking a stray curl behind my ear, I shift a bit in my seat. “Is it when you fight?” I query.

Joel looks away, staring off into space behind me in deep thought. “Mmmhm,” he recalls.

My body relaxes when he confirms my suspicions. “She’s just a regular teenager with teenage angst. She nearly said ‘my dad’ this morning,” I try to appeal to him.

His ears perk up and his eyebrows raise. “Really?” he nearly gasps.

My face twists and I look at him with confusion. Why would that be such a surprise to him? “Yeah,” I confirm.

His eyes gradually widen while he stares a hole through my soul. “Woah,” he breathes.

My head moves slightly to the right to make sure he’s still looking at me and not just processing. His gaze follows mine, so I continue, “Has she never said that before?”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “No, not to me,” he grunts.

Nodding, I blink slowly. “Give her time,” I advise him.

A loud bang interrupts us and when I turn my head, I see Ellie scrambling out of the kitchen with Dina attached to her hip. “Joel, can we go watch a movie?” She asks pointing up towards the ceiling.

Joel’s brows furrow as his eyes follow her finger. “Why are you pointing up, kiddo?” He asks.

I lean across the table so I’m a little closer to Joel. “They’re asking if we can go watch it in my living room,” I elaborate to clear any confusion he may have.

Joel’s head turns in my direction. “You live above the bakery?” he digs.

“I do,” I reveal. It was easier for me to buy the whole building and split it into half residential than to buy two separate properties. Dina and her sister rent a condo in the building next door, so all 4 floors are mine.

“That’s convenient,” he comments toward me before turning his attention back to Ellie. “I don’t care, but it’s not my TV or my place. You’ll have to ask Ms. Scott,” he gives her permission, gesturing to me.

Ellie rocks back on her heels, rotating her body in my direction. “Ginny, can we watch the movie now?” she stammers, excitedly.

“Ms. Scott, Ellie. Mind your manners,” Joel corrects Ellie.

I reach out, putting my hand on Joel’s forearm. “It’s fine, Joel. I told her to call me Ginny,” I state, hoping it’ll save Ellie from a lashing.

Before he can say anything, I remove my hand from his arm to grab my keys from the table. “Here, catch,” I chime, tossing Dina the keys.

She successfully catches it, tugging Ellie towards the back with her free arm. “We’ll be up there in a second. No tequila, no weed, and no wine, Dina. I mean it,” I warn Dina.

“Buzzkill,” Dina grunts as they reach the pink double doors.

“Thanks, Gin– I mean, Ms. Scott,” Ellie beams over her shoulder.

“For fucks sake. Drop the Ms. Scott, Ellie,” I call back to her just as the doors close behind them, leaving me and Joel alone once again.

Fidgeting in my seat, I swallow my impulse to confess my crush to the southern gentleman. “Happy Halloween,” I cheer.

The stairs creek with each step we take down them as Ellie and I creep downstairs. Dina left a few minutes ago when Talia picked her up from work. The only ones left in the bakery are Joel, me, and Ellie. “Hey, Ginny. Can I ask you a favor?” Ellie breaks the comfortable silence.

I nod sleepy, praying my feet carry me back up the steps. I am not above sleeping in a bakery booth as opposed to climbing 3 flights of steps. “Mmm,” I hum for Ellie to continue.

Just a couple more steps, Imogen. “Can I come to the bakery after school, you know, just to hang out and sketch? Joel doesn’t get home till 11 pm most nights,” I hear her practically beg.

“Of course. Dina’s sister, Talia, is the same. That’s why she works the afternoon shifts,” I tell her.

I have no problem with her hanging out here in the afternoons. And besides, Dina and Ellie found out they go to the same school today. Why would I want to separate the budding friendship?

Ellie clears her throat, stopping once we get to the bottom of the steps. “Yeah…” she murmurs.

Suddenly, I’m wide awake. “Oh, you…” I start, searching her eyes unsure of how to phrase my words. “That's great, Ellie,” I attempt to telepathically communicate with her that as a queer child, she’s always safe with me.

Ellie’s eyes flicker with fear. “Please don’t tell Joel,” she quickly begs.

As if we spoke him into existence, Joel comes from around the corner at that moment. “Tell Joel what?” he interrogates us.

My breathing quickens and I feel sweat start to collect above my brow. There’s no fucking way I’m going to out Ellie to her dad, or anyone to anyone for that matter. “That she hates your steaks too,” I say as convincingly as possible.

Joel shrugs on his jacket, not bothering to adjust the fit. “Is that so?” he smirks.

Ellie shifts from one foot to the other. “Um, yeah. It’s shit, Joel. Sorry. I didn’t want to tell you,” Ellie rambles and I nudge her to stop talking. The more she talks, the more details we have to remember about this lie going forward. Fucking tiny humans.

Joel chuckles and I glide past Ellie to adjust his jacket for him. The air between us is electric when I tug his jacket up slightly. Ellie snickers, and I assume it's because I'm practically fluffing her father. Once I deem my styling of Chef Ken perfect, I flick on the lights in the bakery. “Maybe that’s what’s keepin’ me away from a star,” I hear Joel complain behind me.

When I turn around, Ellie is shrugging. “Maybe. Let’s go home,” she blurts, anxiously pulling her dad towards the door.

My feet shuffle across the floor in my slippers behind them. “Oh, Joel. Wait,” I call after them, attempting to catch up. “Ellie’s gonna hang at the bakery after school days and do homework. I can hire her next year if you want me to," I huff out of breath.

Joel’s smirk melts away and he turns towards the mini version of him. “Ellie,” he scolds her.

Ellie puts her hands up in defense. “What?” she asks.

Joel shakes his head with disapproval. “Ms. Scott’s very busy. I don’t think she’d appreciate havin' you here 5 out of the 7 days in a week,” he paints a picture of Ellie overstaying her welcome.

I don’t want her to ever feel like she can’t come here, especially after she was so vulnerable with me in the stairwell. “Actually, it’s fine. We have an empty wall right there,” I point to the blank canvas, ready to be explored. "Maybe you can paint something on that. Like a mural," I suggest.

Ellie’s jaw drops and she bounces slightly on her toes. “Holy shit! Really?” she buzzes.

Joel shifts, crossing his arms. “Ellie,” he repeats.

Ellie scoffs, looking at Joel as if she’s saying are you fucking kidding me? “I’m sorry. Holy fuck, really?!” she regurgitates with a worse swear word.

I smile at her excitement. “Really,” I whisper as if it’s the best-kept secret.

