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dyaz-stories · 9 months

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in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home x reader #sweet home netflix #sweet home season #park chan young #chan young #chan young x reader #park chan young x reader #sweet home imagines #park jinyoung #my writing

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hunxi-guilai · 15 days

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so I know that a lot of chinese names are references to specific poems. Is there a way to determine this (vs general auspicious meaning) and which poem specifically? I'd love to be able to figure this out for character names and I haven't been able to find any resources (in case it's helpful, I'd say I'm my understanding is maybe HSK4-level so I can clumsily make my way through the chinese internet with the help of a dictionary)

feel free to make this public so that others can benefit if you have any suggestions

oof... unfortunately I suspect that this, along with one's repertoire of chengyu, is something that one simply Just Learns with reading more. my personal repertoire of poetry is embarrassingly thin, so the horrible horrible process I've been going through is, well, throwing the name into a search bar and hoping for the best.

here's an example of how I (think I) went about doing this for Xiao Xingchen's name, way back when I wrote this post:

I went ahead and dropped "星尘诗词" ("Xingchen poetry") into the search bar, which turned up this:

Generally speaking, I'll only put the name (minus the surname) because putting the character's full name into a search bar will probably turn up the character themselves, and if someone's name is being derived from a poem, it's usually independent of the surname anyway.

Xiao Xingchen's name is an interesting example because it doesn't quite come from a poem, but it doesn't not come from a poem. you can see that the search engine has automatically assumed that I am looking for poems about constellations, as "星辰" and "星尘" are homonyms, and one of these is more commonly seen. I usually consider that a solid indication that "星尘" (the name) is a novel formation of characters in a name, and not likely a poetic reference.

but! in for a penny, etc. I'm a huge fan of the first search result, gushicimingju, since it's a solid database of poetry and some prose. clicking into that listing informs me that gushicimingju is turning up. oh my. 119 possible matches:

note that these are matches for "星辰" (constellation), not actually our character's name. still! you can click in and peruse the selection if you'd like.

now that you're on gushicimingju's site, you can also use the search function within the site to search for more exact matches, without worrying that you'll accidentally activate the fandom itself.

looks like there's a few matches for "晓星," but nothing for the full name.

so! gushicimingju is a solid database I like to refer to most of the time. if for some reason I'm feeling particularly academically rigorous, I might also do some searches on ctext as sometimes names will come out of famous turns of phrases (a la Zhao Yun 赵云 / Zhao Zilong 赵子龙 from that post I linked earlier) rather than poems. searching the dictionary sometimes (Pleco, or zdic) doesn't hurt either. basically, I throw spaghetti at the search engine wall to see what results come back for these characters in this particular order to try and get the original referent (if any) to show up; I'll probably give up after a few permutations of search terms if nothing is actively jumping out at me

but back to the search results: sometimes, if your character is famous enough, straight up searching for "what poem is this character's name from?" will help you find like-minded people on baidu zhidao (basically yahoo answers):

although of course, take baidu zhidao result with all of the salt you would take with any yahoo answers (look for alternate sources to validate, good for a laugh most of the time)

best of luck!

#ask and ye shall receive #remember back in the day when I'd answer meta like “I have no idea but here is what I internet searched for you”#basically this! now with screenshots for my incompetence!

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ohwowimlonley · 8 months

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nsfw alphabet - s.b

Warnings - f!reader, pinv sex, unprotected sex, oral, nudes, kinda perv!sirius

Notes - these alphabets are gonna be way longer than my origonal ones, so they’re going to take longer to put out, but if you want one specific one first then let me know! I’m trying to get one done for every character on my list :)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

“Here, baby,” he sits with his back to the headboard, gently coaxing you to sit up with a hand on the back of your neck, just enough so he can tip a mouthful of water past your lips. He rewards you with a kiss on the forehead, before he slips off of the mattress to retrieve his quidditch jersey from atop his trunk, urging you to hold your arms up so he can fold the fabric over your head, tugging it down until the excess material pools around your thighs.

“”Ready for bed, gorgeous girl?” he grins toothily down at you, slipping an arm around your waist and tugging you down until your head hits the pillow, clearly not expecting you to answer him at all. He settles you into your patented sleeping position; you curled up on your left side and Sirius plastered to any and all skin he can reach, chin hooked over your shoulder and lips pressed to your jaw.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners)

“Mmph, fuck me,” he throws his head back, battling against the urge to keep his eyes screwed shut, instead reaching over your body, grabbing at your ass and admiring the way it jiggles with the motion, obsessed with the way it looks stuck up in the air while your head is in between his thighs, “look so good down there baby. Gonna let me cum all over that pretty ass of yours?”

“Siri, Siri oh my-” you gasp out, trying your utmost to stifle a scream that threatens to breach past your lips, grabbing and pulling at his hair as he licks all over your sensitive cunt.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

“Siri, m’gonna cum,” you bite into his neck, struggling to keep yourself as quiet as possible, but you can’t help but whine when he pulls away from you, halting your high in its tracks. You sob out of frustration, digging your nails into his back, “no, Siri! Why?”

“You know why, princess,” he tuts, “you don’t cum first, daddy does,”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

“Oh Siri,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes widening as you dig through his box of ‘keepsakes’ always kept under his bed. There’s all sorts of things hidden away in the depths of it; polaroids (ones you’d taken for him along with those you don’t recognise), a pair of your favourite lace panties you were beginning to think you’d lost and right at the bottom, next to a note you’d slipped to him in potions asking if he wanted a date out in the forbidden forest, is the spare key to your private dorm room. You’d lost it weeks ago, and even asked your boyfriend about it. He claimed he hadn’t seen it, even suggested some places for you to look for it. Maybe this is how he’d managed to get those mysterious polaroids of you, “Sirius Black, you dirty pervert,”

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Sirius knows how to do a lot of things. The first time you guys had sex, he surprised you by pinning you down on his plush bed sheets, anchoring your hips down with his strong biceps and eating you out like a man starved. He knows all the right spots, with no prompting whatsoever.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

“Stay,” his voice is gruff, the sound reverberating over the walls of his dormitory. His hand is right at the base of your neck between your shoulder blades, keeping your face firmly planted in his satin pillows. Your knees keep your ass up high, legs spread as far apart as you can get them while keeping balanced. The rest of your body is as low as possible, and he runs the fingers of his spare hand through your sopping folds, teasing you by never giving you any actual friction, “such a good girl for me, huh? My pretty little show off,”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

His lips are all over you, on your own, slipping his tongue between your teeth, on your neck, sucking on the skin until it bruises, on the neckline of your shirt, tugging at it with his pearly whites. The two of you pull away at the same time, pulling your shirt desperately over your head. Your arms slip out easily, but your chin gets stuck in the tight neck hole. The two of you stop in your tracks, eyes connecting over the constricting hem of your (about to be thrown away) shirt. There’s a dead silence for a good ten seconds, before Sirius cracks up. His laughter is thunderous, shaking the whole bed with the force of it. You stare at him blankly as he starts crying from the hilarity of the situation. Somehow, through his laughter, he helps you escape your fabric prison and pets your hair to calm himself down, “sorry, love,”

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s laid out on his bed, thighs spread apart and right hand on the back of your head as you push yourself down on his length. He’s gasping out for air, hips jerking up to meet your mouth until your nose is buried in a patch of thick, curly hair. It’s not suffocating, the hair by your nose, but it’s definitely there, tickling your skin.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

“Shh, sweetness,” his lips brush the crown of your head, hands gripping yours, pushing them deeper into the mattress as he rolls his hips into yours. He’s not quite kissing you all the way, what with his breathlessness, but you can feel the subtle cracks in his lips scratching your forehead as he pushes them against you.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Steam billows around him in the ensuite bathroom of his shared dorm room. The boys are in the next room, and are almost definitely able to hear him through the old brick walls. He doesn’t care. He can’t get you off his mind and he’d rather the boys hear him over seeing his chubbed up cock through his pyjamas. If he could, he would send you an owl asking you over to help him out, since you always do it so much better than him, but you’re busy with prefect duties.

He squeezes his cock tighter, trying desperately to mimic the suction of your wet heat, but it’s no use, it’s nothing like the real thing. When he finally does cum, it’s weak and dissatisfying. He lets out a pathetic whimper at the feeling, promising himself to never again try and make himself cum without you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

God, he loves watching you cry. It’s one of his favourite things in the world to see; you cry out for him, pools of tears welling in your eyes as he mercilessly rubs his fingers into your sweet spot as he sucks relentlessly on your puffy clit. He just adores the angry lines the tears leave in their wake, sometimes he’ll lean up and kiss along the trail they leave, pout down at you mockingly, and ask if it’s too much for you. It just makes you sob out for him to do something, but he holds out for a little while longer, just to see how desperate you get for him.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Your moans echo all throughout the empty boys locker room, and your nails dig painfully into the worn wooden bench Sirius has you bent over. The boys are waiting for you just on the other side of the door, probably able to hear you through the flimsy door, but neither of you care much. In fact, you suspect Sirius is enjoying it; giving the boys a sample of how good you are to him, but never letting them see the full thing.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

“No, Siri, you’re doing it wrong,” you insist, leaning over his shoulder and pointing at the History of Magic textbook, then moving your finger to his messily scrawled homework, “what page are you even looking at?”

God, that ever so slightly condescending-yet-playful tone in your voice has him bending over slightly in his chair in the hopes of you not catching his growing hard on. He bites his lip to hold back a grin, and writes down yet another nonsensical note in his barely legible handwriting, in the hopes that you’ll roll your eyes at him again, tell him off again, press your tits to his shoulder and tell him what to do again, just so he has an excuse to bend you over his desk and punish you for being rude.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sirius is up for a hell of a lot of things, anything you want, he wants, essentially. The only thing he’ll never, ever go near is consensual non consent. He can’t stand the thought of you even pretending like you’re not enjoying what he does to you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

God, he looks so pretty like this; hair scraped back into an almost falling out ponytail, sweat beading down his exposed chest, and muscles tensing in his arms as he grips at your hair. He adores you on your knees for him, looking up at him with teary eyes as you struggle to take his whole length at once. If you let him, his absolute favourite thing to do is fuck your face, his hips stuttering every time you gag at his tip bruising the back of your throat. He always finishes in minutes when you have your mouth around him, filling your throat with his creamy spend.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He starts off rolling his hips against yours slowly, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust. His head drops to your shoulder, kissing along every spot of exposed skin he can get to without adjusting his position and risk losing his rhythm. His hands are everywhere, wandering over your exposed body as his pace picks up.

As his orgasm approaches, his gentle pace quickle devolves into harsh, sloppy thrusts.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

“Shh,” he insists, slipping his free hand over your mouth so your moans are muffled. The two of you are most certainly going to be late to potions, but you don’t care so long as he keeps slamming himself into your sweet spot at this pace. A mop handle slams down onto the floor next to you, but neither of you pay it much mind, “gotta hurry up n’ cum, princess, or else you’ll have to sit at the back with Snivvelus,”

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

“C’mon, Siri! Just show me!” You whinge, lunging to grab the bag from behind his back, but he’s too quick and holds it over his head so you can’t reach it. You cross your arms over your chest and glare up at him, “arsehole,”

“Hey now,” he tuts, then slips his hand into the black plastic bag and pulls out a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs and dangles them in front of your face, “don’t go bein’ naughty, or else I’ll have to use these on you, hm?”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

“Please,” you all but sob out, pushing weakly at his shoulder in an attempt to slow his pace down, even by just a fraction, “Siri, s’too much,”

“Be good, sweetling,” is all he responds with, smearing a kiss on the crown of your head as he carries on uninterrupted. You don’t even understand how he’s doing it. He must’ve cum at least three times by now, albeit with small breaks in between where he would delve in between your legs and eat you out ‘til you scream.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Sirius Black loves to tie you up. It doesn’t matter if it’s with handcuffs, a tie he wore to work, the belt he’d forgotten on the dreaded laundry chair, he doesn’t care. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra mean, he’ll tether your ankles to the bedposts as well with pairs of tights he digs out from your underwear drawer, just to see you struggle to chase after his touch as he tortures you with a magic wand vibrator (he likes the irony of the name).

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

“What’s wrong, baby? You were being so loud earlier,” he grins up at you evilly, nudging his fingers deeper into your tight channel, pressing them against your sweet spot. His calloused palm scrapes against your abused clit, and you know he’s not planning on stopping any time soon. You try to respond to him, but all that comes out of your mouth is a pathetic gasping whine that makes your boyfriends chuckle, “what was that, love? Try’na tell me something?”

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

You’ve never heard your boyfriend make so much noise as when you ride him. He can’t hold back his desperate grunts as you bring your hips down to meet his. He grips onto with a bruising force when you cum around him, letting out a continuous howling moan at your pulsating tightness. The moan fades into a steady groan when you start up again, determined to make him cum. When he finally does, it’s with a high pitched sigh, exhaled right by your ear as you shush him.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Pulling on Sirius Black’s hair is a special kind of fun. When it’s his turn to take charge and you do it, it spurs him on to fuck you harder, press his fingers into you more, scrape his teeth against your clit a little harder. When he’s playing the submissive however, pulling on his hair makes him turn to jelly. You tug on his hair when he goes down on you, and he loses his goddamn mind, all but suffocating himself in between your thighs as he muffles his high pitched whimpers against your slit.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sirius Black does not have a massive dick. It’s actually quite regular, standing at not quite six inches, with a good girth you can grip onto between your thumb and forefinger. His tip is hooked a little upwards, which makes it just delicious to ride him, with his spongy head mashing against your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Sirius would go all day every day if he could, but realistically, he’ll give you those eyes and pull you away into his room to have you.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

“Okay, sweetheart?” He cranes his neck down to brush his lips across your forehead, looking over to the nightstand you’d slowly invaded during your time of dating to ensure you had drained your glass of water before switching off his lamp and tucking the covers up over your almost sleeping frame with the red quilted duvet and pulls you closer to his side. It’s only when your breathing evens out and your muscles relax completely that he lets his eyes close.

