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takaraphoenix · 1 year ago

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Mutual Devotion (Sneak Peek)

“You know,” Lydia said casually. “I appreciate that you got over your crush on me, Stiles. This would have been… so much harder if you kept making heart-eyes at me. Jackson’s been the jealous type even before he became a werewolf, but now he is…”

“Territorial,” Stiles offered with a chuckle. “Yeah, I feel like him turning into a werewolf did a lot in the me getting over you. I know my crush couldn’t compare to a mate-bond.”

Derek was glad that none of the wolves were in the room to hear the surprised jump of his heart. How did Stiles know about mate-bonds? He lifted his gaze carefully off the selection, watching Stiles, even as Stiles kept his focus on Lydia. Derek also noted that Stiles wasn’t lying, he was over his feelings for Lydia. Derek tried not to think about the way that made him feel.

“Mates?” Lydia echoed, raising her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Stiles groaned and tilted his head back, before staring dead ahead at Derek. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t had the bees and birds talk with the puppies!”

Knowing the answer and not even waiting for Derek to say anything, Stiles simply barreled on. “Mates, you know, like… like soulmates. But… not in the cheesy trope-y way of names written on your skin or whatever. Just… a perfect match, I guess? I think that wolves actually feel it though. Scott and Allison are mates. That’s how I got onto that track to begin with, like, there was just no other way to explain them, and everything they did for each other. You can only excuse so much with rampant teen hormones. And yeah, Allison is Scott’s anchor, which I guess is like another word for mates when it refers to a person instead of a thing or emotion. She grounds him, his love for her allows him to focus on his wolf. The same way that you allowed Jackson to regain control, back then. Because you’re his anchor. You’re his mate.”

For the first time since Derek knew her, Lydia actually looked surprised and like she had encountered something that she had not expected. Derek’s attention shifted to Stiles though.

“It’s not another word for mate,” Derek whispered. “Anchor. Your anchor doesn’t have to be your mate, you don’t need a mate to have an anchor. Parents, siblings, friends, they can be anchors too.”

“Oh,” Stiles blinked, like he hadn’t expected for Derek to give any input at all, before he cracked a big smile. “But the rest is right? Did I do the right research?”

Slowly, Derek nodded. “Perfect match is… right, in a sense. We don’t… know the moment we meet someone that they’re ‘the one’, if that’s what you mean. A perfect match is something forged. You can have multiple mates throughout our life, my aunt, she lost her first mate years before the fire, but she fell in love again and forged a new mate-bond.”

“Okay,” Stiles furrowed his brows curiously. “Then what makes a perfect match?”

“Mutual devotion,” Derek could hear the words spoken by his mom, when she had explained this to him as a young boy. “A mate isn’t just someone perfect for you, it’s about… what you are willing to do for each other, support each other, help each other, make each other better. This mutual devotion to one another is what forges a mate-bond.”

“Mh,” Lydia blinked, repeatedly. “I suppose… that does apply to us. We are devoted to each other. Even through the worst of it, even when he was awful to me, even when I was awful to him.”

“You are,” Derek offered in a soft voice. “Mates, I mean. Wolves can smell it on each other and on claimed mates. And Stiles is also right about Scott and Allison. Which… is why I cut him as much slack as I did. I knew why he was so obsessed with the youngest member of the Argent family.”

Stiles hummed in understanding, looking at Derek. Mates. Derek swallowed hard as puzzle pieces started to fall into place in a way he had so far tried to ignore. But having this conversation, and looking at Stiles during it, it became impossible to deny. Over the past year, they had helped each other, saved each other’s lives, fought side by side. And now, for the past month, Stiles had helped Derek truly build his pack, strengthen his pack. Bringing Erica and Boyd back to him, forcing Derek to confront Jackson, whom he had avoided out of guilt because if Derek hadn’t bitten him to begin with, Jackson would have never turned into the kanima and had to go through all that trauma, he had genuinely thought that Jackson wouldn’t want to be a part of this pack. But it seemed that Jackson had needed as much of a push as Derek. And that was one thing Stiles excelled in; pushing. With Jackson came Lydia, of course. Mates. And now, suddenly, Derek’s small pack of three betas who kept snarling at him had turned into a much happier pack of five betas and one Stiles.