“Can it be space-themed?” Ellie counters.

Nodding, I try to imagine what a space-themed wall would look like. Maybe she can incorporate cupcakes. “It can be anything you want. Call it ‘Ellie’s Wall’ or something,” I encourage her.

Ellie nods, finally calming down a bit. “That’s awesome,” she marvels.

Ellie looks up at Joel with the worst puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen. Not that it matters, because he’s crumbling by the second. “You can do it. Long as you’re on top of your schoolwork,” he permits her to spend time here.

Ellie smiles, moving closer to the door. “Okay, okay. I’m going before you take it back. Bye, Ginny,” she boasts confidently while yanking open the door.

I chuckle at her antics. “Bye, Ellie. See you tomorrow,” I bid her goodbye.

The door shuts behind us and a faint jingling sound enters the room. Joel steps closer to me, slightly trapping me in the small doorway. “So,” he starts, cutting himself off.

My eyes snap away from his to the floor. I can’t fucking look at him. Not when he’s this close looking good enough to eat. “So,” I murmur.

Joel bends down a little bit, forcing me to look back into his coffee-colored irises. “Thank you. For everything today,” he smiles, putting a hand over his chest.

God, I’m probably as red as a tomato. I want to sprint as far as I can away from this conversation. “You’re welcome,” I voice so low, it’s almost a whisper.

Joel reaches for the door handle right next to me. So he wasn’t trying to kiss me. “Guess, I’ll be seein’ you tomorrow when I pick up Ellie,” he smiles, opening up the door.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed but I try to push it to the back of my mind. We’re just acquaintances, Ginny. “Thanks for coming. I had a great holiday,” I squeek.

His mouth curves up into a smile. “So did I,” he chuckles, stepping out of the door.

My delusional brain grabs the door behind him before he pulls it shut. Maybe this is it. Maybe he has a crush too. “Goodnight, Joel,” I melodically bid him goodbye.

Joel smiles, awkwardly waving. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, pulling the door shut.

Joel stands directly outside and peers through the window, pointing down at the lock. “Now,” he mouths, and I click the metal switch.

Shaking my head at his antics, I spin around to trek back upstairs. Once I’m in my living room, my feet drag across the floor to shut the window facing the street. I scratch my head when I hear two voices screaming at each other below. “You didn’t kiss her? What the hell, dude?” Ellie chews out Joel and my cheeks burn.

“Ellie, no questions,” I hear Joel snip at his daughter.

Curiosity killed the cat and Ellie, apparently. “Why didn’t you kiss h–”

“Damn it, Ellie. Shut up and get in the car,” I hear Joel grumble before a car door slams. I giggle, shutting my window and thanking the gods above for such a great Hallows Eve.

sweetest pie series

74 notes · View notes

rotg-halloween · 8 months

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ROTG Halloween Challenge 2023!

40 days and counting down to this year's autumnal RISE OF THE GUARDIANS thirteen-day-long fandom event, starting on 19 October 2023 and concluding on 31 October 2023.

2023 EVENT GUIDELINES

13 days, 13 prompts.

Visual, aural, textile, and literary works are allowed - fanart, fanfiction, gifs, edits/manips, cosplay, fanmixes, crafts, or ask-and-answer.

Unlike other fandom events, reblogs of previously created material are welcome IF THEY FIT THE PROMPT, but creation of original material is preferred.

Inspiration can be drawn from the GUARDIANS OF CHILDHOOD bookverse, the RISE OF THE GUARDIANS movieverse, and any and all associated AUs.

OCs are welcome and encouraged to interact with RotG/GoC characters.

Crossovers are welcome, but please make sure that the focus POV is a character from RotG/GoC.

Works in progress are welcome and encouraged, as long as they fit the prompt. No reason not to celebrate Halloween all year ‘round! No need to worry about having to have something complete before posting.

Don’t feel like you ***must*** post a piece Every… Single… DAY, and/or fill every single prompt. Burnout is not fun. But do try to post at least ONE piece during the 13 days of the challenge.

Be sure to tag your works with @rotg-halloween, and list #rotghalloween in one of your first 5 tags.

Please tag works accordingly, and be sure to use any warnings for sensitive and potentially triggering subjects.

HAVE FUN, and support your fellow creators.

2023 Prompts

19 October 2023 / Day One: Hill

20 October 2023 / Day Two: Wormwood

21 October 2023/ Day Three: Train

22 October 2023 / Day Four: Bone

23 October 2023 / Day Five: Insubstantial

24 October 2023 / Day Six: Exit

25 October 2023 / Day Seven: Apart

26 October 2023 / Day Eight: Melting

27 October 2023/ Day Nine: Kaiju

28 October 2023 / Day Ten: Guide

29 October 2023 / Day Eleven: Evening

30 October 2023 / Day Twelve: Hungry

31 October 2023 / Day Thirteen: Overlord

#rise of the guardians #fandom events #rotg fandom events #rotg fanfiction #rotg fanart

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wmarximoff · 2 years

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skeleton in the closet | w. maximoff

|spooktober collection|

summary: life married to Wanda Maximoff is as simple as it gets, and everything is as it should be. but old skeletons in the closet comes to light in your hometown, where the two of you lived during your teenage years, when the body of Pietro Maximoff, Wanda's twin brother, is found after nearly twenty years of being missing.

warnings (18+): dark!reader, dark!Wanda, explicit description of stabbing, explicit description of blood, explicit description of dead body, manipulation, explicit description of physical violence, allusions to homophobia.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 8k

A/N: and we're finally on spooktober, guys! seriously, i'm really excited for the fics to come this month. so, to get a sense of what our vibe's gonna be like from now on, i think this story is a good starting point (but remember that if dark things aren't exactly your cup of tea, you don't need to read this)

|main masterlist| |spooktober masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

The autumnal chills made the lapels of your coat rustle against your chest. The transition to the cold climate began to gradually slip through the daily life, and the dark nights came to establish their veil into the beautiful celestial vault dazzles. Leaves taking on earthy tones fell from the trees like sand spilled over desert dunes. The birds returned south in flocks. It was October, as so many others had been and so many more would be. Soon it would be time to pick pumpkins and try to find god knows where a cloak for Billy's sorcerer costume.

As you unlocked the hardwood door dyed a deep pearly white color, entering your small family capsule, cloistered in the depths of a quiet neighborhood, turning with your right wrist clockwise twice at a broken one hundred and eighty degree angle, you found your nose greeted by an enticing aroma of food fresh from the oven, which in response had your stomach churning like a wild buffalo inside your abdomen.