#•megs smutty daydreams•#sirius black x female reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #sirius x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #marauders x reader #marauders fic #marauders moodboard #marauders smut

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binsito · 9 months

Note

Kitty, what're your thots on pervy stepbro!skz? Cause just thinking about it has me going woozi (hehe)

AHHHHHHHHH (those are my thots)

cw: stepcest!!!!!!! dni if uncomfortable, i warned you. proceed with caution,

slight voyeurism/exhibitionism (or mentions of it), mentions of drinking, masturbation, dirty fantasies involving the reader, sex and oral sex (or suggestive scenarios involving it), slightttt noncon situations due to pervertedness, mentions of assplay, cum, all characters are adults who's parents got married later on in their lives (thought i'd clarify just in case). i think i hit the major ones, pls lmk if i missed anything super important

okay bye

bangchan: he is soo sweet. he's incredibly helpful around the house, always offering to clean the dishes after dinner. your mom absolutely loves him. he's perfect, minus his one dirty little habit of asking you to help with the chores. it's not like he needs the help, he just gets a little excited when he sees you bend down to pick something up or go through the laundry because he gets a peek of your pretty thong.

'two of us get things done quicker' he usually says, and of course you don't mind helping him, he's fun to talk to and you also have to carry some of your own weight if you're going to keep living with your mom while attending college.

'i'll treat you for helpin' out' but what he really wants to say is he'll fuck you up against the laundry room's door. couldn't you get the hint? his cock was always rock hard around you, it was painfully obvious. couldn't you hear him through the walls fisting himself while you were both home alone? he didn't care to be quiet at all and he knew you were just choosing to be oblivious.

he was so good! why couldn't you just reward him? he mows the lawn, cooks if he has to, throws out the trash. the least you could do was give your sweet stepbrother your mouth to use around his cock after a long day of hardwork around the house!

and he hates the way you're licking the ice cream he got you for helping. hates the way you look at him and giggle because he knows you know what you're doing to him.

minho: he was bored out of his mind at the wedding reception for your parents. at least his dad was happy for once.

he glanced over and watched you order a drink from the bar, sipping it as you looked towards him. he quickly looked away and chuckled to himself, hoping you didn't notice how his eyes trailed down as he checked you out in your pretty dress. would it be disrespectful to put moves on his new stepsister?

he could ask you to dance, right?

he made his way over to you and leaned against the bar, smiling towards you.

"could i have the pleasure of dancing with you?"

you giggled at him and waved him off, explaining to him that you were to shy to dance.

"well then let's go somewhere private where no one can see us?"

the implications of his words made you flustered. this was your step brother now. did he mean his words in that sense or were you reading into it too much?

(he definitely meant his words suggestively.)

his eyes basically undressing you as you swallowed thickly. he could take you to the family restroom and no one would even know the two of you were missing.

he could easily slip past the huge blend of both families and fuck you outside behind all the cars.

he could make you hold his cum the whole night until your parents went their separate way to their honeymoon together. you could have the whole house to yourselves, fuck on every surface imaginable and no one would ever have a clue.

changbin: he's normally shy, very respectful. very gym oriented - going as far as setting up all his equipment in the garage with your dad's permission. you were interested in his work out routine, asking him if you could join him one day.

he didn't know why that made him so flustered, sputtering while he talked to you and letting you know it was perfectly fine that you used his stuff and joined him. you were surprised how disciplined he was, how heavy he could lift. he was trying hard to keep his composure, trying hard to push down the thoughts he was having of you spotting him.

the idea of you basically straddling his head while he benched was making him see stars. or what if he had you bench press? what if he was the one straddling your head, having you look up at him and see how his cock protruded from his gym shorts, the obvious outline giving away how hard he was.

what if he had you do russian deadlifts, coming up behind you to help with your form, cock brushing up against your ass while he tried explaining how to position yourself properly.

all changbin wanted to do was hold you open over him while he laid on the bench, licking at your cunt eagerly. all he wanted was to take you from behind while you tried to finish doing cable tricep pushdowns.

keyword on tried because he wanted to make sure he'd leave you dumb enough to even forget what number set you were even on.

hyunjin: hyunjin started to catch feelings well after your parents got married, you two just clicked, friendship quickly burning into something so much more.

but he knew you probably wouldn't feel the same, would probably be grossed out by him if he told you he loved you. he didn't want to ruin the family dynamic so he kept his feelings harbored deep within himself.

but his heart absolutely shattered when you brought another boy home, begging him to not tell your mom because you weren't sure if she'd approve of him.

all his hope of maybe one day confessing to you was thrown out the window. did he read you wrong? he could've sworn that maybe there was something there..

and he couldn't sleep that night, tossing and turning as he heard you through the walls, giggling with that other guy and hushing him. warning him that although your parents weren't home - hyunjin was.

but the hushes and scolding did nothing because hyunjin could still hear everything clearly. how you kissed him sloppily, how the bed shifted when he climbed on top of you, how you gasped out when he pressed his cock inside of you.

hyunjin closed his eyes tightly and to save himself from his misery, he pretended it was him between your legs, his hand reaching down to touch himself as he listened in on the both of you. he pretended it was his name that you were chanting. he took note of the pitches of your moans, how they got higher when you were about to cum, how breathy and incoherent you became.

he would do anything to see how your face twisted with pleasure.

at least he could pretend to be the one to bring you to your peak whenever he heard you through the walls.

jisung: living with jisung was definitely something to get used to. unfortunately with the sudden growth of your new family, there was not enough space for both of you to get your own room. you'd be sharing a space until your parents found an adequate place.

jisung didn't mind but you clearly did. having to share the en suite bathroom in the mornings was a challenge.

why did he have to take so long in the damn bathroom?

"jisung! c'mon i'm gonna be late, can't you please hurry up!?"

he always managed to beat you to the bathroon, always waking up early to start his day.

what you didn't know is he was taking care of his aching cock in the shower, fisting himself to the image of you sleeping soundly. he had gotten bold lately, picking the sheets carefully off your body to get a peek at your body, tugging your sleeping shorts to the side to reveal your panties, moving them aside to finally be met with your cunt.

how was it so wet?

could he give it a lick?

he didn't want to be caught.

rubbing himself through his shorts until he couldn't take it anymore, rushing to the bathroom to chase his release.

felix: he knew he shouldn't but he just couldn't help it.

watching you from his bedroom window inconspicuously as you tanned by the pool in your backyard. you looked so pretty, so unaware that he was jerking himself to the sight of you in a skimpy bathing suit. that dumb bikini top leaving little to the imagination, it wasn't your fault you didn't want annoying tan lines. he watched intently as you turned face down in the lounge chair, reaching behind you to untie the straps of your bikini top so they wouldn't leave a pesky mark. you were basically naked, your tits were basically on display for him, couldn't you just sit up and show him? flash him really quickly so he could finish in his hand?

it was torture - having to watch you from afar when he wanted to be down there with you. would you quickly cover up if he were to go join you? or would you barely acknowledge him and continue to enjoy the sun? would you ask him to reapply sunscreen on you? would you let his hands wander, trailing down to your ass to massage them? would you protest if he pulled your thong down or would you let him play with your ass a little?

he wanted you bad.

spurting cum all over himself and making a mess as he let out a loud groan, it must've been loud enough for you to hear and look up from your spot, making eye contact with him through his blinds.

goddammit.

seungmin: your mom wouldn't let you go out to that dumb frat party unless seungmin tagged along and drove you there.

you agreed because you didn't want to lose the opportunity to go talk to that football player you had the hots for.

seungmin thought it was funny, watching you fix your makeup one last time in his car's mirror. there was nothing to fix, you looked perfect in his humble opinion.

he knew you wanted to go to this party because of that guy, he wasn't fond of him at all. you were too good for him and in all honesty, seungmin wanted you for himself.

he wanted you to be his but it was complicated given the fact that your mom was married to his dad.

his advances didn't go unnoticed when he laid his hand on your inner thigh as he drove. impulse thoughts racing through his mind - what if he just turned around right now and took you in his backseat? he wanted to make you forget about that stupid jock.

"minnie?" snapping him out of his thoughts at a red light.

"you're quiet." you choose to say instead of bringing attention to the obvious hand on your thigh

"sorry, just thinking about the one hundred ways i could fuck you and how it would be so much better than that guy you're pining after." he speaks up, driving towards a turn lane to make a u-turn.

jeongin: he always thought you were pretty.

he had seen you around campus but was always too shy to approach you. how would he even start a conversation with you. when his mom told him she had found someone new, he was excited for her but the last thing he ever expected was for the 'someone' to be your father.

you, the girl he so helplessly daydreamed of was soon to be part of his family.

he didn't know if this was a blessing or a curse.

could he push down all the thoughts he's had of you or would he fail miserably. how was he ever supposed to tell you he liked you now?

when your families decided to spend the holidays together, he knew he was going to struggle. cock hard in his slacks as he watched you reapply some lip gloss that had gotten wiped as you drank wine and talked to people.

he felt hopeless.

he decided that socializing would be too much for him in this state of mind so he snuck upstairs, finding his way into your room.

there was a picture of you on your vanity, a pretty bow adorning your hair as you smiled widely. jeongin wanted to make you smile like that, wanted to tell you how gorgeous he thought you were but soon his thoughts became dirty, imagining how he wanted you to smear your lip gloss all over his shaft, peppering his cock with delicate kisses.

he shoved a hand into his pants and pulled his cock out, stroking it gently as he grabbed the photo with his free hand.

fuck, you were perfect to him.. the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

his brain became foggy, only thinking about you and you only as he pumped himself-

"jeongin?" you stood at your door, he nearly jumps out of skin, pathetically cumming all over your photo, face burning hot as he looks over at you.

oh fuck, how was he ever going to live this down? how would he even explain this predicament?

please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito

#binsito #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz hard thoughts #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stepcest cw #tw stepcest #tw noncon

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xhoess · 4 months

Text

Rivals in the Spotlight

Yunho!dancer × fem!bod singer

Masterlist

Y/N is a passionate singer determined to secure a scholarship, often feeling overshadowed at her performing arts school by Yunho, a confident and popular dancer, dreams of becoming a professional dancer while managing the pressure from his family's legacy. When they are cast as the leads in the school's musical, their well-known rivalry escalates, leading to strong disagreements in during the rehearsals. Will they get over their little rivalry and put up a good show?

Wc: I think around 4k

Genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff

It is 8 am, and I am currently riding the bus to school. Today is the day I find out who will get the leads in the new school play. I don’t know a lot of people who are participating, but I definitely know one person: Jeong Yunho. That son of a bitch always knows how to get on my nerves, especially when I’m already in my worst mood.

I feel stupid writing this down, but I’ve been doing this for so long that I feel the need to keep this stupid diary updated. Even though it’s 40 percent me complaining about Yunho, it still is a good way to express myself, I think? I look out the bus window as the familiar scenery of my neighborhood blurs past. My thoughts keep circling back to the audition. What if I actually get the lead? What if Yunho gets it too?

As I walk into the school, I feel eyes burning into my back. That only means one thing: the names are out. My heart races as I rush to the performing arts hallway. A group of people is gathering around a piece of paper on the wall. Yunho is there too. Of course.

I push through the crowd, my palms sweating. I quickly find myself standing in front of the paper, and now I get why people have been staring. Me and Yunho need to play the two leads in the play. The worst part is that we need to play a couple. I play Alice, the female lead and yunho plays Jay the male lead.

"No fucking way... I thought you would be a background singer or something," Yunho says, standing next to me, also staring at the paper.

"Shut up, Yunho. You’re as tall as a tree, might as well play one," I snap before walking away.

The rest of the day, I try my best to avoid talking to people and head straight home after school. My best friend Rina calls me as soon as I get home.

"Can you believe this?" I vent, flopping onto my bed. "Of all people, I have to play opposite Yunho. This is a nightmare."

"Maybe you can be so miserable to him that he’ll quit," Rina suggests.

"I wish," I sigh. "But he’s way too competitive to just quit."

The next morning, I wake up with a knot in my stomach. I can't avoid Yunho forever. Rehearsals start today. I arrive at the auditorium early, hoping to get a moment alone before the chaos begins. The large, empty space feels oddly comforting. I stand on the stage, looking out at the rows of empty seats, trying to imagine myself performing without wanting to throw up.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around to see Yunho walking towards me, his usual smirk replaced with a more serious expression.

"Hey," he says, surprisingly without a hint of sarcasm. "We need to talk."

I cross my arms defensively. "About what?"

"Look, I know we don't get along, but we have to make this work for the play's sake. It’s important to both of us, right?" His voice is calm, almost sincere.

I’m taken aback by his change in tone. "Yeah, I guess."

"Let’s just try to keep it professional," Yunho suggests. "We can hate each other offstage, but when we’re up here, we need to be convincing."

I nod, still wary. "Fine. But don’t think this means I’m going to make it easy for you."

He chuckles. "Wouldn’t expect anything less."

The sun is setting, casting long shadows through the tall windows of the rehearsal room. Once everyone is ready for rehearsal we start. Because this is the first rehearsal we only needed to learn the first few pages.

I see yunho get in character and that reminded me that we are going to be lovers in the end of the play.

"Okay everyone, get in place for the first scene" the director said.

I stand across from yunho and did some last warming up.

"3.. 2.. 1.... and go!"

"Alice did you hear what happened" yunho says.

The rehearsals go on for a little more, but I keep forgetting a few words in some sentences. I can feel the tension growing.

"Buy Jay, you never know what happens when you say no" I say, I realize the sentence is wrong. And yunho does too.

"You're impossible, you know that?" Yunho snaps, slamming his script onto a nearby table. "Do you even care about this play?"

I cross my arms, matching his glare. "Of course I care! But you’re not the director, Yunho. Stop acting like you know everything and let's just continue"

He steps closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Someone has to take charge when you keep messing up your lines!"

My fists clench at my sides. "I wouldn’t mess up if you weren’t constantly trying to outdo everyone. This isn’t a solo performance, Yunho. It’s a team effort."

Yunho scoffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You just can’t handle that I’m better at this than you."

"Better?" I laugh bitterly. "Your ego is so big, I’m surprised you can fit through the door."

He narrows his eyes, his jaw tightening. "At least I put in the effort. All you do is complain and act like a victim."

My blood boils, and I take a step forward, refusing to back down. "You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? Always criticizing everyone else to make yourself look good."

"Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time practicing, we wouldn’t have these problems," he shoots back.

I feel my face flush with anger. "You’re such a jerk, Yunho. No wonder no one likes working with you."

For a moment, there’s silence, the words hanging heavily in the air. Yunho’s expression falters slightly, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before it hardens again.