Which, perhaps, was another reason why Derek had kept putting this realization off. Stiles was undeniably pack, he had been here every single day to rebuild the pack house, to bond with Derek and the betas, yet Derek could never bring himself to think of Stiles as a beta. At first, he pretended that this was because Stiles wasn’t a wolf, was a human. But he didn’t have the same qualms with Lydia, he considered Jackson’s mate one of his betas. It was the way Stiles went about things that made him different from everyone else. Providing food and moral support for the betas, keeping them together, mediating between them, and between them and their Alpha, taking charge, at Derek’s side by making Derek find a place to live, start renovating the house, change his training methods with the betas. That wasn’t the kind of behavior a beta would be allowed to get away with. That was the behavior of an Alpha mate, the co-leader of the pack, the heart of the pack.

Stiles Stilinski was the Alpha mate of the Hale Pack. And Derek had no idea what to do with that.

(This is an excerpt. There is currently 7k more of this story and I have yet to reach the end. Stay tuned for June 22nd, which is the estimated posting date for this fic, like, I should be done with it by then!)

#Sterek #Teen Wolf #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Lydia Martin #Pack Mom Stiles #Hale Pack #Mates #Fanfiction #Fic: Mutual Devotion #since complaining about the fic's current size #seems like mean teasing #I am bringing the #Sneak Peek #back!! have an excerpt of the story #specifically the part where the fic title comes into play lol #Phoe's Fics

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toxintouch · 8 months ago

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Yooooooo, you write fan fictions, don't you? Halloween is, like, right over there *points*. would you be willing to do one of mhin taking sparrow ghost hunting? and maybe even having a "guest appearance" of a certain shadow manipulator?

if this has already been done, could you point me in the right direction?

thank you~

I've never seen a fic like that but omg. This is such a brilliant idea, I love how all the pieces come together so perfectly–Vere being said to be responsible for his fair share of local ghost stories, mentions of Mhin and haunted houses in the Uquiz results… Premium thoughts. I had a lot of fun writing this, ty for giving me the prompt!! :>

It took a couple of extra days but it's also longer (~2900 words) so hopefully that makes up for it. p.s sorry if u meant it to be more gen bc I wrote romantic pining lol Volume Warning! Ambiance (~BEAUTIFUL FOX NOISES) for y'all /j

Cold Spots

You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, sheltering your remaining body heat from the howling wind.

You ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine.

You’ve been warned that the night is chilly in Eridia at this time of year, but you haven’t quite scraped together enough coin to afford more layers. So you huddle closer to the swaying lamplight of the Wet Wick, attempting to leech warmth from the cheery (if occasionally overwhelming) atmosphere of the bar. You’re on edge, wary about straying too far from the Wick’s affable open doors and the balmy light spilling out of them.

You crane your neck to peer as far as you can around the corner without moving, eyeing the myriad of nearby alleyways, all full to the brim with shadows, searching for a familiar splash of moonlight and blue sweeping through the night.

That’s when you feel eyes on your back.

You freeze, all of your senses on high alert.

“You’re where I asked you to be.” Mhin says in lieu of a greeting. You startle, reeling around to face them. Even when you're expecting them, they have the uncanny ability of sneaking up on you.

“You say that like you’re surprised.” You chide, in mock affront. “You’ll notice that I’m also on time.” Your giddiness shows on your face, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act so pleased with yourself,” they snipe while rolling their eyes, “for anyone else, that’s the bare minimum.” They frown, looking you up and down with their arms tightly crossed. “...Is that what you’re wearing?”

Any further quips you have for them die in your mouth, drowned out by nervous chuckling. You realize they must be asking (in their own way) if you’re not going to get too cold. You know you could just ask Leander or Kuras for some seasonally appropriate attire but you’d rather not rely on further charity if you can’t help it. Hence: “I’m, um, warm blooded?” You mean to inject an appropriate amount of bravado into your voice, but it comes out as more of a question.

Mhin sighs, long eyelashes brushing their cheeks as they close their eyes for one long moment. “Sometimes I wonder… Fine. Let’s just get going.”

The floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you step across the threshold. The entire shack seems to groan and sway, protesting audibly against the wind. You stick close to Mhin’s back as they hold their gas lamp up, casting an eerie glow about the interior of the abandoned building. Their keen eyes do a quick sweep before they nod decisively and usher you inside with a single precise motion.