The long rainy morning and the even lengthier gray afternoon had worn you down as a member of the working class, it’s true – your spine leaning against the hard back of the swivel chair, blinking slowly with your bright, demanding eyes, intent on your own words, wondering about your work displayed on the thin monitor sprinkled in its frame by notes on small yellow pieces of paper. Acting as if the internet and blogging hadn't incited an unrestrained crash in your job market.

That typical office job worthy of a big-city journalist's career (articles, write articles for the Daily Bugle, thank J. Jonah Jameson so the mustachioed bastard gives you a raise) that at the end of the day goes back to their residential neighborhood that didn't feel like it should exist in the bowels of New York, to sit in a leather armchair and open a cold beer with a hard click. But at that time of year, beer could well be switched for a steaming mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon swimming in the thickly sweetened brew.

You, however, still within your archetypal office journalist, only craved for a few silent minutes in your wife's arms in search of some comfort in your soul, because your marriage was not bankrupt as your profession made it seem as it was. Wanda still loved you as much as she had almost two decades ago, and you could only breathe if your wife gave you permission to do so. Everything seemed to be as it always should be.

You then hung your keys right next to the door, rotating both your shoulders out of the dark linen coat Wanda had told you once made you look like a stern, sexy college professor, playing with the authority worthy of a title you didn't really hold; it was your wife who did it, after all, and she allowed you to steal that coat tucked on her hanger because she said it looked better on you anyway – even though you only knew that something frugally possessive about Wanda liked to see you in her clothes, exhaling the soft floral effluvia of her perfume as if to mark her territory on your body.

Your breath still gave indications of warm, full-bodied coffee, a trace of that busy afternoon that needed some sort of stimulant—a drink from a plastic cup with your name written on the side in black marker pen; this one that, earlier that day, had been placed next to a framed picture of your family on your desk, next to a “Best Mom Ever” mug in bold letters with a handful of colored pens inside just to your left, close to your elbow.

With placid strides deferred to the wooden floor, imbued with an unpretentiousness when within the walls of your own house, you then set off with your wife's coat folded over the length of your right forearm raised to the height of your ribs, pressed against the length of your abdomen, hanging there as if to emulate the pose of a waiter in a suit at a fancy restaurant.

Upon entering the living room, however, seated on a light cream fabric sofa, you were faced with only the tops of two small heads that lavished thick locks of dark brown hair – a pair of little boys glazed over in artificial colors, your twin sons born ten years and eleven months ago.

They didn't agree on much with each other very often, from time to time fighting over toys as the ontology of having a sibling demands, but they were always close to each other's shoulders at the end of the day, just like they did inside the womb they shared for a whole nine months. A few feet in front of you, a thin television, securely screwed to the wall, flashed some action cartoon you were not very familiar with.

And you smiled with quiet lips and walked to the back of the sofa, where you lowered your spine and, without a word, placed a warm kiss on top of each of the two vanilla-scented chestnut-colored heads, receiving in response a series of dull whining – the protestor of the day, however, as it had always been, was Tommy and not Billy.

“Well, hello to you too, little dude.”

“Mom!” grumbled the little boy with eyes the same color as yours, in a slurred tone that actually sounded annoyed, craning his neck as if you'd stuck gum in his hair, “C’mon, I'm too old for this!”

"Oh, I'm sorry Tom, I almost forgot you're a big boy now that you're ten. My mistake, really,” you crooned in an air of laughter before smiling at the grumpy young boy, who squinted his eyes at you and frowned with his sparse dark brows.

“I am! I don't need to be treated like a baby all the time anymore!”

“‘Course you are, kid, I didn't say anything to the contrary. You're practically an adult now, what the heck.”

He had a fine chin and a gently upturned nose speckled with freckles like the stars spaced across the night sky. However, as boyish he was, his temper was just so solemnly contrary to his affable teddy bear with a bow tie appearance, an explosive den of undisputed bravery. Your gaze then decided to settle on the figure of Billy, always so much more serene and courteous when opposed to his energetic brother, who was offered a smart smile on your part, narrowing your eyes and raising both of your eyebrows towards him.

“And what about you, bud,” you questioned him without bothering to betray the mockery in your tone, “Are you too old to get a kiss on the head from your mom too?”

“I'm not,” he winked, scrunching a flash of skin over his little nose in a totally, genetically Wanda way, “I like it when you kiss me on the head, mom.”

“See, Tommy,” you turned your chin towards the other twin's freckles, “Billy is ten too and he still likes to get a kiss on the head. It doesn't hurt to like it, you know. You can be tough and still like your mom, just for a change.”

The other boy, in an embarrassed guinea pig squeak, traced the path between your face and Billy's before nurturing his twisted lips into a silly little pout; the stubborn Maximoff gene played out so much more in Tommy than it did in his brother, who hadn't gotten much more from your wife's family tree than the firm, sharp bone structure of his cheekbones and his soon to be smooth jawbone.

“Fine,” Thomas grumbled crookedly in a quick desistance, “You can still kiss me mom, geez.”

“Fine,” you said then, “Because I wasn't going to stop doing it anyway,” and Billy chuckled softly as it was that you turned your face to deposit a new, quick, wet little kiss on Tommy's rosy cheek, smacking your lips against his soft skin.

“Don't think you'll get rid of my kisses anytime soon, mister.”

Leaving the living room then with an impish smile well warped in the commission of your lips, you were directed by the smell of roast chicken that had covered the house like a sheet of flavors, and with slow steps, you let yourself walk across the matte floor in toward the kitchen, to the sacred source of the aroma of fresh-baked food.

You passed a spacious hallway with pale walls, whose faces, interspersed with casual, well-appointed furniture, held photographs of pivotal moments for that family of four (everyone sporting delightful, pearly-beautiful smiles with spasms of hearty glee, say cheese Tommy, look over here Billy, no Y/n, you can't take a picture grimacing for our Christmas card, a break for a round of lively laughter, stop it, Y/n!).

Wanda cherished them with all her heart, as for while she herself was just a lonely child, the walls of the house she lived in were all foreboding and empty, like an excruciating scream in a dark room.

There were no ugly itchy Christmas sweaters or big, fed up Thanksgiving dinners in the family album of Erik Lehnsherr, a high-profile political figure in a well-buttoned jacket and an golden watch screwed to his firm wrist, and Magda Maximoff, a dreary housewife soaked in wine and draped in expensive pearls, a couple married for sheer convenience — no pictures of their own set of twin children, none of the gritty boy or even the always so quiet little girl unwrapping some of their birthday presents by the fireplace, toys bought carelessly with unimportant cash deducted from an unlimited credit card.