"You don’t know anything about me," he says quietly, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. "You’re so wrapped up in your own little world, you can’t see past your own nose."

I open my mouth to retort, but the words catch in my throat. We stand there, breathing heavily, the room suddenly feeling too small, too stifling.

Finally, Yunho breaks the silence, his voice cold. "If you can’t handle this, maybe you should quit."

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "Maybe I will," I manage to say, my voice shaking. "At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with you."

We stare at each other for a moment longer before I turn on my heel and storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me. My heart is pounding, a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite name. As I walk down the empty hallway, I can’t help but wonder if things will ever get better between us.

Yunho is left there standing, regretting some words he said.

The cool evening air hits my face as I storm out of the auditorium, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. I find a bench near the entrance and collapse onto it, trying to catch my breath. The sky is tinged with the pinks and purples of twilight, but I’m too wrapped up in my thoughts to appreciate the beauty.

"Why does he have to be such a jerk?" I mutter to myself, kicking a small pebble with my shoe.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a message from Rina.

**Rina:** Hey, how did rehearsal go? Any updates?

I hesitate before replying, not sure how to put my frustration into words.

**Me:** It was a disaster. Yunho and I had a huge fight. Again.

Her response is almost immediate.

**Rina:** Ugh, that sucks. Want to talk about it?

**Me:** Maybe later. I just need to cool down right now.

**Rina:** Okay, just remember, you’re amazing and you can handle this. Don’t let him get to you.

I smile slightly at her words, feeling a bit better. Rina always knows how to make me feel better.

The next day:

The cafeteria is buzzing with activity as I navigate my way through the crowd, holding my lunch tray. I spot Rina at our usual table and make my way over, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Hey," she says, giving me a sympathetic look. "You look exhausted."

I sigh, poking at my food. "Didn’t sleep much. Just kept thinking about everything that happened."

She nods, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Yunho really knows how to push your buttons, huh?"

"Yeah," I agree, feeling the frustration bubble up again. "I don’t get it. One minute he’s trying to be all professional, and the next he’s tearing me down."

"Maybe he’s just stressed," Rina suggests. "This play is a big deal for everyone."

"Maybe," I concede, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. "But it’s like he enjoys making me miserable."

Before Rina can respond, I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Can we talk?"

I turn to see Yunho standing there, looking unusually serious. Rina raises an eyebrow, but I nod, getting up from the table. We move to a quieter corner of the cafeteria.

"What do you want, Yunho?" I ask, crossing my arms defensively.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look, about yesterday... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get so heated."

I blink, taken aback. This is not the Yunho I’m used to. "You’re... apologizing?"

"Yeah," he says, looking genuinely uncomfortable. "I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. I’ve been acting like a jerk."

I stare at him, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

He shrugs, looking away. "I guess I realized that we’re stuck with each other for this play, and if we keep fighting, it’s going to ruin everything. For both of us."

His words make sense, but it’s hard to let go of the anger so quickly. "So, what do you suggest?"

"Truce?" he offers, holding out his hand. "Let’s try to make this work. For the sake of the play."

I hesitate for a moment before shaking his hand. "Truce."

At the Rehearsal Room, Late Afternoon:

Back in the rehearsal room, there’s a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Yunho and I still have our differences, but we’re making an effort to be civil. Our scenes start to flow better, the tension easing with each passing day.

One evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, I find myself sitting on the edge of the stage next to Yunho. We’re both exhausted but there’s a sense of accomplishment in the air.

"You know," I say, breaking the comfortable silence, "I never thought I’d say this, but we’re actually doing pretty well."

Yunho smiles, a genuine one this time. "Yeah, who would’ve thought?"

This new feeling was brewing in my chest, it wasn't hatred, it was far from that.

"You know I never meant to be harsh the other day" yunho says, looking down at his shoes that are hanging off the side of the stage.

"Its okay, I said some mean stuff to you too." You lift your shoulders a little while saying. "I really need this play to go well so I can have a higher chance of getting a scholarship. That's why I was getting pissed off by you" I say.

"My parents always expect the best of me, just because they were the best in their days doesn't mean I am. I guess that's why I got so angry at you for saying I wasn't a team player." Yunho sighs ".. I really try to be but sometimes my parents just get into my head and make me forget this is not a contest"

I frown at his story, it's sad that he can't express his passion the way he wants.

I stand up and hold my hand out for yunho. He looks up confused but grabs it, I pull him up and say "you need to enjoy this yunho, talk to your parents about it. It is your life and it should be fun while you're here" I say with a soft voice, not realizing that our hands are still together.

He suddenly pulls me into a hug which caught me off guard. "Thank you y/n. You're not so bad after all" I hear him whisper.

The morning of the play:

"Ahh! How are you feeling? Today’s the day!" Rina exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement as she walks next to me.

I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I’m feeling really good about all this. Not only will this improve my chances of getting a scholarship, but it’s also helped Yunho and me forgive each other."

We turn a corner, and my heart skips a beat when I see Yunho standing there, talking to one of his friends. I’m about to wave when I catch his words.

"I don't know, man. She is so annoying. I can't handle it any longer. I'm happy this act is all over after tonight."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Tears well up in my eyes. How could he say that after everything we’ve been through? After the connection we shared the other night?

Rina notices my change in demeanor immediately. "What’s wrong?"

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I just heard Yunho saying he can't stand me and he's glad this is all over after tonight."

Rina's eyes widen in shock, then narrow in anger. "What? That can’t be right. That son of a bitch"

I nod, biting my lip to keep from crying. "I don’t know if I can go through with this tonight, acting like everything is fine. This play has done nothing but be stressfull, I'm done"

Rina takes my hand, her grip firm and comforting. "Listen, I know this hurts, but quitting now isn’t the answer. You’ve worked too hard to let this ruin it. Just hold on a little longer, don't say or do anything you will regret later" she said "I'll be right back just don't do anything okay?"

I nod, trying to take comfort in her words, but the ache in my chest remains. I steal another glance at Yunho, who’s laughing at something his friend said

Later that day in the school's hallway:

“That jerk,” she mutters, clenching her fists. “I can’t believe he said that about you after everything you two have been through.”

I shrug, trying to act indifferent, but the hurt is clear in my eyes. “It’s fine, Rina. Let’s just get through tonight.”

“No, it’s not fine,” she snaps, standing up abruptly.

Before I can stop her, Rina storms across the hallway, heading straight for Yunho. My heart races, and I quickly follow her, catching snippets of her angry muttering.

“Rina, wait!” I call out, but she’s already reached Yunho and his group.

“Hey, Yunho!” Rina’s voice cuts through the chatter, silencing the group. Yunho looks up, surprised.

“Rina? What’s up?”

“What’s up?” she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll tell you what’s up. How dare you talk about Y/N like that behind her back?”

Yunho’s brows furrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Rina spits, crossing her arms. “Y/N heard you this morning, calling her annoying and saying you’re glad this is all over after tonight. How could you, after everything you two have been through?”

Yunho’s face pales, realization dawning on him. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Oh, save it!” Rina cuts him off, her anger palpable. “She thought you were friends, that you understood each other. But you’re just a two-faced jerk!”

By now, a small crowd has gathered, watching the confrontation unfold. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment and hurt, but I don’t stop Rina. She’s saying everything I wish I had the courage to say.

“Rina, please,” Yunho tries again, his voice pleading. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wasn’t talking about Y/N like that.”

“Then who were you talking about?” Rina demands, her eyes blazing.

Yunho takes a deep breath, looking around at the crowd before focusing on Rina. “I was talking about the director, I was talking to my friend about how I’ve been feeling overwhelmed by her, she has been on my toes the last few rehearsals. And plus if I had to say something mean to y/n I would just say it to hee face, I've done it the last few years.”

Rina’s anger falters, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face "Oh, well this is awkward" she said while laughing awkwardly.

That evening:

A buzz of excitement fills the air as students, teachers, and parents take their seats in the auditorium. Backstage, the cast is a whirlwind of activity, making final adjustments to costumes and props. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of nerves and exhilaration. I peek through the curtain and see the audience settling in. This is it. Months of hard work, late nights, and overcoming differences have led to this moment.

Yunho stands next to me, adjusting his costume. He looks at me and smiles, a warm, genuine smile that sends a flutter through my stomach. "You ready?"

I nod, trying to steady my breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The romance scene is next up —the moment where our characters, after a series of misunderstandings and conflicts, finally confess their love. The lines have become second nature, but tonight, something feels different. There's an electricity in the air, a deeper connection that wasn’t there during rehearsals.

As Yunho and I move through our lines, the world around us fades away. It's just the two of us on stage, our characters’ emotions mirroring our own unspoken feelings. Yunho steps closer, his character's confession blending seamlessly with his own emotions.

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he says, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "And I realized something important. I can't imagine my life without you."

My heart races as I respond, my own feelings bubbling to the surface. "I feel the same way. You’ve challenged me, pushed me, and made me better. I’ve never felt this way before."

Yunho takes my hand, and the touch sends a spark through me. He looks into my eyes, and for a moment, it’s as if time stands still. "I love you," he says, I know it's just his character speaking. But it's feels a little too real.

Tears well up in my eyes, and I whisper, "I love you too."

The curtain falls, and the audience erupts into applause. We take our bows, the adrenaline still coursing through our veins. Backstage, the cast congratulates each other, but all I can think about is Yunho.

I find him in a quiet corner, away from the chaos. He looks up as I approach, a soft smile on his face "hey"

"Hey" I reply

"That was... incredible" He says, stepping closer.

I could smell his perfume, he was standing so close. It made My heart beat a lot faster. "It really was..."

He looks down and meet my eyes, we don't say anything but we both feel what's about to come. "Would you like to go somewhere private..?" He asks, his voice low.

I nod, "I would like that"

He grabs my hand and we walk towards the drama room. The place where it all began. The room is quiet and dark, the only source of light is the moonlight that is shining through the tall windows.

Yunho closes the door behind us, and the click of the lock seems to tighten the tension even more. We stand there for a moment, just looking at each other in silence.

He moves closer, his hand moving away a piece of my hair.

His lips meet mine, it starts of soft but quickly deepens. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer until there is no more space left between us.

We pull away, stading there breathlessly. And yunhos eyes search mine. A silent question hanging in the air. I nod, giving him my answer without him having to ask it.

He leads me to the small couch in to corner of the room, we sink down on soft cushions, his hands move gently over the curves of my body. I lay one of my hands on his bicep, he tenses up under my touch and his muscles tighten.

Yunho reconnects the kiss again, this time it's with hunger and passion. He slowly slides his hand under my shirt, cupping one of my breasts. The warmth of his hand tingling on my skin.

I gasp when he pulls my shirt over my head and throws it on the floor. Exposing me to the cool air. He lowers his head and starts to kiss me all over my body "you're so beautiful" He murmurs against my skin.

I blush, my hands start to unbutton his shirt revealing his chest. He shrugs himself out of the fabric and I move my hands over his skin.

We're now left in our underwear, Yunho's hand moves down, his fingers teasing the edge of my panties before slipping under the material. When his finger enters me, a groan escapes my lips, muffled by our kiss.

He takes my reaction as encouragement, adding another finger and moving in and out in a steady movement. The sensation of his fingers moving in and out of me sends waves of pleasure through my body, and I arch my back, pressing closer to him.

"Yunho," I whisper, my voice breathy and filled with need.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes locking onto mine, dark with desire. "Does this feel good?" he asks, his voice husky.

"Yes," I moan, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.

Yunho's free hand trails up my side, his touch light and teasing. He kisses a path down my neck, his lips leaving a burning trail on my skin. As his fingers continue their rhythm, he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. The combined sensations are almost too much, and I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Yunho, I need you," I manage to say between ragged breaths.

He looks up at me, his expression a mix of tenderness and desire. "I need you too," he whispers.

With a final, lingering kiss, he pulls his fingers out and helps me out of the last of our clothing. We pause for a moment, just taking in the sight of each other, the intimacy of the moment deepening our connection.

Yunho gently lays me back on the couch, positioning himself above me. He takes a condom from his wallet, and with a quick, practiced motion, he rolls it on. His eyes meet mine, seeking one last confirmation.

I nod, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation. "I'm ready."

He aligns himself with me, and as he slowly enters, we both gasp at the sensation. He moves with care, giving us both time to adjust. Once he’s fully inside, he pauses, our foreheads touching as we share a moment of stillness

Yunho starts to move, it's slow at first but once I wrapped my legs around his waist he couldn't hold back any longer. A groan escaped from his lips and he fastened his pace.

His hands roam over my body, caressing and teasing, driving me closer to the edge. I can feel the tension building, the knot tightening inside of me.

"Yunho I'm close" I whisper against his neck.

"Me too" He says, his voice strained with his pleasure.

The sound of our breathing is getting heavier and faster. With a final trust I feel a wave of pleasure wash over me, yunho throws his head back when he feels my juices spilling over his cock. That is enough to send him over the edge too. Our moans filling the silent room.

We collapse together, yunho holds me close. His breath warm against my skin as we come down from the high.

"I think I like you y/n" yunho said, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead.

"I like you too yunho" I whisper back.

We lie there for a little longer, wrapped in each other's arms. And that's when I realized that this moment was the beginning of something beautiful.

#yunho smut #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #ateez smut #smut #ateez #ateez fanfic #romance fiction #romance #dance #theatre #love #fluff #yunho x reader #yunho fluff #yunho fic #yunho #trending

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jhoneybees · 2 months

Text

Desire (part 2)

Ahh!! I'm back with another spicy fic🤭 Now this one is a sequel to Desire so if haven't read it or don't remember, it's best to go and read it to understand what's going on. Hope you enjoy!

Song in the fic:

Taglist: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

Characters: 50s!Elvis x reader

Warnings/triggers: Smut, Age gap(Elvis is 20 and Reader is 25), E's first time??, male receiving, hand job, petnames, Sub!Elvis

_____________________________________________

“Did you like that, Presley?”

He definitely did.

The way your cocktail dress molds onto your figure makes his heart throb like crazy and as you take a seat opposite of him, he tries to keep his cool, begging himself to not stare too much but when you start talking, asking him about how his records are doing he falls into a haze just staring at your lips and only answering in a slight mumble “The records are goin’ good…gettin’ lots of sales and… all that…”

It's like you're hypnotizing him, without even knowing it.