The bellow of the wind sounds almost like a scream as the door shuts behind you.

“So, what are we looking for, exactly?” Your voice comes out hushed, the haunting atmosphere insisting that you behave accordingly.

“Likely nothing.” Mhin responds. “Actual ghost sightings are very rare. And of those, few recorded instances come from trustworthy sources. People in Eridia can be quite superstitious. Count on rats or other pests. It’s more plausible that this is a mere infestation rather than–”

The roof above your heads gives a long, low creeaaaak.

You both pause for a beat, listening to silence.

“How would we know if it's a real ghost?” You ask, more out of curiosity than anything. You’re not about to waste the opportunity, if Mhin is willing to keep talking.

“Depends on the type of ghost.” Another protest from the floorboards as Mhin wanders further into the dark. Since you don’t have a lantern of your own, you have no choice but to follow close behind. Unless you want to stumble around with nothing but the shatters of dusty moonlight cast through the cracked windows to guide your way.

Mhin and you make a quick round of the small building, finding it mostly empty, only a few pieces of broken furniture left behind. You draw closer to the back wall, carefully avoiding moth-eaten curtains, heeding Mhin’s warning about a small step. Based on the layout, you think this place might have been a bar or entertainment hall of some sort. You imagine it had a nice, cozy parlor at one time, though now it’s fallen into squalor. As Mhin examines the walls for signs of pests and other clues, you examine the graffiti strewn across them: crude jokes and lewd drawings, mostly. Some scattered names, belonging to people and gangs you’ve never heard of before.

Framed in the center, though, there's a huge riot of colorful paint. An abstract painting with no proper canvas. It's beautiful, somehow, though hauntingly morose. The artist has contained their work in a neat square, not a single streak of color escaping the precisely imposed prison. You’re not sure what the intent of the artist was choosing somewhere like this to display it…

“Is there a type of ghost that makes artwork?” You wonder aloud. You almost wish that Mhin would hand you the lantern so you can get a better look.

Mhin clicks their tongue, sparing barely a glance toward the makeshift painting. “I wouldn't define that as art.” Mhin follows the line of the wall to the corner, their lantern held up to the wall. “That’s just…paint. If you’re looking for ghosts, try looking for scratch marks. Those are a possible indicator, though not always a reliable one. A sudden feeling of hot, or cold–any otherwise unexplainable temperature change. A strange odor…”

You give the air a sniff. “...I don’t smell anything. Do you?”

“Dust. Rotting wood. And you’ve stopped using Leander’s bath soaps, which I’ll commend you for. Why anybody would want to smell that strongly of–” Mhin stops and gives a short whiff, their mouth slightly parted. Their brows furrow. “It is unusual…I don't see or smell any signs of rats or roaches. No vultures either…”

“Maybe something else scared them away?” You posit. You shuffle closer to Mhin, not liking the way the shadows around you seem to flow and ebb the longer you look at them, your mind making up shapes. There’s a silly part of you that wants to feel Mhin’s cloak between your bandaged fingers as reassurance that they’ll stay close. They’d probably hate to know that you see them as something to cling to–a source of comfort, safety.

You try to take another step closer to further dampen your trepidation, but instead you trip over– something–and stumble directly into Mhin. They catch you on impulse, strong and quick enough to steady you with one arm while holding the lantern with the other. You breathe an apology, your lips bumping against their chin as they help you get your feet back under you.

You both search the ground to determine what knocked you off your balance.

It's a dirty old rug, rucked up at one edge.

A long line of what appears to be claw marks lies half uncovered below it. Mhin kneels beside the marks, studying them intently, carefully moving the rug to reveal yet more splintered wood. “I’m not sure what could have done this,” they admit. “The marks are fresh, but none of the dust was disrupted…”

The floorboards groan another protest, though it bounds off the walls in strange ways, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound originated.

“Aural contortions.” Mhin announces. “And a feeling that you’re being watched. Reflective surfaces will behave oddly as well. Hold this.” Mhin hands you the lantern (more: shoves it into your grasp, really) reaching into their satchel. Their nimble hands pull out a handful of alchemical concoctions, one which shines like the inside of a seashell, a tiny silver locket, which they flick open to reveal a small mirror. There’s symbols etched into it, so old and worn away you can’t make them out.