But already in the life of an adult, married woman, a mother, that household you two formed together was like a being of its own, as alive as it could be.

A being of pipe bones, brick skin and a happy family heart, who breathed through impromptu Saturday breakfasts and old movie nights snuggled on the couch surrounded by buttered popcorn and cups of iced cinnamon apple tea. The kind of home that is familiar without any hesitation. A generally imposing house, but not enough to be challenging.

So, as you entered the airy white-walled kitchen, an cozy countenance expressed itself through the soberly relaxed muscles of your face, and you couldn't help but evoke a tender smile at what you saw before you – after all it was her, it would always be her.

Wanda had her back to you, her long fire-flaming hair falling over her porcelain shoulders and halfway up her spine like a high forest fire, ready to incinerate you too. It gave off a lovely scent of wild strawberries interspersed with glossy locks that you were fond of sticking your nose in and sniffing that eclectic scent every night before bed.

“Yes, I…I understand. I do, I swear I do.”

It wasn't until the sound of her low voice, in a watery tone that pretends she's not about to burst into tears, that you realized that Wanda's phone was being pressed against the shell of her right ear, a distant green gaze scrutinizing the wet dark of the sink drain. A curious brow of yours rose to your forehead as she faced the raw words in an uncharacteristically Wanda tone, afforded with her deck of cards congruent with dreary answers fitting only in very unfortunate situations.

“I'll try to get there as soon as possible. I'll– I'll talk to Y/n. We'll be there early in the morning. Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow,” Wanda turned on her heel, shimmering with emerald eyes at you, who was caught in her sight like a deer in the bright headlights of a car on the dark road – she frowned, her rosy lips curled intemperately.

Ah, there you are, Wanda said with her eyes in a dull green like the slime that grows on a tiny rock in front of a profuse lake. Something happened and I need you here with me.

“No, I– I know this is a priority,” she sighed a breath of warm air, deflating her chest from under a fresh-blood-colored cashmere cardigan, “I know. I do. I'll be there as soon as possible, father. Don't worry.”

Silence engulfed all four walls of the kitchen as the call then came to an end, though neither of the two parties has properly bid farewell to the other. It was an emergency, your startled senses heightened. Erik would never call if it wasn't an emergency.

A tremor along the length of your spine from the back of your neck alerted you that something was wrong. Saliva choked in Wanda's throat, and she lowered her smartphone to then laid it facedown against the stone kitchen island. She looked at you. You looked at her.

The blood flowing through your veins cooled down at the incognito facet that expressed itself through the dull face of your so gorgeous wife, who had her brown eyebrows curled in a calliginous way and an opaque veil clouding her jade-colored gaze, gauging pale shades of awestruck green to her hollow irises – terror climbing the length of your esophagus, her hands fluttering through the auburn length of her long hair before initiating the fidget act with her own pale fingertips, the two of you sharing a brooding pose, which exhaled a scent of anguish through the kitchen environment.

“Wanda,” there was an exchange of apprehensive looks between you and her, “Wanda, honey, what's wrong? What’s going on? Did... did something happen...? Erik... is your father all right?”

“Y/n...”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out and so Wanda tried to collapse her peach lips again, to swallow the lump tied to her vocal cords. One look was enough for you to know that in Wanda's chest was an atrocious disease known as dread.

And your first instinct in the face of your wife's frightened figure was to slash through the kitchen like lightning, to shelter her haggard body against your own welcoming torso when her muscles chose to disassemble, like an ancient millenary structure that comes to the ground. It was like catching a rag doll in a free fall.

“Hey, hey, it's alright, sweetheart,” you whispered against her red hair, “Alright, alright, I'm here. I’m here with you, Wanda,” and then, a long kiss was bestowed on the pale skin of her right temple, near the last strand of a dark eyebrow.

“Y/n, they found it,” she sobbed in a whimpering murmur against the warm skin of your neck, her hands crawling like a pair of spiders up the fabric on the back of your blouse, “T-they, they found it...”

“They found what, Wanda?” you asked her mutely against her earlobe, “Who found what, baby? What’s going on?”

“A hiker in the woods,” your wife mussed in a thread of a pleading voice, “The police, they… they found Pietro's body... they found him... they found him...”

There was something eerie about Wanda's choked speech – something ominous, not of this world. And something in you flickered – your jawbone knocked, your sharp gaze blazing a stubborn roar of hopeless fear as your stomach dropped. Pietro, of course. Pietro’s body.

Pietro Maximoff, the prodigy athlete, the golden boy on the football team, the apple of his father's eye. The better twin. The missing twin, now earning the title of the twin found underground, the dead twin, the murdered twin.

The glow that always, always so unjustly overshadowed Wanda's charms. The boy this bitter couple had planned to have, the only child they could brag about, while Wanda had slipped out of the womb clinging to Pietro's neck, a particularly uninvited outsider to Erik who never stopped being more than that; more than the thing who came clinging to the boy he wanted to have, a nasty bonus.

Both your palms were sweaty against the back of her cardigan when you held Wanda tighter, the soft clothing leaving a feeling as rough as sandpaper against the tips of your so cautious fingers. You had to be there for her. You had to pull yourself together at that moment. Even if that shouldn't happen. Even if that's not how things were supposed to be.

“I–it's gonna be okay,” your voice no longer sounded like your own, it curled in an irresolute tone, your throat wavering in haste – and you masticated at your lower lip, your heart thudding against your ribcage in distress and the shrillest sensation of fear.

“It's gonna be okay, honey. It's gonna be okay. I’m here. Everything's gonna be okay.”

You kissed her strawberry head cork, your lips dry and your back sweating inside your thick blouse. Your skin turned cold against the warm of Wanda's hot tears. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not seventeen years later. Within that profuse forest, deep in the woods that surrounded the small town frame, no one should ever find anything in that unfathomable grave that you covered with pounds of soft earth when you were just eighteen years old.

ᗢ

“Why do we have to visit grandpa anyways?” whimpered Tommy, in that typical slurred intonation of a tantrum child who is frustrated at being annoyed, “It's not even Christmas yet!”

You were speechless for a few seconds, cluttering with the crimped bone of your jaw, holding up a tightly folded red shirt that you intended to stuff into Billy's blue backpack, through the open zipper like a hungry mouth for changes of clean clothes, so he could get dressed for the weekend.