Or…do you?

“Oh, that’s so great, Elvis!” his gaze trailing up to your eyes, he just breathes out a smile and nods. Getting the slightest glance of your defined jawline as you flip hair behind your back and turn your head towards the bartender, who’s dropping off a drink. Earning a soft “Thank you” and smile from you.

God, that damn smile.

Silently watching as you take a sip of the alcoholic beverage, his heart skips a beat when you suggest “Why don’t we go to my dressing room? Some privacy would be nice” all he can muster is a quiet nod.

_____________________________________________

“Come. Sit here, I don’t bite”

Elvis quietly makes his way to sit on a round velvet footstool that your hand patted by where you’re sitting at the vanity. Taking a silent look around your dressing room, seeing sparkly dresses hung up on a rack and floral patterns on the walls. He turns his head back at the sound of your voice.

“How’s your mama? I haven’t seen her in a while” his eyes darting up and down at your figure, Elvis brings a fist up and clears his throat.

“S-she’s good… jus’ doin’ the same old things” almost cringing at himself at how he said that but the embarrassment quickly fades when he watches you through the mirror reapplying red lipstick to your soft looking lips.

“Good, I assume your daddy’s doing the same old things too?” he nods with parted lips making you laugh sweetly, not noticing you’re looking at him through the reflection.

You have definitely hypnotized him.

“Well that’s also…good”

Elvis feels like his mind is being trapped, trapped in this heaven-like gold birdcage that is your beauty.

The way your mouth curves into a smile and your eyes shine with friendliness, slowly darkening into lust digging into his soul. Such simple things but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away- Wait-

Lust?

Suddenly he feels something grazing his thigh and when he looks down, his breath hitches and eyes widen at your pretty hand gliding onto his growing erection. Elvis quickly snaps his eyes up to yours and he almost barely holds back a whimper.

“Been thinking of me?” your voice low and sensual, Elvis swallows as your lips grow a smirk.

Trailing his eyes back down, his hands blindly grip behind at the edge of the footstool as your hand delicately presses down on his length. His shoulders rising as his breath does, Elvis throws his head back briefly at the light relief you made him feel “Y-Y/n.. ”

“What is it, baby?” a sigh stutters and his lips part. He doesn’t know where his mind is, he’s lost for words. Gulping at the shine of mischief in your eyes and as you slowly trace little patterns on his bulge, Elvis’ eyes flutter close.

Sighing at your palm trailing up to the top of his pants and down to his knee, you let out a little hum as your delicate finger lifts his chin “Did you like my performance, Presley?” asking him again with a slight rasp in your words. Seeing your eyebrows raise in question.

Elvis nods almost immediately, swallowing hard at your foot brushing up his leg as you sit with one knee over the other “A-Ah liked it..a lot” he just about gets out, nervously licking his lips.

“Ohh, I’m glad…” You coo and his eyes light up at your little pout and sparkly eyes.

“Why don’t I give you another…private little show, hm? Just the two of us” his heart kicking a beat against his ribcage, Elvis opens his mouth in an attempt to answer but nothing comes out. He just nods again. Watching as your gaze lowers to his lips “Use your words, honey”

His mouth is growing dry by the second “...Yes”

A shiver slithers down his spine at your widening smirk. Elvis watching you rising from your seat and tipping his chin up with two fingers.

Gulping at how you look down on him and smile.

“Go sit on that seat over there f’me, baby.” nodding quietly as you tilt your head towards the direction next to him.

Sitting himself down on the chaise lounge, smoothing his sweaty hands down his thighs as he lifts his head. His heart thumps loudly in his ears seeing you step towards him and stand right in between his legs.

Grabbing his chin again “You’re quite a handsome thing, aren’t you?”

His blue puppy eyes peering into yours as you loom over him.

Hearing your soft chuckle, his breath shortens when you reach down to brush your hand over his crotch again. Feeling his face grow red as you bring your face just an inch away. Gently, moving your fingertips to play with the zipper of his slacks.

His chest heaves softly at the anticipation of you giving him a kiss, he nervously looks from your lips to your eyes. Seeing your pupils dilate ever slightly and as he’s about to say something, his jaw gets grabbed roughly and you crash your lips onto his, making his breath hitch and form into a puddle.

The sound of lips separating filling the room. “Get up against the wall, baby.” You order before enveloping him into another kiss.

Elvis moans into your mouth and shuffles back until the back of his head hits the wall with a thud, chasing your touch as you step out of your heels and scrunch up your sparkly dress to straddle his lap.

Groaning at the warmth of your bare thighs and your breasts pressed up against his chest. He rests his hands on your hips, trying to keep up with you devouring his mouth bit by bit. Feeling his cock strained against the fabric of his pants and now you are grinding on him making him shudder. “Mm-”

“Shh, quiet baby…” You whisper, grazing your mouth along his cheek to his ear. Nibbling on the lobe leaving his heart almost exploding.

Gasping at your palm slithering over his nipple through a thin layer of fabric.

Elvis doesn’t know what to do with himself, he wasn’t expecting to be in your presence tonight and definitely wasn’t expecting to be sitting on the couch in your dressing room with you rolling your hips on his covered hard weeping dick.

It’s crazy what happens in Memphis.

“My funny valentine…” looking up into your dark eyes, his heart softens at your singing.

“Sweet comic…valentine.” watching as you flip your hair back and slowly lean into the crook of his neck, pecking his skin softly.

Elvis flutters his eyes shut and pants quietly at you kissing up his jaw and rolling your hips in a circular motion.

“You make me smile with my heart…” His tummy filling up with butterflies as you trail your hands down his chest to his belt. Carefully unbuckling it.

Swallowing, as Elvis opens his eyes to see you pulling the zipper of his pants down, wide eyed as your cold fingertips smooth around his length, giving it a little squeeze.

Cheeks grow pink as you watch his face and let out an angelic giggle. “Your looks are…laughable.”

Pulling him out of his pants with a quiet melodic hum. “Unphotographable…”

Seeing a smirk creep onto your lips, he follows your stare down to his aching hard cock, drooling out warm precum. Elvis whimpers loudly when you rest your thumb on his red, angry tip. Rubbing it in slow, torturous circles, coating him with his own juices. “Yet you're my favourite work of art…”

His eyebrows furrow and he pleads.

“Mm-... I-It ‘urts-”

“Shhh ‘s ok…”

Breath hitching as you begin to stroke him. Long and slow. “Is your figure less than greek…”

His lungs follow the rhythm of your leveled movements, legs growing weaker and weaker by the second. “Is your mouth a little weak…”

Melting as you tilt his chin up slightly, dominating him with your stare. “When you open it to speak…”

The motion on his cock, speeding up just a little making Elvis’ tongue roll out moans and groans.

“Are you smart…”

Leaning into your hold as you run your fingers through his gelled hair, needing your comfort from you giving him such an awakening experience.

“But don’t change your hair for me…”

Feeling a delicious tightness form in the pit of his stomach.

Bucking his hips into your hand as you twist and pull. “Not if you care for me…”

“Stay little valentine…” his breathing erratic at the now fast approaching unknown pleasure.

“Stay…”

He begs desperately, wanting a gentle kiss. You give him one but he wasn’t expecting it to be so loving and delicate. “Each day is Valentine’s day…”

As you stroke him one more time, Elvis whimpers uncontrollably and his head falls back hitting the wall. White ropes of his release landing on his slacks and your hand, he clenches your dress in his fists.

Elvis’ heart thumps and thumps, his eyes rolling back and eyelids feeling heavy. He rides through his orgasm.

Moaning and mumbling Yes’s and Lord have mercy’s, he’s falling over the edge into a lake of your honey voice whispering “Good boy…” and “Let it all out, uh huh…such a good boy.”

He never thought he’d have an even deeper desire to be with you than he already does at this very moment.

“Best performance yet, hm?””

#elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis #i love him #50s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis fandom #elvis smut #subby elvis #Spotify

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redahlia-writes · 10 months

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x oc #javier peña x original female character #javier peña x reader #javier peña imagine #javier peña fic #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #pedrostories #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x oc #javier pena x original female character #practical magic #redahlia

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agoddamnbeautifulidiot · 3 months

Text

Flicker of Hope

Epilogue One: Madison Square Garden - Night One

A/N:

Hey bitches. Bet you never thought you’d see me again.

That’s right. Flicker of Hope is back…sort of…

So, I’m sadly never going to be able to finish this story. A lot has changed for me and a lot has also changed for Niall. It’s also been 7 years since I started this story (and isn’t that fucking wild, like 7 years!?!) With that being said, I’ve decided, mostly because Sarah @harrywavycurly drunkenly asked me on our first Niall show in Raleigh, if I was ever going to finish it. So here is an epilogue to let you know what Niall and our main character are up to in the present day at his two SOLD OUT Madison Square Garden shows AND how they got there. This will be two parts.

Only real warnings are that this is EMO because I was so very emo seeing Niall at MSG, and that it might’ve gotten a little spicy. Nothing explicit, just implied.

Thank you so much for all the love on this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

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There’s nothing like seeing Niall perform.

Even sitting at sound check, you’re in awe. Niall has always been an energetic artist on stage, even with his knee issues. But this particular performance, this venue, he’s hyped like never before.

He’s played Madison Square Garden before, several years before the two of you had met. This time, though, it’s his name on the marquee. Only his. And while the thought of that has given him quite a bit of anxiety over the last year, he’s also been bouncing off the walls waiting for this moment to arrive.

Standing next to the mix, you laugh watching Niall and John wiggle their bodies at each other as they run through “If You Leave Me”. You quickly open your phone camera and record them, laughing harder as Niall’s hips move ridiculously.

“Such a dad dance,” you mutter, shoving your phone back in your pocket. You make your way through the floor, nodding and smiling at the crew members still working, and stand at the end of the catwalk just as the song ends. The band all congregates for a moment, Niall facing the drums as they talk. Smiling, you cup your hands around your mouth and shout, “Play ‘The Tide’!” Ducking down quickly, you can hear the band laughing and the sound of quick footsteps.

Over the lip of the stage, Niall’s face appears, eyebrow raised as he smirks at you. “You gon’ interrupt every sound check, love?”

Smirking back, you stand, bracing yourself against the barrier. “If you ever took my requests seriously, maybe I wouldn’t have to.” He laughs, eyes crinkling.

“I took ya request that one time.”

“Niall,” you scoff. “I suggested ‘San Francisco’ in Raleigh as a joke. It made absolutely no sense to debut it there and you know it. You just like being chaotic.” He just grins cheekily.

“Hey, lovebirds!” You both glance back to center stage at John, arms resting on his bass, the band watching you both. “Be nice to finish this and get some lunch if ya don’t mind. You know how Jake gets if we don’ keep him fed.” Rolling your eyes, you flip him off, everyone laughing when Jake throws a pick at him.

Niall turns back to you, hands on his hips and winks before turning and striding back up the catwalk. Leaning further against the barrier, you smile, watching how happy each and every one of them is at this moment.

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Two hours before Niall goes on, you’re starting your pre show ritual. The doors of MSG have just opened and you know in a few minutes the area will start to fill with chatter. Triple checking that your pass is visible and you have your phone (neither you nor Niall has ever forgotten the anxiety of you getting lost in Boston almost seven years ago), you head out the backstage door and onto the floor.

When you’d first started following Niall, during his Flicker Sessions, the idea of being in the crowd had honestly been kind of terrifying. Niall’s fans were great, but you’d seen the mania of One Direction, so you hadn’t known what to expect. Later, during the tail end of the Flicker World Tour, you’d decided to start walking around the crowd, passing out picks and accepting gifts from the people who loved him.

When Niall had announced The Show Live on Tour, you’d seen quite a few TikToks of his fans making friendship bracelets and decided to do it yourself. Niall had laughed when the Amazon order of beads, letters and string had arrived.

“How many bracelets are ya planning on makin’ there babe?” He’d asked as you organized your purchases on the dining table.

You’d shrugged, mentally counting your letter packs. “I don’t know. I was thinking like 75-100 per show depending on how hard it is.”

Niall had thought you’d gone absolutely mad. “But…there’s 96 shows.”

“That’s why I’m getting started now.”

In the end, you’d managed to make 5,000 bracelets. Well, you, a few friends and even Niall had made a few, despite how frustrating he found the art. So, at each show, you grabbed an already counted out bag full and headed out into the arena, handing out a few in each section. Having been around Niall so long, most of the fans knew who you were and were incredibly nice. Sometimes though, you’d walk by a crowd and no one would really seem to recognize you. Those were fun. You’d give out a few bracelets and then, later on Instagram on TikTok, find out someone had told them who you were. Niall always got a good laugh out of those posts.

As the crowd started filtering in, you headed to the elevator to start at the higher seats. The elevator attendant happily took you all the way up to the top, accepting a bracelet as payment and offering a fist bump as you left. Even with your massive fear of heights, this view of the stage was incredible. You could see people filling in the seats below, laughter and screaming already floating up into the rafters.

You notice people filing into the bridge and made your way in their direction. Laughing slightly, you shook your head at the photo queue forming behind Harry’s banner. You and Niall had come up here earlier and done the same, taking silly photos and videos to send to his friend and former band mate.

“Oh my god! Y/N!” Smiling, you turn and wave as a group of younger girls comes in your direction.

“Hi!” You offer them bracelets, accepting some from them in return, and take a few photos, pointing at Niall on their shirts. Wishing them a good time, you start making your way around to the other side and back into the rest of the arena.

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

You finally make it backstage about halfway into Del Water Gap’s set. The bracelets had run out a while ago, but you enjoyed hanging out with the fans and lurking on them.

The band is chilling as you come into the doorway of the green room. Your eyes search the roof for that familiar face, and you frown slightly when you can’t find him. Emily looks up and smiles at you. She points to her right and you look down the hall at the door to Niall’s room. She laughs and catches the kiss you blow in her direction and several others look up and laugh as you disappear down the hall.

His door is open and you stick close to the doorframe as you watch him. He’s in his pants and tank top, vest hanging on the back of his chair. Standing there, you take a minute to admire him. Niall has always, always been attractive to you. Blonde, brunette, scrawny, now more filled out, it’s never mattered to you. He just has this energy, this joy and confidence that makes him so easy to love, even when it once used to be in secret.

“Uh oh, don’ be gettin’ dat look in your eye.” Your eyes meet and you shake your head at him.