You draw the lantern closer at their behest, illuminating a small smile spread across their face.

Is Mhin …Having fun?

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask, hoping they don’t notice the warmth in your voice. Getting scolded would kind of ruin the mood.

Mhin glances up, blinking at you like they almost forgot you were there. Their tongue peeks out, wetting their lips as they consider. “Yes,” they finally agree, “would you–”

The lamplight is smothered by an unknown force.

The cracked streams of light from the window are gone, leaving you in darkness.

Mhin swears, their voice distorting as if they are suddenly very far away. A moment ago they were crouched beside you, but the shadows surrounding you are so inky you can’t make out their silhouette at all. Instinctively, you reach your hands out in front of you before freezing and reluctantly forcing them back down. If both you and Mhin end up stumbling around with hands outstretched, there’s a possibility that they might accidentally grasp onto you and disrupt your bandages. (You wish you had given into your desire to hold onto them earlier.)

You whisper their name, frantic, hoping they can hear you.

“I’m here,” Mhin assures you, their voice pitched low and cautious. You feel the gentle press of a foot against yours, a light tap of reassurance against the side of your sole. “Stay close.” There’s a brush of fingertips against your back. “If the entity is particularly powerful, it will be able to move objects,” Mhin cautions, “but a ghost should never be capable of causing harm to humans directly. And there’s not much in here that it could throw. Just stay calm. If you don’t keep your emotions in check, it will only be more incensed.”

Light flashes through the room again in a spotlight, guiding your gaze to a particular area of the building.

The abstract mural is defaced, dripping black liquid splattered boldly across the wall like arterial spray. You retreat a step, feeling something wet beneath your feet. There’s a sharp, astringent tang in the air. Musty and earthy-floral. Old velvet and leather, parchment and fresh paint.

You realize, with a sinking feeling of cold terror, that the black ichor on the wall spells your name.

Eyes on you.

Touch like a gossamer spider web. Brushing against the nape of your neck.

“Mhin,” you whisper urgently. “Something just–”

The cold hits you then. Bone deep and all consuming. Judging by the way Mhin swears, they must feel it too. Whatever this unknown entity is, it’s close. And it wants…

Shadow flickers, fingers reaching for you, claws grasping, white glint of teeth.

Mhin sneers audibly, reaching for you and reeling you in by your cloak just before the figure can snatch you up. Their arm wraps around you, guiding you with them as they recede. They sweep their stiletto in a wide arc and you hear the clang of metal on metal, though you have no idea what it was that Mhin hit. Their night vision must be immaculate–you can hardly see more than the fresh glint of their stiletto blade.

“Turns out it is a vermin infestation.”

A bark of laughter.

Very familiar laughter.

The door starts to rattle on its hinges, moving to the rhythm of Vere's glee. Mhin walks over to it, dragging your shaking body with them. With a definitive kick from Mhin and a final cackle from Vere, the door bursts open.

Mhin tugs you out into the open air and slams it behind them.

“Awful fur-bag.” Mhin spits the words out like the mere thought of Vere leaves a bad taste in their mouth.

You’re far enough away that the black paint clinging to both of your shoes is no longer leaving footprints, but you can’t say the same about the bone deep cold.

You’re shivering so hard your teeth start to chatter, adrenaline magnifying the chill in your bones. How did Vere even do that? You rub your arms and nearly stumble into Mhin in the process. Their features twist into a half-formed scowl, eyes sweeping you before softening into something more delicate.

You find yourself staring into eyes that seem to catch the moonlight, words caught in your throat.

“You’re freezing.” Mhin murmurs, resting a hand against the curve of your cheek, testing your temperature.

You’re surprised at the contact. Mhin is always so careful about touching you–it’s something you appreciate, usually, this unspoken agreement between the two of you; Mhin doesn’t ask intrusive questions, just makes silent hypotheses and treats your personal space with care. You appreciate it–usually–but sometimes, (constantly), you wish…

Mhin’s thumb pets against your jaw. They glace away from you as they do, unable to hold your gaze, but they don’t remove their hand, even as the moment hangs heavy in the air. Their hand is soft, you think, fingertips like silk, though you can feel the thick calluses built up at the meat of their palm. Likely hard won and harder lost, trophies from their time as a freelancer and whatever secret misfortune befell them what led them to Eridia. Unthinking, you nuzzle into their touch, luxuriating in the coveted feeling of skin on skin. You have half a mind to turn your head, press your lips against their calluses, kiss them like you’re drawing poison from a wound.