It was a second taken to think of a wide range of explanations that there was no elucidation to be said in a way that a childish cognition could fully digest, understanding all the nuances carried in its broad meanings.

A second passed, almost taking up the shape of full minutes, until you turned your gaze towards the scowling little boy that was Tommy, who, with an observant ember sparking through the intrinsic color of his clever, harmless irises, stared at you in expectant anticipation for the resolution of his sly doubt.

He, after all, was your son, one of them. A boy to whom you owed explanations of the greatest mysteries that made up the universe just because a few years ago you and Wanda both wanted him to exist.

“Well, honey, you see, it's...” but the words, the correct ones, didn't come out of your mouth, which was left open like a big black hole lacking light, “It's... it's very important to your mama that we're going there tomorrow, Tommy. She needs it.”

“But why?” as his brother lulled him, however, it was Billy's turn to express the doubts that were hovering in his little head, who was in charge of the mission of folding a handful of pants and shirts.

“Yeah mom, why?” claimed Tommy one more time.

“Grandpa's house is weird,” Billy sustained, “It’s so big and smells like a dentist's office and old people. I don't like it there.”

“Well,” you made an unnatural sound that was a mockery of laughter, like a low battery toy, “Your grandpa is old, isn't he…? Don't ever tell him I said that.”

It was the extremes of the moderate hour of eight-thirty at night when you, with your twin children dressed in pajamas at your heels, found yourself in the softness of the boys' shared room – because they, always so united as in a only entity, would never be able to fall asleep in separate rooms, alone and dispersed in two dark corners, which was why there were then two empty guest rooms gathering dust within your house.

Clothed in their cotton pajamas strewn with tiny prints of colorful dinosaurs (red, green and blue too), the pair of little boys were by your side while you took care to pack their bags, willingly volunteering to do so when in front of Wanda's swollen, exhausted eyes, who had retreated to the master bedroom after a lifeless dinner that had surely troubled the two children's spirits.

Two pairs of little eyes then flickered towards your damp face. Just two curious children (your curious children) looking for an answer to their question before Wanda's only relative of whom they had empirical knowledge, the only one alive and yet so far away, whom they had not seen for a certain period of time, but that had sent them new toys the month before this one, on their birthday. You came out on a lame sigh, the coming headache brushing hot on a hard muscle at the back of your neck.

“Look, guys, I'm gonna be honest with you,” you uttered, tucking your knees into your comfy cotton sweatpants to sit on the edge of Billy's bed, putting the folded shirt aside.

“I know it can be a little… um, uncomfortable… to go to grandpa's house sometimes. Trust me, I... I really do. But we need to go there because... well, something serious has happened, and that's why grandpa needs mama there. You guys remember what I told you about mama's brother, right? Her twin brother, just like you two are.”

“Uncle P?” Tommy took the lead in the round of questions, taking a comfortable seat right next to your right elbow, “He left when you and mama were in high school. She said he’s far away from here. That makes her sad sometimes.”

“Yes, he… he's gone,” you bowed your head in a mechanical, hard motion, the words rancid against the face of your tongue, “Your uncle was… he was indeed far away from here, you know? But it turns out... that he was found recently. The cops found him, but… it wasn't in a good way, boys.”

“What happened to him, mom?”

Billy's eyes pointed upward towards your gloomy face, as a complement to his doubt; the little dark brow furrowed in demand for a congruent resolution to his brooding inquiry. You turned your chin at an angle towards your left collarbone to answer him.

“Well, Bill, your uncle, he…” there was a pause on your part, a long silence held in your throat, “He's not alive anymore, kid. Do you understand what that means? He... he's not coming back. Pietro will never come back.”

The boys looked at each other and, with a rehearsed action, cast a sorrowful glare on you – a look that didn't quite understand the real implications of what you'd said to them, but did it well enough to get the idea that it was something bad, something sad enough to mobilize the adults who always seemed to be in control of everything. To make mama cry even when she was the one who nursed them on blue days, brushing the tears away from their cheeks with her thumbs.

“And mama,” Billy said in a tiny voice, so befitting his sad little eyes, “Is she sad?”

“She is,” you cordially splayed your left hand on the small expanse of his knee, where your fingers began a series of affable, unconscious caresses.

“She's very sad, Bill. So we need to do this for her. We need to stand by her side in this moment of sadness and take good care of her when she needs us to. Because now she has to say goodbye to him. For real this time. And goodbyes are big, sad feelings that are very difficult to deal with, even if it's someone as strong as mama. Even more a goodbye like that. Can you do this for her, boys? She’ll be so much happier if you guys do this for her.”

“We can,” Tommy stated, ever so sure of his own words, “We can do this for mama.”

“Yes,” Billy supported his brother, “We gonna do it, mom.”

“Right,” you smiled small, just lifting the corner of your lips, “Thanks, guys, really. This will mean a lot to her. Now come here, come here,” when you offered each boy an arm, the two soon tried to snuggle against your chest, their ears brushing against both of your collarbones.

“It's gonna be okay, did you hear me? We'll get through this. We’ll get through this as a family, as we always do.”

At least, that's what you hoped would happen. As if everything wasn't absolutely out of control. As if you weren't an asshole for lying to your own kids.

ᗢ

Had flown across the sky only a few sluggish minutes since the dawn of the opaque day, enveloping the longitudinal expanses of the outskirts of Westview, then, in a vague aura of homely appearance – thus offering, to the parochial naked eye, a shifting nuance between pastel shades of salmon colors that were soon taken over by the autumnal gray of the heavy clouds, which served as the prelude to a frosty October morning (the first signs of a coming cold temperature already settling, like a disease, through the crooked bowels of the ominous city). Wanda made sure Billy and Tommy were dressed up in thick coats in the backseat.

The sun was clumsy in the midst of the gloomy sky, like a silvery child hiding behind its mother's skirt, and at the foundation of the sky's vault, a long magenta band of sun spread to the horizon, hoisting towards the day, even though it was a particularly gloomy morning.

You had just left New York State behind, and so the reddish-hued family car found itself wandering through the conglomeration of roads that made up New Jersey, just a handful of miles from the nondescript town of Westview.

“Are we there yet? I’m hungry,” asked Tommy from the backseat, his voice coming over your shoulder.

“We're almost there, baby,” Wanda replied in a slightly dry voice, her gaze always looking straight ahead, at the road that unfolded in front of the fender of the car, “Just hang in there a little longer, okay?”

“Okay…”

You looked at her sideways for half a second of bottled oxygen in your throat. Your right hand then wandered over the derailleur that stood between the two seats at the front of the car, to give a cordial squeeze on your wife's left thigh, which was tucked into dark jeans. In grim silence, Wanda held your fingers extensions between her palms – her wedding band felt cool against your skin.