“And what look is that?”

Niall wiggles his eyebrows, shoulders shimmying slightly. “Like ya wish ya could ravish me. I hate to say it, love, but we just don’t have time right now.”

You snort and roll your eyes, fully coming into the room and walking over to his chair. He turns to face you better and even with his silly grin, you can’t help but reach out to cradle his face in both hands. Leaning down, you feel him tilt his head up to you, his eyes shining. Your lips brush against his lightly, and you can feel the twitch of his body when you pull just slightly out of reach after so little affection. With a sigh, your fingers brush the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Hate to break it to you, Horan, but we aren’t all slags like you. Some of us can keep it in our pants for a whole concert.”

Niall jerks slightly back from you, slightly shocked for only a moment before he smiles and his hands grab your waist to drag you onto his lap. He grasps you firmly, fingers digging in as he tickles you. “Oh ‘m a slag am I? Gotta talk ta whoever is teaching ya language like that, babe.”

You laugh, pulling at his fingers in an effort to make the torture stop. “It was Deo! It was Deo!” Niall laughs at your shouting, finally ceasing his assault on your sides and just winds his arms around your middle.

“Always knew that guy was trouble.” He mumbles, humming slightly as your fingers massage his neck.

“Well,” you draw out the word. “I’d say trouble honestly runs in the family.” Niall snorts, rolling his eyes. His hold on you tightens and his head drops forward to rest on your sternum. “Also, I feel like I’ve been letting you watch too much Bridgerton if you’re using words like ‘ravish’.”

You both laugh lightly, your embrace and the moment becoming softer. “I don’ know about lettin’ me since you’re the one who always turns it on.”

“Debatable.”

In a regular day, you’d expect more of a silly fight with Niall. Tonight, however, it’s not shocking that he just huffs out a laugh against your skin and murmurs, “Whatever ya say, love.”

Your fingers continue to massage his neck and Niall’s arms tighten a bit more around you. The music from his opener plays faintly in the background and you can hear his band milling about in the other room. In this moment, it’s just the two of you, wrapped around each other, content.

“Hey,” you say softly, gently pulling his head up to meet his eyes. “I’m gonna be sappy for a few seconds, and then we’re gonna move on because we do not have time for tears right now.” Niall huffs out a laugh, but says nothing. Staring into those striking blue eyes of his eyes, you take a breath. “I am so, so, so incredibly proud of you, Niall James. You are so talented and you’ve worked your cute little ass off to get here. You are the most amazing person in my life and I’m so lucky that I get to be here with you. I’m so lucky that I get to stand beside you while you live your dreams. There is nowhere else I’d ever want to be then here with you.” There is a burning right behind your eyes and you know they’re shining with the possibility of tears. Niall isn’t much better as he listens to you, hands gripping your sides. You smile and crinkle your nose, trying to lighten the mood. “Plus, like I said, that’s one cute little Irish ass you got there, so I’m pretty much the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and shakes his head. Leaning in, he pulls you closer and you hum softly at the touch of his lips on yours. The kiss is firm, but short and soft, as the door is open and the two of you know you can get carried away.

Drawing back, Niall just looks at you, enjoying the way your cheeks tint slightly pinker at his staring. “Ya know,” he says, clearing his throat. “I do agree that me ass is cute, but I don’ know about little.” He smirks, throwing his head back in laughter when you roll your eyes and shove his shoulder. He opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the doorframe interrupts. Nodding at the crew member who tells him it’s time to get on stage, his eyes meet yours and you can see the nerves returning.

Grabbing his face, you kiss him one more time, pouring all of your love and pride into it. You rest your forehead against his and breathe him in for just a moment. When your eyes meet again, he looks less nervous and more determined and you lean in. “Go give them a fucking show, Niall Horan.”

The smile he gives you is almost blinding.

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

It’s emotional watching Niall perform.

You’ve seen him play so many times at this point, but you know this one is special. Everyone in the room knows this one is special.

Niall is looking around the packed arena, eyes shining as he takes it all in. From your spot at the side of the stage, you can see how crazy the fans are going. It’s a contrast to the first time you saw him on tour by himself, flying to Dublin to surprise your best friend. It’s crazy to think about your life back then. To think about how far not only Niall had come, but how far the two of you had come together.

You’d thought your life had changed the day you and Niall had admitted having feelings for each other. And, in a lot of ways, it had. But it had really started to change after Orlando. After Robbie.

"I guess I'll take this as my queue to back off then, love?" He chuckles, eyebrows moving suggestively as he looks between the two of you. "Don't think you'd be too keen on sharing, eh Horan?"

Niall goes rigid in front of you, nostrils flaring slightly as he releases a breath. "Don't think I would, no, mate." He practically bites the end of the last word and your mind returns to you as you wrap your hand around his bicep.

"Let's just get back to the group, alright?" You ask softly, fully aware that while Niall isn't a violent man, he'd do just about anything to protect you.

"Yeah Nialler," Robbie says, and you catch his smirk again when Niall's jaw clenches. "Let's just put this behind us and get back to the party."

Niall pushes off the door, grabbing your hand in his. He pulls you past Robbie, who shrugs with that stupid smirk on his face and shoves his hands into his pockets before he follows behind you both.

Robbie had not only been a creep, but he’d also ended up being an absolute asshole. It had been a shock to you, but sadly not to Niall when it had come out that Robbie had been using you. He’d known you were close with Niall. He’d spent weeks figuring out a way to get close to you, practically stalking you. And when you and Niall had finally had your first real kiss, Robbie had been hiding down the hall, filming all of it.

The video had dropped during Niall’s Atlanta show. While a grainy video of a celebrity making out with his best friend wasn’t a huge deal, the fans and tabloids had blown the story up. Every part of Niall’s life and every part of your life had been scrutinized. It hadn’t made for the best beginning to a relationship and, in the end, you’d left before the tour bus had reached Chicago, the two of you agreeing that some separation was a good idea.

It had been hard on you. And you knew it had been hard on Niall too. The different ways you’d both handled it had kept you apart even longer. You’d buried yourself in work, taking assignment after assignment just to avoid thinking about all of it. Niall had returned to the road for his Flicker World Tour. Neither of you had reached out to the other.

And then there had been Hailee.

Now that…that had hurt.

Even though you and Niall had never made any promises to each other at the time and hadn’t had any discussions about dating, it had been hard to see when the news hit. But you knew Hailee, at least casually. And you knew she and Niall had been in a somewhat similar situation to the two of you. Despite how short their relationship was, if you wanted to call it that, it had been all anyone around you could talk about. They’d only been together a few months during the early days of his World Tour, but even then it had wrecked you. After it was over, Niall had reached out. The two of you spent days talking, back and forth, phone calls, texts and FaceTimes. Niall had confessed that he’d leaned heavily on her because he felt lost without you and it had all spiraled a little out of his control. He’d apologized a ridiculous number of times and you’d finally had to tell him to stop, because what truly did he have to apologize for? So the two of you kept talking. And then, slowly but surely, your friendship repaired and when Niall asked you to join him for the last few weeks of his tour, you hadn’t been able to say no.

Things hadn’t immediately felt normal. Everyone could tell you and Niall were awkward around each other. They all tried to play it cool and diffuse the tension, but it was definitely difficult all the way around. After the tour had ended in September that year, the two of you had decided it was time to sit down and really talk about everything. The talk ended up with the both of you holed up in Niall’s LA house for over a week. There had been screaming, crying, every emotion possible, but it had all culminated in the decision to try again.

Your second beginning had been much easier. Well, as easy as dating in the public eye can be. It had been agreed that you would actually take it slow. So, you’d moved your stuff out of Niall’s house and stayed with some friends. He’d come to pick you up and taken you out on real, slightly normal dates. It had been really nice to sort of get to know each other again. Heartbreak had changed both of you, but in the end, it had been for the better because it had led you here. Four and a half years later, everything was different.

You watched Niall walk over to the piano, ready to play his first ballad of the night. The crowd was going absolutely wild and you could see from the look on his face just how unbelievable this all was to him. He sits down and just looks around for a minute and the roaring intensifies.

“Good evening Madison Square Garden,” He says, leaning against the piano. The crowd shrieks. Niall laughs sightly. “What is life?” You laugh at that, already feeling the sting of tears as you watch him try to contain his own emotions. He welcomes them to the show and then raises his arms. “We made it!” All he can do is look around in awe as the crowd starts screaming again. He’s shaking his head and it takes everything in you to stay in your spot when all you want is to hug him tight. It gets even more difficult when he actually leans over and you can tell he’s letting some of the tears flow. It’s amazing how much Niall’s fans love him and how much he truly appreciates everything they do for him. He tells you all the time that he still doesn’t believe his life is real.

“Scared ‘m gonna wake up one day and it’s all gonna be a dream.” His head is on your chest, arm gripping tightly at your hip. Your nails lightly scratch his scalp and he nuzzles into you further. “What could I have possibly done ta deserve all dis? Just some kid from Mullingar.” He mumbles the last part into your skin.

With a frown, you look down at him and shift slightly onto your side and shuffle down the bed. He lets out an adorable whine that he’ll deny later, but adjusts with you and you end up facing each other. Burying your hand in his hair, your fingers tug just slightly and he looks up at you. “Just some kid? You’re Niall Motherfucking-Boss-Babe Horan.”

“That’s not me middle name.”

You ignore him. “You deserve everything good in this world and anyone that says any different will have to deal with me.”

He grins at you, visible only by the moonlight streaming in through the window. “And what would ya do about it, huh? Know how you feel about violence, love.”

“Well, in order to defend your honor, I’d do whatever necessary.”

His hand glides up your side and over your shoulder to tangle in your hair. “Whatever necessary, huh?” You hum and nod. “So, ya’d get in the ring for me? Duke it out?”

“If I had to.” He tugs lightly on your hair and your head falls back.

Shifting closer, Niall plants a kiss on your exposed neck, rubbing his stubble against you just how he knows you like. “Hmmm, would pay good money to see you duel for me, darlin’.” Letting go of your hair, he skims his hand back down your body, squeezing your thigh as he pulls it up over his hip. He moves even closer, pressing himself against you as his lips trail over your neck. “Maybe you could challenge my enemies to some mud wrestlin’. Wouldn’t mind dat at all.”

You snort, one hand on his back, the other back in his hair. “You’re such a guy, Ni.”

“A guy who’s utterly mad about ya.”

You both laugh, eyes meeting as you hold each other. Then, after a few moments, you pull Niall’s mouth to yours, whispering against his lips as you roll until he’s hovering over you. “Prove it.”

You smile at the memory now, arena lit up as the crowd audience all hold up their phone lights. As the piano fades out, Niall smiles out at them and the stage lights go dark.

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

The curtain drops as the band prepares for their encore. Every one of them is bouncing in excitement, looking at each other and just laughing as the crowd goes wild just beyond the piece of fabric. Niall stands in the middle of the stage, shaking his hands out and smiling so wide that you just know his face hurts. There’s barely any light back here, but you can see the moment he spots you. Always drawn to each other like magnets.

He rushes over to you, impressively not stumbling a bit in the dark. Strong arms reach for you, pulling you in and he tucks his face into your neck. His body is practically vibrating, he has so much energy. The roar of the crowd is deafening and you can hear them chanting his name. Your hands rub at is sweaty neck and the back of his soaked tank top. The band starts getting ready to play again and you lean in the plant a kiss on the side of Niall’s head. His lips against your neck curve in a smile and he squeezes you one last time before he pulls back and runs back out into the middle of the stage.

You smile, bouncing around in the wings as the curtain opens to the sounds of “Heartbreak Weather” and thundering cheers from the crowd.

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

“I am exhausted in da best possible fuckin’ way.” You laugh as Niall plops down on the couch in your hotel room. “Could sleep for ten years.”

Walking over to him, you force him to sit up, helping him shrug off the grey vest and chucking it into the empty side of his suitcase nearby. “Well, you definitely can’t do that considering you have another show to play tomorrow night.”

Niall groans, lifting his arms slightly as you strip off his tank top. “And anoter one after dat. Why did I agree to dat?”

“I cannot help you figure that one out, babe. No one asked me what I thought about your schedule.” You laugh when he flops back on the couch again, arms flung dramatically over his eyes. “Ok, come on big guy, let’s get you in the shower and then ice your poor knees. You have got to stop kneeling on stage.” Niall resists as you attempt to pull him up. “Niall!” You laugh, pulling his arms off his face and attempting to pull him off the couch.

His face scrunches up, eyes glinting at he mock glares at you. “Ya can’t be mean to me. I just played da most famous arena in the world.”

Staring at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, you just shake your head and let go of his arms. “Alright,” You comply, stepping back only a few inches. “If you don’t want to get up and shower and take care your knees, you don’t have to.”

Niall nods, slumping further into the soft cushions. “That’s what I thought.”

“Guess I just won’t be able to give you your present for being so incredible on stage tonight.” With a sad shrug, you tug at the bottom of your shirt, looking at the floor for a second. “Oh well.”

You move as if to walk away, but Niall sits up, hand grabbing your arm before you can go too far. “Wait.” He’s looking at you intently now and it’s all you can do to keep your giggles at bay over teasing him. “What’s me present?”

“No, no, you want to lay on the couch, all sweaty and smelly, so I’ll leave you to that.”

“But!” It’s only how tired he is after the show that lets you pull out of his grasp and walk into the bedroom. Once in there, you wait a minute, biting your lip to hold in your laughter. Niall finally calls out to you. “Babe!”

Slowly, you move to lean on the bedroom doorway, looking at him as innocently as you can. “Yes, honey?”

Niall’s glare is probably slightly more real now, but his eyes are still shining with amusement when he holds out his arms. “Come help me up so I can shower and me hot, amazing girlfriend can give me a present.” You raise your eyebrow, then crinkle your nose as if in thought. He groans again, huffing out a short laugh. “Darlin’, please!”

You push yourself off the doorway. “Oh fine. I guess you did earn it.” He lets out a real laugh and it’s your turn to groan as he makes you do most of the work pulling him up. “Let’s go superstar.” Turning to lead him, you shriek as he presses himself against your back, fingers tickling your sides and starts walking you both quickly towards the bathroom.

“Dat was not very nice love.” He breathes out against your neck as you both stumble into the bathroom and he shuts the door. He’s grinning at you when you manage to get away from him, leaning back against the sink.