Mhin catches your chin between their thumb and pointer finger. Their grip is assertive, certain. You’d worry that you’ve angered them somehow, but the intensity of their gaze, the subtle tilt of their head, the flush of their cheeks, the featherlight caress of their breath on your lips…

–You think they might–

They back away abruptly in one smooth stride. Their hands work quickly at the intricate clasp on their cloak. Oh, now they’re really looking away.

“Wear this while we head back. You didn’t come to this city to die of cold.”

They look at their bracers pointedly as you hesitate, as if itching to adjust them. You slowly reach out and put the garment on.

The trek back to the Wick is uneventful. The occasional star glances out from the pall of clouds constantly lingering in the Eridian sky. You look for the waning moon, finding its reticent light and following it home. You return Mhin’s cloak at the door, careful to hold it in a way that allows them to take it without having to touch you – touch your bandages.

Mhin looks, oddly, a little reluctant to see it returned. You’re not sure how else you can possibly read their body language. Their hunched shoulders, the downturn of their mouth, their uncharacteristic lingering. Holding the cloak in their hands like they can’t quite decide what to think of it.

They let out a sharp breath.

Mhin levels you with a pointed glare as they settle their mantle across their shoulders, affixing the clasp without need to look down. “Buy some warmer clothes.” they order, “Tell Leander that the contract is complete and the buyer’s ‘ghost problem’ is solved. The building should be fine for renovations, just tell them to start their renewal project on a day when the Senobium is actually holding Vere’s leash.”

“You’ll come back for your cut tomorrow…?” Confusion rolls off your lips.

“No.” Mhin crosses their arms again. “I just told you to buy some warmer clothes, didn’t I? Consider it hazard pay.” Again, that disgusted tone Mhin reserves for Vere. “Even with that taken into consideration, you’ll still owe me, though. Don’t forget. I’ll collect some day; everyone does in this city.”

You’re not sure what to say. Mhin is insisting that this is just a loan, and you believe that wholeheartedly. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t charity. Mhin’s also offering you transparency–an open disclosure of the deal you’re agreeing to. You take their cut, buy what you need, and resolve to pay it back when you can. And if Mhin needs something similar in the future, you’ll return them in kind.

You think you stumble over your words a little, but you agree to their offer.

“I’ll be back to collect another contract. Hopefully something that’s not a waste of my time.”

And a promise to come back is a promise to see you again, isn’t it? To include you in their life? Is that what you’re supposed to take from this? That Mhin cares for you, even if they won’t–

Or is it your foolish heart, showing you a path that isn’t really there?

“Goodnight, Mhin.” You say the words, but their back is already turned, steps already taken.

✦ EXTENDED ENDING...? ✦

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention. It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you. On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort. You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips. His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

✦Heat Signature (Vere Continuation) ->

#Mhin is an ABSTRACT ART HATER that is my headcanon looll #WHEEEE HAPPY SCARY SEASON!! I HOPE U LIKED I HOPE U HAD FUN #you get to choose if sparrow screams and vere lols and says peace out i’ve had my fun orrrr #it’s an open ending :)#Wow Vere u ruined date night #ummm Sparrow Mhin is not only careful about touching you for your own benefit #Mhin is also. White knuckling their self control.#If they let themself touch even a little…they might just want to touch a lot #this whole thing is just: how many tropes can I pack into here?#ya’ll think ghosts are real in TS universe??#wouldn’t that be interesting… >:3 #ALSO THE EXTENDED ENDING IS ME PLAYING WITH THAT HORROR MOVIE TROPE WHERE THE CREATURE ETC ALWAYS COMES BACK AT THE END #Mhin x reader #surprise! vere x reader - just a smidge??#Touchstarved Game #Touchstarved game fanfic #mhin touchstarved #toxintouch: {pick} prompt {your poison}#that’s a stupid long tag but i think it’s funny tbh so i’m #toxintouch writing

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