Out of the corner of your sharp eye, your left hand screwed into the outline of the steering wheel, you captured the smudged image of a rudimentary green-painted board made from logs; population 3,892, “WELCOME TO WESTVIEW – HOME: IS WHERE YOU MAKE IT”. You once spray-painted that sign because you were a stupid teenager who had a stupid idea. Nobody ever knew that you did it.

Little Westview was still the same as before, always so classic and timeless. But there was something there, like an ominous specter lurking around corners and behind the fogged up windows, that had made your heart crumple inside your anxious chest and your body curl up like a tortoise does in its shell, unconsciously going further into the faux leather seat.

It was as if every component structure of the city looked into the moving car, as if everything there knew what you had done. How guilty you were; your sin leaking from your pores, bristling your veins.

As the concrete and pylons of the gray, wet asphalt citadel burst before your eyes, magically trapped in an eternal vortex of the sixties, with its empty houses and dismal colonial-style shops surrounded by leafy trees of essence green taking on shades of orange, damp and dark, and its old-fashioned cinema that in its facade of red and blue in bright neon, announced the rerun of a horror movie in black and white.

The Halloween decorations began to appear more and more as the vehicle approached the center of town – a wicked witch in a purple dress flying on top of a broom, a bedsheet made into a ghost with two open holes for the eyes and one for the mouth, a handful of pumpkins with carved pointy teeth.

You clenched your jaw, a streak of sunlight barely crossing your forearm raised to brush a strand of hair out of your eye. It didn't take more than minutes for you to park your car in front of Wanda's old childhood home – the town was tiny, and the house stood triumphantly wider and larger than the other residences.

The cream-colored little house just around the corner caught your eye like a beacon in the dark, however; before your parents moved out of the country after you finished college, this is where you had lived with your family – the window of your old room always facing the street outside.

It was about a ten-minute drive straight down Ellis Avenue (Tommy already fidgeting to get out of the car, Billy saying he was sleepy, Wanda holding back so she wouldn't explode, you just wishing you'd get there soon). Still so early in the morning, the figure of Erik Lehnsherr, once the mayor of Westview, could already be found on his front porch – gray-striped jacket and cropped white hair, bordering on the pearly tone of old age. You turned off the car ignition.

“It's gonna be okay, Wands,” was a whisper on your part into a pair of dark green eyes that weren't quite staring at you, “I'm here with you. I’ll always be here for you, honey.”

“I know,” she sighed back, before taking her right hand to the doorknob and then opening the car door, “I know, baby. Thank you.”

Erik tucked both of his hands into the pockets of his linen pants, piercing eyes burning into your silhouette beneath a pair of bushy dark brows as you helped Billy to get out of the vehicle through the left door that opened like a long red wing towards the street. Sapphire irises, the grandfather of your children.

Clean, wealthy and downright cruel. A frown stripped away from his thin dead lips, which made him looked like a comic book villain – a puff of cocky unpleasantness. Bitter aroma of pompous whiskey on the lapels of his jacket. Your wife crossed the sidewalk, that green, well-trimmed lawn that carpeted the entrance to the house, and approached her own father with her head down.

“Good morning, father,” Wanda greeted him then in a tiny voice, a grim air leaking from her mouth, and she had been bringing Tommy's hand along with hers. With Billy you followed after them, stopping behind her right shoulder encircled by her dark coat.

“Wanda,” said the man in a scolding tone, always so sharp, which prompted a jolt of muscle memory from your wife, who shivered like a shy bunny inside her coat, “Boys.”

“H-hello, grandpa,” Billy tried first, his grip pressing hard against your hand that he held.

“Hi, grandpa,” came Tommy's voice then, though Erik's blue gaze wasn't aimed at the boy; but it did towards you. You swallowed the saliva behind your tongue in a long, sullen blink.

“G-good morning, Mr. Lehnsherr,” you whispered in a strained voice, performing a vaguely welcoming act, “How are you, sir?”

A second of icy silence pierced the front porch of the house, your coat rustling over your body. You brought Billy closer to your hip, his temple pressing against your ribcage in an attempt to warm the boy in front of the zephyrs that traversed the porch of the house stained in icy white paint. A car passed on the street. A dog started barking. The older man just turned his back on you, without offering you any syllables at all.

“Come in,” said Erik then, in a tone that in no way emulated a host, already walking his body back inside the open door, ever so used to giving orders and not receiving them, “It's cold out here.”

It took you a long time to find any answers to the inhospitalities uttered by the father of your beloved redhaired wife. Wanda realized that there had been more than one (or even two) attempts on your part to speak out over the course of a few long, drawn-out seconds. Your eyes then migrated to the troubled look of the silent woman standing beside you, who nodded in agreement with the slightest movement of her head. Silently, always behind Wanda, you only entered the residence after your wife did.

ᗢ

The hallways of Westview High School were still the same ones you remembered in your memory, seeming preserved in time since the last time you set foot on that comfortable linoleum floor, in a teenage memory cloistered within the walls of your own cranium.

But you were an adult now, a self-assured, stable woman with a solid career and an established family. You wouldn't allow a pompous boy who exuded arrogance, that same troglodyte who always bumped his strong shoulder against yours, to trouble your spirits again.

The gym’s basketball court (a rectangular floor with baskets at each end) had been willingly granted by Monica Rambeau, the then-current principal of the school, always so efficient as she did since she was a young girl, to play a crucial role in the location where Pietro Maximoff’s memorial would be held – as in a ritual religious, a cult of an numinous god, as if one were about to light a candle and sacrifice a chicken on an altar to bring him back to the realm of the living beings.

He was still there, more alive now than dead than he had ever been before. It was like your own augur spirit slithering behind your shoulders, a past always ready to haunt you, to rip your soul out of your eyes if need be. Little by little, the small town seemed inclined to accept the unpalatable fact that the golden boy had indeed died, even though almost two decades had passed and the youth of today didn't even care about the name of the late teenage athlete who studied with their parents so many years ago.

It was easy to bring back the time that had been spent there, and everything you had ever experienced in that environment – the tin lockers were still bluish and you still remembered your own combination of numbers off the top of your head (turn to the side once, turn to the other twice, then turn to the other three times and the door magically opens, but needs a slam to open it fully).

Wanda had memorized that combination when you two started dating only to sneak there cute little notes in between classes.