Smirking back at him, you shrug. “Just trying to get you motivated, babe.”

He nods, stepping towards you. His rough fingertips find your hips, pushing up and under your shirt, just above the top of your jeans. Leaning in to you, he squeezes the flesh of your sides. “’m pretty motivated now. Any chance I could get me present a little early?”

You run your hands down his chest, admiring the way his heart is beating and the shaky breath he takes in when you reach for his belt. “I mean, I guess I could give you part of it now. Since you were so amazing on stage tonight and you managed to get off the couch.” Niall nods, eyes tracking your lips with his eyes right before he leans in. Your fingers make quick work of his belt and the button on his pants, swallowing his groan when one of your hands disappears beneath the fabric.

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

Later, you’re both tucked into bed, skin against skin, just listening to the sounds of the city outside. You know it’s late, but neither of you are asleep just yet. Head on Niall’s chest, you listen to his heartbeat, feel the rise and fall as he breathes. The hand on your back slowly taps, something Niall only does when he’s thinking hard.

“Ni.” You say softly, rubbing your hand over his chest. His other hand reaches for yours, fingers intertwining as he hums in acknowledgement. “I know I’ve already said it, but I’m so proud of you. Honestly, I don’t know when I’ll stop saying it because you continue to amaze me every single day.” His chest hitches just slightly under you. “Watching you perform, seeing you on stage…” You breath in, attempting to quell your own emotions. “I’m reminded every single day how truly amazing you are. How much you love what you do and how much you appreciate everyone around you. This incredible, talented, humble, beautiful man that I am so lucky that I get to even be on the planet at the same time as him.” A few tears slip out and you sniffle lightly.

“Love.” He whispers, the hand on your back reaching up to stroke your hair.

You shake your head and move to sit up, face him as he lounges on the pillows. Smiling at him, you wipe the tears off your cheeks. “Ugh, I’m always a blubbering mess around you, Horan.”

Chuckling, he reaches up and runs the pad of thumb under your eye. “Yeah, but you’re my blubberin’ mess and I wouldn’t have it any oter way.” That makes you giggle and you lean over to kiss him, pressing against him, needy for the feel of him against you. “I love you so much.” The words are whispered against your lips.

“I love you too.”

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

Part Two Coming Soon

#I hope you all like it #no lie it was weird but also amazing writing this #flicker of hope #niall horan imagine #niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fic #niall horan fluff #niall horan spice #niall horan blurb #niall #niall fluff #niall fic #my writing

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zaebeecee · 28 days

Text

…and so, the spider captured the serpent

A Zestial/Sir Pentious one-shot••

•••

Just a little “what if” for a meeting between these two. A request by my darling @alastorsfluffydeertail who never fails when it comes to inspiration. I’m sorry this took so long, dear, I started this the same hour I read your ask and then I remembered how hard Elizabethan English is to write. But, I do know how to write it pretty okay! I knew all the Shakespeare would pay off one day.

Yeah, yeah, some people only ever suggested this as a crack ship because they have Ozzie and Fizz’s VAs. Don’t care + didn’t ask + I just think they’re cute okay? Also Pentious doesn’t get enough love as a serious character in the fandom and that infuriates me.

•••

It was not working.

That was unusual. Sir Pentious was an inventor, quite possibly the most accomplished within the Pride Ring, and he had not become an inventor by way of his inventions not working. As a matter of fact—if he might be so bold as to make outlandish claims—he had become an inventor by way of his inventions working, and as the little mechanical spider sat on his table, mocking him with its lack of proper movement, Pentious felt… he felt…

Well, he felt pissed off.

Heaving a sigh that did little to quell the burgeoning and directionless anger within him, Pentious slumped down until he was coiled on the ground, his arms folded on his work bench and his chin resting on the edge of the wood. “If I threw you at the wall,” he hissed, “you would burst into a fantastic rain of a thousand tiny screws and tens of little springs. You would scatter everywhere, your bits rolling to and fro, likely never to all be gathered in the same place again. You would cease to exist as you are now, and whatever comes of your disparate parts would be wholly new, not a reconstruction of yourself. Do you understand that?”

The little mechanical spider did not understand that, quite clearly, as it did not immediately rectify its behavior and begin working the way it was so obviously intended to. Inanimate objects were so frustrating. If only he—

“No,” he said aloud, straightening back up and throwing his hands down in front of him. “No, it is precisely that line of thinking that created my eggies, and I cannot handle another group of sentient minions.”

A knock on the door set his hood to flex behind him, and he hissed, spinning rapidly to face it and whatever interloper had dared encroach on his territory. “Who knocks?!” he shouted at the knock, the tip of his tail vibrating almost independently of his own thoughts. “I will destroy you!”

“Oh, please don’t, it’s just me!” Charlie called through the heavy wood. “You’ve been down here for a while, I… thought you might be hungry.”

Instantly abashed, Pentious felt himself deflate. His first instinct was to apologize, and his second was to shout a bit more, but in the two months since he had arrived at the Hotel and the precise way Charlie had been so kind to him… “Of… of course. My apologies, Miss Charlie.” He almost told her to enter, then realized she was likely carrying something, so instead quickly slithered over to the door and pulled it open himself.

It was a good thing, too, because Charlie was carrying an entire tray that she held up with her usual bright smile; it had sandwiches, a plate of chopped fruit, and an entire tea set that was likely older than Pentious himself. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice full of that aching sincerity Pentious was certain she had no idea was there. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Pentious said, aware he was repeating himself but unable to do anything about that now as he moved back and held one arm out in invitation. Charlie swept past him, her eyes immediately moving over every inch of the basement room he had commandeered for a laboratory shortly after the nastiness with the Vees had been sorted. “You can just… there, on the table,” Pentious added, pointing to the workbench that held his precisely placed tools across the back and the little, immobile mechanical spider.

“Oh! Is this what you’ve been working on?” Charlie asked as she set the tray down carefully, her eyes on the infuriatingly uncooperative device.

“To say I have been working on it suggests it is working,” Pentious said, looking at it distastefully. “As it is, the thing is as unruly and insubordinate as something without sentient thought can be.”

Oddly, Charlie giggled. “I see. Mmm…” She tilted her head, looking up at Pentious. “What’s it supposed to do?”

“It is supposed to gather information through a series of minute sensors placed strategically about its form as it moves through locations unnoticed,” Pentious said. “As it is, however, all it does is…” A demonstration would be better than an explanation, he supposed, so he reached out and tapped the device in the center of its body.

Instantly, the thing whirred to life, wiggling a little as its sensors activated and began taking in the surroundings. It swiveled one way, then the other, before it seemed to take notice of the tray. It began marching resolutely towards it, and when Charlie made a move as though to remove any obstacles, Pentious held out his hand to still her. The mechanism, of course, took note of none of this. Instead, it continued its focused and dedicated trek across the table, crawling onto the tray and beginning to trudge across it. It missed the teapot and the sandwiches by virtue of them simply not being immediately in its path, but it stomped straight through the sliced fruit and emerged on the other side of the plate with a cube of melon stuck on one of its spindly little legs. As though unencumbered, it marched onwards, off the tray and then straight off the table where it landed on the rug that Pentious had moved beneath the workbench for this very reason. It laid there on its back, legs waving silently through the air as though its journey had not completed, and Pentious’s phone beeped at him.

He pulled up the app he had created, showing Charlie the results. “According to our dear little friend, it has successfully navigated through a sandstorm, detected several frogs, and is currently moving directly up a wall that appears to be made of honeycomb.”

“Oh dear,” Charlie said, looking at the device again. “So… the sensors aren’t working?” she guessed.

“Not to put too fine a point on it.” Pentious leaned down and picked up the little spider, deactivating it and relieving it of its position as makeshift fruit kabob. “They were created in the Lust Ring. I have used similar devices from there before, but I’ve never had them malfunction this badly. Theoretically, I could simply begin again with more, but that will neither tell me what the problem is, nor how to fix it.”

“Hmm…” Charlie tapped her chin. “…normally I’d ask Uncle Ozzie for his advice, but he’s been pretty tied up with his latest, uh, projects.” It took a moment for it to register that, by the casual moniker ‘Uncle Ozzie’, she was referring to Lord Asmodeus himself. “So I dunno if… …oh!” She clapped her hands together so suddenly that Pentious startled, his hood flexing again. “Sorry! But I had a thought! What kind of tech do the sensors use? It’s a form of magitech, right?”

Pentious frowned at her, folding his arms. “Yes,” he said, unable to help a mildly begrudging note from slipping into his voice. As a man of science in life, he had always struggled with the idea of the preternatural, and even after having been dead for more than a century he still disliked to give any credit to magic. “Construct transmutation, specifically. Why?”

“Well… I know somewhere that you could definitely go to get more information on that,” Charlie said. “There’s an overlord in the city who collects books, all kinds of them. He’s been doing it for as long as he’s been in Hell. I’m sure he would be willing to lend you something that would help with your project, and he loves meeting creative people.”

Pentious raised one eyebrow at her, and he could practically hear his hat doing the same. “You are already well aware that I do not exactly… get on with the overlords of this city.”

Charlie smiled, waving her hands. “Oh, no no, he’s nothing like the Vees, and he isn’t… well, he does like scaring people, but he’s not that much like Alastor, either.”

“…I see.” Pentious sighed. “Oh, very well, if you insist. Who is this friend of yours, exactly?”

“His name is Zestial. Have you heard of him?”

Initially, Pentious barely registered her question, as the name had instantly sent a shock of horror across his flesh. “What— have I heard of him?! Of course I’ve heard of him! He was the oldest functioning overlord in all of Pentagram City all the way back when I died! Are you— you want me to just go to Zestial and ask him for a book?!”

Charlie, oddly, didn’t seem to realize what a ludicrous idea she had just proposed. “Well… yes,” she said, tilting her head. “Why not? He has so many, and he always told me that books were meant to be read. You aren’t…” She frowned a little. “You aren’t scared, are you, Pen?”

“Of course not!!” Pentious’s declaration came out as something significantly closer to a screech, and he cleared his throat, straightening his jacket before he continued. “Of course I’m not afraid. That would be ludicrous. It is— it’s simply— I’m not afraid,” Pentious repeated, because he didn’t know what it ‘simply’ was.

Charlie smiled at him. “Oh, good, I’m glad! I’ll let him know you’re coming so he’ll be home and expecting you. Oh, but you should eat first!”

She seemed blissfully unaware of anything that had just transpired as she waved, letting herself out of the laboratory. Pentious waved back on something of a reflex, watching her leave, before he glared at the construct in his hand. “This is all your fault.”

•••

How does one speak to the oldest overlord in Hell?

Pentious had, of course, spoken with overlords before. Primarily, he had only interacted with Vox (which he wasn’t eager to repeat again) and Alastor (who he was still definitely going to absolutely demolish one of these days, redemption be damned), but they were… well, they were media personalities, and despite the fact that Pentious had no experience with “celebrities” of their sort, he knew well enough that they were handled far differently than what one normally thought of as a higher social class.

Pentious himself wasn’t unfamiliar with such things; in life, he had lived in London as a doctor, and while it was true that in those days such a profession wasn’t precisely glamorous or even considered generally commendable, he did often interact with the lower rungs of nobility both through his practice and by way of the arguments masquerading as meetings of the Board of Governors for the hospital at which he conducted his residency. This would be simple if he could think of this meeting as nothing more than that: a proposal to the Board of Governors to conduct new research, except that in this case, the Board of Governors was Hell’s oldest overlord and the new research proposal was a request to borrow arcane knowledge.

Yes. It is exactly the same. What could Charlie possibly thinking? Perhaps she’s trying to orchestrate my destruction before I can betray the hotel.

Pentious dismissed the thought before it even had a chance to take root. The Princess of Hell was absolutely riddled with problems, but deceit was not among her myriad flaws and even he couldn’t pretend she would purposefully do something so underhanded. That being said, he wasn’t positive she had the same scope of understanding as… well, as everyone else. After all, the Devil himself was her father, and Pentious had to imagine that would skew one’s perspective a bit. The fact remained that Charlie seemed to hold no true fear for the horrors that surrounded her, and as such, her incessant declarations of ‘everything will be fine’ were incredibly difficult to take to heart.

Then again, if the Christians were right after all, she was the Antichrist. Pentious supposed he would have been more disturbed if she was afraid of the denizens of Hell.

The address Charlie had given him was in a somewhat remote section of Pentagram City, the area rich with ancient power that seemed to lie somewhat dormant in the years since its construction. Pentious followed his instructions to a house, one that he could only call… odd. It was grand, certainly, with an impressive facade of marble and dark slate that stood above the other buildings in the area as any good manor should, nestled in an overgrown garden landscape that sat past a set of old wrought-iron gates that complained noisily as Pentious pushed through them. Like many places in Pentagram City, there were eyes on the very structures of carved stone that dotted the unkempt lawn of the bizarre house, and it was strange simply because it didn’t appear to belong to any one particular time. Architecture was something of a special interest of his, and Pentious saw influences from years after his own time all the way back to antiquity, as though the house itself was as ancient as the city and had simply amassed new pieces and rooms as it grew over time.

It felt… alive, somehow, even more than the Hazbin Hotel did when wandering the hallways late at night.

The doors stood tall and black as pitch as Pentious approached, the knocker a little higher than his own head and the archway at the top of the doors further than he would be able to reach were he to uncoil his body and somehow stand upon the very tip of his tail. Steeling himself and trusting that Charlie had, in fact, contacted the overlord beforehand, Pentious raised one hand, gripped the brass ring, and knocked sharply.

Hardly a second passed after the three knocks and Pentious releasing the knocker; there was a click somewhere deep within the wood, followed by a low and aching creak as the door slowly swung itself open. Pentious hardly expected to see Zestial himself, but assumed he must have staff of a sort, wondering briefly at their attentiveness before he realized there was no one there. It was as though the door had opened itself, the red light of Pride’s sky pouring in through the door to cast its glow on the dark wood flooring that stretched into shadow before him.

Pentious hesitated, wondering if he should knock again in case this was some kind of mistake, but he was certain that click had been the releasing of a lock. He frowned, but slowly crossed the threshold, glancing around for any movement at all. “Hello?” he called to no one, his voice echoing in a room that must have been cavernous (in a lack of furnishing, if not in size) but that was too dark to truly judge. Pentious entered further, willing his eyes to adjust to better allow him to see, when the door creaked behind him and then closed itself.