Near a small stage set up in front of the sloping seats of the polished wooden bleachers, with a platform at its center as in a presidential campaign, was a huge glossy photograph of a young Pietro smiling sideways, forever preserved at that stage in his life, a broken chuckle at the corner of his fifties Hollywood heartthrob's lips, a cheap performance by a small-town James Dean, just another naughty bad boy.

It was, that photograph, taken just before he disappeared, because the boy had dyed his brown hair a platinum blonde just a month before he disappeared for good. The sight of him there depressed you to the extreme, even though the tight lump in the nerve endings of your stomach further pointed to the bitter taste of fear rising in your gut; it had been a while since that boy had stopped bothering you altogether, and bringing that guilt-ridden nervousness back was not doing your health any good.

You'd abandoned your demons and didn't want to worry about them, even though Pietro's sapphire-colored irises looked like two security cameras following you around the room, his lips seeming to twitch in horror-movie words only you could hear: I'll tell them, Y/n. I'll tell them all what you did to me. The autumn air felt heavyweight and dense when enclosed in such a spacious environment, and an icy thread was rising in your throat.

Groups swarmed the walls of the gym like a flock of flies, former classmates of yours, faces dizzyingly familiar, the entire battalion of retired teachers who used to hang out with you in your everyday life at that school, and half a dozen other of Erik's stuck-up acquaintances al dresses in wealthy coats so similar to his own. You shook a few hands and offered some unsympathetic smiles – always the same questions and always the same answers, after all, you were now part of the victim's family.

“Yes, yeah, I married Wanda”, “Yeah, his twin sister”, “Wanda is sad but we're doing our best to make it okay”, “No, I wasn't that close to him back then”, “He was a great guy, wasn't he?”. No, he wasn't.

Citizens in their late forties, all expressing sad faces, as if they were rehearsing for a play; the main role would win whoever convinced everybody that they were sadder than the others at the death of a boy that everyone pretended to like at the time because his father was the mayor. You watched it all so secluded, so far away, that play worthy of social etiquette to tragedy unfolding right under your eyelashes, while Wanda was with Erik and more people talking on the platform. Black always looked good on her.

You kept your eyes on the twin boys circling near the coffee table, a donut dusted with an icing sugar crust to each, just to keep their childish palates entertained, avoiding Pietro's gaze in that photo, preferring to pounce like a cat and sneaking between people's ankles, letting yourself fall into abandon, as long as you didn't see anyone and no one else could see you either.

“Man, that's really sad,” a voice had said over your right shoulder, and Darcy Lewis, a former classmate of you, always with long dark hair and round glasses, came to meet you carrying a disposable cup of warm coffee in her right hand.

She was always full of ghastly puns and some occasional movie reference exchanged between the times you paired up in sophomore chemistry class.

“Yeah, it's really sad,” you muttered in an artificial tone, “It's sad as fuck.”

“I mean, I always thought that the guy was a fucking idiot. He was an asshole, everybody knew he was an asshole,” she continued, just after taking a long swig from the steaming cup of coffee that she held at her jaw height.

“At the time I was even glad he was gone, I'm not gonna do like these hypocritical suckers here and pretend that I liked him because I truly didn’t. But I don't know, after all this time... he was just a kid, you know?”

The walls of your stomach clenched and ached in an icy brush. He was just a boy, really. In the end, he was just a boy. Something you discarded for the earth to digest and take away, but which in a run of bad luck, just came back to haunt you so many years later.

“I just… I thought he had run off with some girl when he realized he had no chance of getting into college or whatever. He looked like the kind of guy who would try his hand at life in L.A and then come back home old and crying. But damn, being actually murdered? What the fuck. That’s sick.”

She used a tone of indignant surprise to accentuate the last word you couldn't quite digest in your stomach, acrimony bile and distressing dread climbing up the muscles of your slimy mucus-covered throat. Nothing in you was intent on looking at the woman in the thick coat standing beside you, but your gaze even less yearned for Pietro's piercing irises.

“Just… this isn't one of those TV shows that always has a small-town mystery or some shit like that. This is real life, man. These things are not supposed to happen around here.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to swallow a gulp of icy air. Crossing the crowd, next to her big-handed father in expensive pants, Wanda's earnest gaze sought you out. And you didn't notice something opaque distorting the green of her irises, as far away as she was from you. But your former classmate noticed the exchange of glances with your wife, and another sip of coffee came for her to speak again.

“Damn, sorry,” Darcy mussed then, “You married his sister, didn't you? Shit, I completely forgot about that, Y/n. I'm sorry. I know this must be a difficult time for your family. For you, even.”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged into your own coat, “He and I weren't very close in high school, anyway,” and then, you finally looked at her, “But I know it’s just sad that he’s gone. I’m trying to keep it together for Wanda and our boys, but… it’s tough. Everything in this situation just sucks.”

“Right?” she scrutinized at you with her piercing, pale blue eyes under her glasses frame, looking at you with pity in her gaze, as if you weren’t just a guilty liar.

“He was an asshole, sure, but he... he was just a kid. I realize this now that I’ve grown up. It’s not fair, man, it’s not fair to him that it was like this. I wonder how scared he was at the end. Nobody… nobody deserves to die like this.”

It was like the last shovel of dirt in your own coffin. It was too much, just being there was too much for you. Your stomach dropped as you vomited a sweaty smile out of your lips. So you accepted, you just did – a pompous boy who exuded airs of arrogance still troubled your spirit, after all.

Because what you had done to him (your hands stained with still-warm blood and wet earth, your skin itching against the dewy tall grass in the middle of the night, the smell of iron and musky trees in the air) had scarred your carcass for the rest of your life. The latent guiltiness would never let your bones rest again in your life.

ᗢ

You hugged your thick coat made of black fabric to your body, even though you didn't feel the autumn chill at all. But you only knew that you had done it so that you could hide from the morbid eyes of the trees in the cemetery. The atmosphere of that place was horrible. The white headstone was beautiful, and that was just despondent. There was something sadistic about the fact that a funeral was such a beautiful thing – even more so when you were the reason that corpse lost its heartbeat.

Everything in a cemetery was miserable, of course, the stench of human putrefaction was intrinsic in the still life of that sacred ground; just a bunch of dead people and memories buried to the bottom, but the fact that this tombstone was so expensive and so exceedingly beautiful was the most distressing part of it all.

It meant that Erik wanted to give the best treatment to this thing that would be a memorial to his beloved son even in death. Your cloudy irises descended to that cluster of flowers placed on top of the closed casket of dark varnished wood, whose interior held only a handful of bones worn down by exposure to time and the animals of the forest. They were burying a bag of bones because of you.

Amidst a sea of bowed heads, hazy faces tucked into dark garments, all with shoulders pressed together like a wall founded in mourning, the deceased's father was the one who spoke the parting words, while Wanda stood beside you, each of you holding the hand of one of the twin boys the two of you had had. When she noticed the stress simmering up inside you, almost leaking out of your mouth, your brow furrowed, a hand of hers soon tried to reach for your fingers.

“Pietro was a good boy,” the heartbroken father had said then, “He really was. And someday he would be a great man, I know he would. I... I'm glad my beloved Magda isn't here to witness this. She wouldn't deserve to see our boy like that. See what they did to him.”

You thought you were going to throw up as memories began to pour through the blood coursing through your pallid veins, a den of unsettling affliction teasing you into a frenzy of unease. Between bushes and rocks, into the beech woods of the forest, swallowed up by the enormities of the shadows of the scrupulous pines, placed in wide profligate rows, you set out carrying those bones that were still wrapped in a capsule of flesh, veins, muscles and sinews.

The twigs on the forest floor twisted the flesh at her ankles and calves, but the vibrating epinephrine in your veins inhibited the burning sensation of a handful of tiny cuts slashing open in your skin. But still, you groaned in pain. But the pain you felt had not come from the abrasions and fissures denoted here or there in your epidermis – it had been the broken heart, which had begun to weaken you, chilling your bones and viscera.

Flowing reality flooded your bronchial tubes; there was fear emanating from the tears dispersed down the length of your face. Fear of losing your beloved Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, your support, your muse, your martyrdom, your passion. Lyrical, but somewhat tragic, like a Homeric tale. A famine that was supplied to you; an abstruse epic romance born of the core of two girls devoid of a primordial love. What would you do without her, and what wouldn't you do for her? Heaven and hell weren't extreme thresholds that would keep you from searching for the girl you were dating.

You dug a grave, the deepest of them, a hell hole. You dropped Pietro's inert body into that eternal darkness. And then you threw dirt on him until you couldn't see his platinum hair anymore. Your yelps echoing off trees, rocks, and tall grass. The sky was overcast and the weather tasted of blood and bitterness. And when you let go of the shovel you turned back to the young Wanda standing right behind you, her eyes empty, her clothes still smeared with the blood that spurted from her own twin's jugular.

“It's gonna be okay, baby,” you reassured her, your girlfriend, your future wife, the future mother of your kids, “It's gonna be okay, Wands. I'm here with you. No one will know. They’ll never know.”

“Promise me, Y/n?” she hummed through the trees, a shy, measured voice. Dark hair curled with streaks of heavy blood starting to clot at the ends. Your dirt-smeared right thumb stroked the sharp of her cheekbone.

“I promise, Wanda. I'll always protect you, okay? No one will ever know what you did, honey. Never.”

“I love you, Y/n," she confessed, eyes shining in a sparkle that shouldn't have been there, “I want you to be by my side my whole life. I want you to keep this secret with me. Just you and me. We'll be together forever, and no one will ever know what we did.”

“No one will ever know,” you huffed back, leaning in to kiss her in front of her brother's makeshift grave.

No one would ever know that Pietro came home one night when Erik was out and found you and Wanda exchanging some teenage kisses on the kitchen counter – her sitting there, you standing between her legs, your finger going south, almost touching what hadn't been touched yet.

Or how he looked a lot like a rabid animal when he knocked you to the ground, making you hit the back of your head with a hard thud. As on the floor, slumped like a rag doll, you turned your hips dorsally so that you were facing your attacker – your own legs unusable once he had sat on them with his full weight. The boy's stiff hands bound your wrists just above your head, his hot breath brushing your hairline, just to the top of your forehead.

His psychotic dim face was thin and rampant, shades of blue flickering across his homicidal irises, his animalistic mouth hooded by strands of an oncoming dark beard that would someday show on his firm chin. And then masculine fingers, experienced, strong from gripping heavy basketballs every day, pressed against the throbbing muscle in your throat.

“You,” Pietro yawned, but, on the whole, didn't seem to be full of his mental faculties to the point that he could speak without being haunted by occasional tantrums of shaking, “You’re fucking my sister?! You fucking weirdo! I’ll fucking kill you!”

You squinted your eyes, your vision slowly dimming as your brain was deprived of oxygen. And then a cavernous growl resounded through the gray walls of the amorphous kitchen, followed by a heavy thud. You opened your eyes. With both his legs tangled up in your own, Pietro was slumped to the left, oozing from an open wound in his neck, a pool of warm blood that only grew. Like a mouse, he agonized over rambling words, before being lulled by the coldness of death.

His strong chin was soaked in the thick reddish blood seeping out of his nostrils, out of his mouth, and out of that gaping gash in the skin, from within an artery, thick and dark, almost the color of wine. Blood that trickled down the boy's viripotent chin, then dripped in a sinuous red line across your puffy face beneath him. The collar of your shirt was soaked in the color of tomato sauce.

The sound of metal hitting the floor reached your ears. Wanda dropped the knife she had stuck inside her twin brother's neck. She fell to her knees, bare by the little black dress she wore. And, pushing Pietro's body off you, you just crawled up to her like a bloody animal after a violent slaughter. And you held her against your body. You just held her.

“Y/n,” she whispered under her breath, “Y/n... I... I'm... I'm scared, Y/n... I'm scared...”

Blood all over the kitchen floor, showing and where it shouldn't be – on the sleeves of your shirt and in Wanda's long dark hair, “No one will know,” you uttered against the shell of her ear, “Don't worry, honey, no one will ever know. I won't lose you, Wanda. No one will ever tear us apart.”

You might have thought differently in the years that followed if you had seen the smile she hid against your collarbone. If you only knew how much she disliked having her ankle chained to Pietro's glory even though she always passed for the sweet passive twin (after all, what kid would even want to be second choice?). If you only knew she hadn't just forgotten that her brother was coming home earlier that night.

If you only knew that years later, when you were finally there giving a dignified funeral for the body you two buried together, Wanda smiled the same way she did that night. After all, you were her wife now. You were the mother of her children. And you were the keeper of the biggest secret in her life, the only person who knew about the skeleton in her closet. It wouldn't make any difference to get rid of Pietro if she got you for life.

“I love you, I love you so, so much,” Wanda whispered in your ear then, that night when you slept in her father's guestroom, “And I'll never lose you, Y/n. Never. Thanks for making sure of that for me, baby.”

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