The entrance hall was thrown into absolute darkness for only a moment. Some distance before him, wall sconces gently began flickering to life, their flames a rich emerald that did little to illuminate and more to simply indicate a path. Pentious knew an invitation when he saw one, at least, and began to follow the sconces as they lit one by one, leading him deeper into the manor.

At some point, he realized he must have passed through a doorway, as the floor beneath him turned from polished wood to a plush rug that slowed him briefly. No further sconces directed him forward, and so he came to a stop, peering around once more. Though his eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, the simple fact of the matter was that there wasn’t any real light to see by, leaving most of his surroundings to be shadow on shadow.

Charlie did mention he enjoys frightening people.

The moment that thought passed his mind, Pentious heard a sound behind him, like the gentle rustle of fabric against itself. Tensing, he slowly turned, looking up to see four narrow eyes and a sharp, smiling mouth, all of them glowing a brilliant green. Pentious felt his heart l jump into his throat immediately, and he moved backwards in a motion that would have been a stumble if he still had his legs and still sent him crashing back onto the rug.

“So,” a deep, resonant voice asked, with little concern for his alarm, “thou art the one of whom Charlotte spoke, is that correct?”

Pentious opened his mouth, his lips working uselessly for a moment before he rediscovered his voice. “Yes,” he said, astounded that his words came out steady. “My name is Sir Pentious. I’m in need of information, and she… tells me you have a collection of books.”

Above him, Zestial chuckled, and Pentious wasn’t sure what the precise source of his amusement was. “Ah, knowledge. Quite a worthy pursuit, indeed. Tell me, Sir Pentious, dost thou know upon whose floor thou currently curl? Passage into these halls, which lieth ‘twixt Pride’s false light and the true tenebrae of the Underworld, is rarely taken through freedom of will.”

Pentious could see why; coming into this place felt like walking into death again, and he couldn’t imagine many people choosing to do that themselves. “I know I’m in your home, Lord Zestial,” he said. “I apologize if my intrusion was somewhat presumptuous, but when your door unlocked for me, I thought that it unlocking was an invitation.”

Zestial’s eyes narrowed in what seemed to be further amusement. “Thy skill in perception seems quite astute,” he said. Pentious couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “It hath been long indeed that my abode housed what one could call… a guest. Such a moment could almost be called auspicious.”

Almost as soon as he completed his sentence, light flared to life around them. Pentious had only a moment to see that Zestial was unaffected by the sudden brightness before he was forced to cringe away, shielding his eyes with one arm as they were assaulted. He didn’t permit himself long, however, before he was forcing his eyes open and blinking away the pain to take in his surroundings.

The light, it seemed, came only from a fireplace on the longest wall that was now crackling merrily with a fire that was as close to ‘normal’ as Hell ever saw. The room seemed to be some sort of private study, a few chairs near the hearth and a desk set to the side with bookshelves built into the walls both across from and either side of the fireplace. Above him, Zestial stood, his face still unblinking and focused in that enigmatic smile. Pentious could see why those who had seen him likened him to a spider, though Pentious would never have compared him to Angel Dust; where his fellow resident was a jumping spider, Zestial was a black widow, black and spindly and undeniably dangerous.

Pentious righted himself, straightening his jacket and tamping down any feelings of lingering embarrassment. After all, he knew there were sinners who would rather set themselves on fire than stand in Zestial’s presence, and for that, he thought he was doing quite well in only falling over. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Zestial,” he said. “What do you ask in return?”

“In return?” Zestial echoed curiously, tilting his head at a dramatic angle; Pentious knew nothing about him, but even so, he thought the overlord seemed absolutely delighted by every moment of this encounter thus far. “Thou doubtless refer to the use of my library?”

“Naturally,” Pentious said. “I had no intention of taking advantage of your hospitality while providing no recompense.”

“Such courtesy. A rarity indeed within this pit of despair,” Zestial observed, leaning down a little and putting himself more at eye level with Pentious. He felt like the overlord was studying him, much the way he himself used to study creatures kept beneath glass domes. “Tis long since fate hath granted me any opportunity to expand my knowledge of what became of life beyond my own years. If thou wishest an offer of reciprocity, perhaps thou wouldst willingly part with the tale of thy demise?”

Pentious’s eyebrows shot up. “You… want to hear how I died?”

“Tis a natural curiosity, is it not?” Zestial asked, as though people discussed their deaths every day. The truth of the matter was, however, that very few people (if any) ever discussed the gruesome details of their own passing, to the point that many in Pentagram City considered the question quite the social taboo. And no one—not even anyone in the hotel—had ever asked Pentious about his death… nor, in fact, about his life. Unaware of Pentious’s thoughts, Zestial continued, “Death and its many strange and malleable forms hath greatly enchanted my mind since time so long past, memory no longer serves to recollect it. If it pleases thee, I wouldst grant thee leave to peruse any text thou desire, simply to hear the beauty of thy passing as perceived by thine own eyes.”

Pentious couldn’t help smiling at that, a small laugh escaping him; this was too ridiculous to be real. “I have no reservations, but I would imagine you would have heard many more interesting tales of death than what I could offer you.”

Zestial chuckled in response. “Tis of little matter. In truth, many show great reluctance to engage with me in any sort of friendly conversation; few such stories have been presented to me, even in so long a time.”

“…alright, then,” Pentious said.

“Splendid.” Zestial gestured to his bookshelves. “My library is at thy disposal.” As Pentious went to the shelves and began examining the spines, Zestial continued, “How long hath Hell’s hand gripped thy soul?”

“Almost one hundred and forty years now,” Pentious said, removing a promising looking book from a shelf and flipping to the index. “I was born in London, and in London, I died. I suppose I should ask… do you know of London?”

“Twas no such place in my admittedly short years amongst the living,” Zestial said. “But the name does bear familiarity to me. What sort of town was London, when thou didst walk beneath warm and open skies?”

“Terrible,” Pentious said without hesitation. “It was overcrowded, filthy, full of disease… the bubonic plague had reached England by then, though fortunately, it was not what killed me.” This book is not helpful, he thought, putting it back and searching for another.

“Ah, yes, that malady is quite well known to me,” Zestial said, with a note in his voice almost like fondness. “Thou didst not fall prey to it?”

“No,” Pentious said. “I have always had a great interest in engineering, but I was a physician by trade, and as such, I knew quite well how to avoid the disease… at least, as well as the science of the time permitted. Unfortunately, I met my end at the hands of Scotland Yard. The law enforcement,” he added, by way of explanation. He could see Zestial nod out of the corner of his eye. “But had they not killed me, I have little doubt the mercury poisoning would have.”

Pentious had always been something of an expert at multi-tasking (as much as a human mind was capable, in any case), and answering questions was one of his favorite pastimes, which meant the overlord’s surprisingly inquisitive nature did nothing to detract from his search for information. Each answer Pentious gave seemed to give rise to three more questions in Zestial’s mind, and Pentious found himself explaining everything from the effects of mercury poisoning to the problematic condition of the Thames to what, precisely, it was that he did as a physician as he looked through each book that caught his eye.

When he finally located what he was searching for, Zestial graciously allowed him to take the book with him, simply requesting he return it in person. Pentious thanked him, and as he left, the fact that he had apparently been in that house long enough that the sun had set entirely surprised him.

It wasn’t until he returned to the hotel that he registered that Zestial had never once asked him what, exactly, it was he wanted the book for.

•••

“Our kinship hath grown immeasurably in the time since our first meeting, wouldst thou not agree?”

“I would.” Carmilla wasn’t looking at Zestial, her eyes on the long metal table in her private workshop as she pieced together what seemed to be some sort of new firearm, likely a prototype for Carmine Industries to begin distributing before the coming extermination. “Why do you ask?”

“I seek insight, preferably that of an objective mind, and experience speaks true that thy perception hath long been unencumbered by… sentimentality,” Zestial said, standing near the large windows looking out over Pentagram City. He wasn’t truly looking at the landscape, however, his gaze instead watching the form of his old friend as she continued her work with a passive expression.

“Why are you fishing?” Carmilla asked.

Zestial almost frowned, turning his head just slightly. “What is thy meaning?”

“You’re trying to gauge my mood,” Carmilla said, lifting the firearm and raising it to check the sights before lowering it to the table again and picking up another delicate tool. “This kind of indirectness isn’t like you, Zestial. I expect it from Alastor or Vox, but you are usually much more forthright.”

Zestial didn’t answer her for a long moment, and she didn’t press. “I am… uncertain as to how I might phrase my query,” he admitted.

“Did something happen?”

“Recently, I hath found myself with… a regular visitation.”

That, at least, made Carmilla turn just slightly on her stool. “None of the other overlords, I take it?” Zestial shook his head. “…Zestial, are you trying to tell me that you made a friend?”

“Would that I were so confident in such a term.” Zestial moved away from the window, slowly gliding to the other side of the workshop. “Doth the name Sir Pentious bear any significance for thee?”

“I’ve heard of him,” Carmilla said, her tone guarded in a way that suggested either wariness or a simple desire to keep her thoughts from being known. “A sinner with aspirations towards becoming an overlord but without the drive to possess the souls needed to achieve such a position. He used to engage with turf wars with Alastor not infrequently, as well as Vox and Valentino before VoxTek was founded. Not, of course, that the three of them will acknowledge his existence. …why?”

“I confess that I have found his company quite fascinating, as of late.”

Carmilla’s voice became colored by the frown that he could not see but was positive she wore. “Are you telling me that Sir Pentious has been… what, coming to your home? Whatever for?”

“At the start, ‘twas for nothing but access to my library, on recommendation of the Princess Charlotte. He proved receptive to intellectual curiosity, however, and I confess that I may have somewhat interrogated the boy before releasing him back into the dark night. He returned with a book I lent him, and at my behest, he remained for several hours before once again taking leave. Tis many times we have conversed, these past three fortnights, and I find I have been somewhat preoccupied with thoughts of our conversations.”

Carmilla was staring at him with an unreadable expression, and for the death of him, Zestial could not begin to imagine what she was thinking. Finally, after a false start, she said, “Are you telling me that—… no,” she murmured, clearly to herself, before continuing, “What, exactly, is it that you’re wanting an objective assessment of?”

“It hath been long indeed since fate hath granted me the gift of a new… conversational partner,” Zestial said; the words did not feel adequate, but he could come up with nothing more fitting. “But by my troth, never hath any such encounter brought me such vexation whilst always carrying with it an air of such delight I cannot begrudge him the arguments.”

Carmilla fully turned to face him. “…he frustrates you, and he argues with you, and he’s still living?”

“Indeed. Of course, Sir Pentious seems able to quarrel with a stone over the matter of its own weight; I have little doubt what hesitation he possessed in challenging me vanished the moment he perceived an error.”

For several moments, Carmilla said nothing, and Zestial was hardly surprised. Even figures like Alastor minded their tongue in his presence, at least as far as those like Alastor were able; back in the days when the King of Hell was more active, Lucifer himself had seemed hesitant to risk Zestial’s anger. And while Sir Pentious had indeed been quite terrified at first, intellectual curiosity had melted that fear and it seemed to have never resolidified.

When Carmilla seemed to remember where she had left her speech, she said, “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were infatuated with him.”

“Infatuated?” Zestial echoed; the word tasted foreign on his tongue, but not unwelcome. “What a strange thought. Memory fails in pursuit of the last time I could ever describe an interest so. …interesting.”

Carmilla frowned at him. “Interesting?” she repeated, the word far more flat in her mouth than in his own.

Zestial chuckled at her doubt. “Sinners we may be, but sinners are human souls, are we not? And the human soul craves connection. …I think I shall invite him to return for tea. Thou hast my gratitude, my friend.”

“Zestial, hold on…!” Carmilla was getting to her feet, but Zestial wasn’t listening, melting down into the shadows of the floor and vanishing into the night, intent on returning to his home to pen the perfect invitation.

•••

Carmilla stared at the place on the floor where Zestial had just been standing, her mind simultaneously feeling as though it were spinning wildly and frozen still.

Zestial… has a crush on someone?

It was unthinkable. …almost, in any case. It was true that he never sneered at the idea of romance, and always listened almost indulgently as Rosie would lay out every messy detail of the romantic follies of Cannibal Town before meetings. He was the first who… identified… the precise nature of Vox’s relationship with Valentino, as well as the first who posited the idea that perhaps Alastor simply held no interest in the entire affair. And when Lilith and Lucifer finally parted ways, he was so unsurprised, he had to have been expecting it.

…come to think of it, he seemed to speculate on the love lives of other sinners quite a lot.

Carmilla turned back to her table, staring at the half-completed gun that expectantly gleamed in the light, waiting for her to finish it.

And she would. But first, she really needed a drink.

•••

#my writing #hazbin hotel #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin pentious #hazbin zestial #rarepair #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #this ship doesn’t even have a name I don’t think

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yanderes-galore · 8 months

Note

Would you mind doing a short based on the Pac and Kaiser fix, please? Maybe it's after finding out about Kaiser's intention to take Y/N away. From your prompts, 35 (and maybe 25, if you think Pac would end up dying?) for Kaiser, then 14 and 18 for Pav. Thank you!

Sure, did what I could! I've never done a prompt fic with two different characters so it's sort of split in half. Darling is Female as the original concept was also Female. Not proofread fully, may have spelling errors.

Original Concept

Yandere Pavel vs Kaiser Prompts

(Kaiser: 35 + 25/Pav: 14 + 18)

"Don't push me away, dear... I only want to be closer to you!"

"They may be long gone now... but I'm happy they let us meet."

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

"Kiss me! Kiss me like your life depends on it!"

Pairing: Platonic (Kaiser)/Romantic (Pavel)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Dubious kissing, Violence, Murder, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Threats, Blood, Stalking, Both parties suck obviously, Forced companionship.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!" Pavel growls, walking at a brisk pace with your hand in his. "Especially with that... "man" hunting you."

"Pav, please, I never knew him in my life-" You plead, wishing the man in front of you would provide some mercy on your wrist.

"And yet he wants you." Pavel spits. "He's dead once I see him again...."

"You're going to get yourself hurt again...." You try to reason, but Pavel shuts you up with a quick squeeze.

"I could care less." Pavel admits, eyes going dark as pulls you behind a building in private. "I'm not letting someone like him touch you."

"Then... maybe it's best we part ways?" You ask. Pavel pauses at your words. You see his eyes go wide before glaring. You then feels your back shoved against the decaying bricks. It's not enough to hurt you too much.

You feel eyes in the distance stare when you hit the wall.

"Do you even know why I do this?" Pavel leans into you to whisper into your ear. "I protect you because you've managed to make me fall for you with your charms, girl. Do you really think I'm going to just let you ditch?"

"Pav, relax... this isn't you-" You ask, realizing the festival is getting to him. "It was just a suggestion."

With a huff, Pavel calms down a little but still seems on edge. Then... a mischievous thought comes across his mind.

"I'll stop because I care for you... if you give me a kiss." Pavel grins. "Just a little taste in exchange for my continued protection... a deal?"

You hesitate for a moment... making Pavel scoff slightly. You feel like you're being watched. This... isn't safe.

"Come on...kiss me! Kiss me like your life depends on it!"

Pavel snaps in an impatient tone, throwing you out of your thoughts. Did he sense something too?

Was he... trying to rush this for a reason or trying to prove a point?

You do care for Pavel. He's helped you through the festival. Plus, maybe it's the festival getting to you too... but you suddenly feel passionate despite your fear.

"Fine, let's make it quick, okay?"

The kiss itself starts a bit rough but settles into something calmer. You can tell Pavel is taking his time, remembering your taste. Although... you feel fear bubble in you again.

You sense a presence...

This is wrong... something's wrong-

"Wait, Pav-"

Blood splashes against your clothes. You pause, your lips are cold now. In a blinding speed, Pavel is on the ground. A sword is slashed through his still healing chest... you freeze.

A yellow hooded figure glares down at the corpse in a grimace. You can tell the "man"... a god... looks disgusted at what he's seen. The Kaiser makes his appearance in a bloodbath that makes you ill.

"He should've been dead long ago." Kaiser hisses. "Way before he had a chance to defile you... but you saved him. I was a fool to trust your judgment."

"You're the Kaiser Pav's been talking about...." You whimper. Said Kaiser grimaced again at the nickname.

"Don't say the name of that foul man again." Kaiser warns. "He was a parasite latching to you... he is unworthy of a being like you."

"What are you even talking about... don't come closer-" You plead, tears in your eyes as you shuffle away from the corpse of your companion/partner. Kaiser frowns in response.

"We've never gotten acquainted my poor daughter. I am your father... a godly being just like you. It's a shame we were denied the ability to meet..." The Kaiser sighs, stepping closer. "But we can fix this. We're meeting now, after all. Fate brought you here... I can sense it."

"I've never met my father... but you aren't him!" You hiss.

"That rebellious soldier has tainted your mind... you poor soul..." Kaiser laments, having two soldiers come to block your means of escape. "I can fix that too... you will be fixed."

The Kaiser reaches out to you with the intention of... you don't dare find out. You slap his hand away, gaze drifting back to Pavel. You could end up like him.

Kaiser follows your gaze back to Pavel's corpse. He scoffs before turning back to you. He wishes you stopped looking so mournful over a man such as... that.

"They may be long gone now... but I'm happy they let us meet." Kaiser sighs before gesturing to the soldiers behind you. "Don't push me away, dear... I only want to be closer to you!"

You try to fight when the soldiers nudge you closer to the Kaiser. When you're close enough the Kaiser scoops you into his embrace. It feels... eerily warm.

You feel... comforted.

"See? Doesn't this feel right? You're right where you belong... with your father." The Kaiser praises, shoving you closer to his chest. "That soldier was only good for bringing you to me... It was fine until he tried to dirty you even more."

The Kaiser releases a frustrated sigh before smiling down at you.

"But that's all in the past now..."

You continue to stare at the blood as the Kaiser sways softly with you in his arms.

"You're here with your father now... we have much to catch up on, don't we?"

#yandere fear and hunger #yandere fear and hunger 2 termina #yandere f&h #yandere funger #yandere kaiser #yandere pav #yandere pavel

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companion-of-the-night · 2 months

Text

❝You Don't Have to Carry All of This Alone, Babe.❞

Pairing: Wrench x Female!Reader

Warnings: Wrench comforting the reader who is stressed, lots of kissing and a makeout session which, some suggestive computer innuendos, overall fluff.

﹂Author's Note: This is my first time writing for Wrench, so there will probably be a few out of character moments and I may have missed a few things about him, and I feel I could've added a few of the emotes from his mask, but I am happy with how this came out, considering it took 3 hours with no plan. But I hope my readers enjoy it!

Please comment any warnings if I did not state.

...

To say that she was angry would be an understatement. She was thoroughly pissed off. Brows furrowed forward, inwards towards her nose while her fingers worked quickly across the keyboard of her computer, lines of code opened to her, but not allowing her to go forwards into hacking what she was attempting to break into through the security of the firewall.

She had been asked by Marcus to attempt to hack into the system of a local hacking group that had somehow gotten way too close to DedSec, not into it, luckily. However, the crease in her forehead was displaying how her anger was like a full cup, only needing one more drop to over flow and cause a spill, which was where she was, seated by her work station and brewing dangerously close to the edge each time she inputted a piece of code only for it to reject it and display the red lined words that told her that it wasn’t working.

“Keep it together, (Y/N).” She whispered to herself, rubbing her hands over her face and cupping her hands over her nose and mouth as her tired eyes attempted to scan the many lines of code, looking for any mistakes or errors she could have imputed to result in the code not working, “We can do this, we’re the amazing (Y/N) that’s going to kick the ass of another hacker.”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t happening.

“You fucking piece of tech trash!” She yelled as she aggressively stood up and leaned on the desk with both of her hands, staring a hole into the computer that she was so ready to throw against the wall. Her yelling attracted the concerned faces of the others that were at the headquarters, while, at least the ones that were closest to her, “You know, there’s fucking computers in junk yards and here I am, stuck with you!”

Frustrated with herself and her code, she started pacing around the small area, attempting to stretch her fingers while also tugging them through her hair, mumbling to herself, mumbles that were inaudible to the others that sat by the couch, funny enough, Wrench and Marcus were nowhere to be seen, the both of them had opted to go pick up some drinks for the headquarters.

Things around headquarters had been making everything and everyone highly tensed ever since they found evidence of someone trying to hack into their system, how they got in, no one knew, but it was causing some of the members to reveal their more aggressive sides, so attempting to calm everyone down and simply enjoy the evening without fights, Wrench and Marcus went out to get some more energisers for everyone.

“(Y/N), maybe you should just calm down a little. Take a break, you’ve been looking at words and numbers since the time you woke up.” Sitara said over the couch that she had been occupying, "Which I believe was around four o'clock this morning."

“Take a break? For every minute—no second—that I take a fucking break, there’s some asshole behind a screen getting closer and closer to taking information that isn’t theirs and exposing us, as if being a heap of trash wasn't enough.” (Y/N) explains, her voice laced in irritation and exasperation, her index fingers pointing back to herself as she spoke, her eyes were starting to burn, tears hidden behind the mask she was trying to hold up, her breathing uneven and her figure shaking slightly.

Sitara and Josh could see that it had been taking a toll on her, and the one thing she was trying to hide was the fact that she thought it was running on her back, like a heavy burden. Sitara got up from her spot and walked close to the girl who was on the verge of a rage attack, she had even placed her jacket on halfway, the other half simply not on her arm and hanging off her back, a tattoo of Wrench's mask paining her shoulder blade, Sitara placed her hand on (Y/N)’s clothed shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure her.

“Just breathe. We’ll figure this out. Once the other two boys come back, we can all take a break, cool off, and then restart.” She told her, though her words were doing nothing to console her, and (Y/N)'s state only continued to get worse when the tears started pooling by her eyes, shrugging Sitara’s hand off of her shoulder as she retreated back to her workstation, her gaze fixed to the screen, her frown still imprinted on her face and her jacket swaying with her steps.

The clanking of glass bottles reached their ears when the door was opened to the awaiting two entering.

“We come bearing gifts.” Marcus said as he and Wrench placed the two bags on the table, Marcus was quick to get everything out of the bag while (Y/N) still had not acknowledged their presence, her gaze still fixed to the screen harbouring the cause of her frustration. Her jacket still hanging off of her shoulder, allowing the tattoo on the back of her shoulder to be out in the open, her fingers still twitching against the table, creating a ticking-like sound, something her mask-wearing boyfriend caught sign of.

Before he could move towards her, Sitara had caught his arm, “Listen, I don’t care what you do, but get her to take a break now before these headquarters get burnt down. Literally.” She told him, watching the emotes change on his mask from the default ‘X’s’ to the winking emotes ‘~ ^’.

“Don’t worry, I'll make sure she gets some energy into her system.” He told Sitara, giggling as he stepped close to his lover, wrapping his arms softly around her middle section and looking over her shoulder to see the computer screen filled with code, “What has you so worked up, my little pumpkin?” He cooed in her ear.

(Y/N) huffed an irritable sigh as she leaned back into Wrench’s embrace, placing her hands on top of his, ignoring the chatter going on in the background between the others. But before she would say anything, she had turned around quickly, grabbing Wrench by the front of his shirt and pulling him along to one of the rooms she had been occupying.

“I’m bloody frustrated and fucking horny, and you are going to fix it!” She told him as she dragged him to her room, Wrench holding his hands up in a surrender motion, yet his mask showed ‘^ ^’ emotes, as he happily let her drag him by the front of his shirt, because who was he to complain to a good time.

The rest of the group simply stared in confusion at the exchange that just took place.

“O-kay? I’m going to guess that she’s still worked up on the hacker problem?” Marcus asked as he had emptied the last bag watching Sitara sigh and Josh lean back in his chair, meanwhile Ray had been completely oblivious to the whole episode that had taken place.

“She does know that not everything is riding on her, right?” Josh asked as Sitara nodded to Marcus’s question.

“She’s been like that even before joining DedSec, taking on other peoples problems when she knows that help is available.” Sitara spoke, she had been friends with her since they were younger, so understanding her mannerisms was never a problem for her.

Meanwhile behind the closed door, lips were clashing in a fiery lock of passion. (Y/N) had situated herself on Wrench’s lap, her legs straddling him while her hands still grasped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she was trying to mesh their bodies together, Wrench’s mask had been placed on the nightstand next to the bed that the two were seated on. His hands holding her hips down, gently brushing against the stiff boner in his jeans, their moans filling the room with each kiss becoming more passionate.

Although, the elephant in the room had still been on his mind, so he gently lifted his hand to gently grasp her wrist that had been leaving crinkles in his shirt from her tight grip, gently pulling her hand off, making her stop the lip lock and gaze into his blue eyes, the same eyes that had enchanted and hypnotized her the first time she met him, the same blue eyes that she found herself drowning in each time they were cuddling without his mask on, the same eyes she fell in love with the first time he had taken his mask off in front of her.

“Babe, as much as I would love for you to link in on my zip drive, I think there’s something bothering you.” He told her, watching as her expression fell and she relaxed a little bit, one hand still clutching his shirt.

“I’m fine, Wrench.” She told him, lying through her teeth and knowing that he could see through her like an open book.

“Babe,” He called, the sweet pet name still making her melt as the first day he called her it, “I think you’re trying to tell yourself that rather than me.” His expression was soft, he’d wait until she felt comfortable to tell him, and he could see how her eyes were slowly turning glassy, she tried blinking away the tears that were threatening to overflow from her eyes before her hands were reaching up to angrily wipe them away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Wrench.” She told him, the tears breaking like a dam with a cracked wall, “That fucking code, it keeps on telling me that there’s an error and I don’t know why, when I checked, the code I inputted was clean and organised, and the stupid thing-” A sob escaped her mouth halfway through her explanation, making Wrench wrap his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his chest. He knew that this problem was causing a toll on her, he could see it by the dark bags under her eyes and how tired she had been at the end of every episode where she got upset about it.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself, you know that, right?” He asked her as her cries died down a bit, “Everyone is working on stopping this, you don’t have to carry this alone.” He told her, pulling away to look at her face, eyes bloodshot and horrible attempts of her trying to hide her snot-filled nose.

Wrench gently placed both of his hands on the sides of her face, pulling her to look at him, he smiled softly, placing a small kiss on her forehead. He knew how she had tried to carry the world on her shoulders and ever since she had joined DedSec, he noticed her determination to keep the ones around her safe, he had witnessed it first hand when she had gone with him and Sitara to the store to get something and when some asshole pulled up with a knife, she had been quick to make herself the centre of attention before knuckle punching the bastard until his face was a bloody mess. For her, she had only escaped with a punch to the face, which he tried to help her clean up back at headquarters but ended up getting help from Ray regardless.

Even the time when she had confessed that she had feelings for him, he remembers being a mess that night. He had been working, well more like using a sledgehammer, to retrieve a chip out from the toaster and she had walked up to him, starting a light conversation with him as he told her about his technology and other tech terms, which she found amusement in. She stood close to him but still gave him his personal space, but she had been lost in her head and when he had cussed out about how the sledgehammer wouldn't help, she had admitted that she would work if he smashed her with a sledgehammer. Upon realizing her mistake, she had covered her face with her hands, hiding the deep blush that had appeared there.

But he had to be an oblivious romantic because he simply replied with, “I’m sure that would be painful.”

However, when he relayed the conversation to Marcus, he had to hold his tongue not to laugh at his masked friend. Only when Marcus had explained that she had been keeping feelings for him, did Wrench finally realize her actions, why she had always stood close to him, why she smiled at each of his tech sex jokes, and why she looked at him with a certain fondness.

And he will forever remember how she reacted the first time he showed his face to her, she didn’t grimace at the red birthmark by his eye, or scowl or berate him. He had been nervous to show her but he wanted her to know that he trusted her, however when he had reached to grab his mask, she was quick to grab it before him, placing it behind her on the small table.

That night she expressed to him how handsome he was, that the birthmark didn’t define him or make her see him any differently. Even as he cried in her arms that night from how they made love to each other, how afterwards she had placed soft kisses against all the parts of his face and down his chest and back up to under his chin by his throat. That night changed a lot of things for him, that night had allowed them both to see each other deeply and bath in the love that so strongly connected the both of them.

“I can’t let them break into our system, Wrench.” (Y/N) admitted to him, breaking him out of his memory moment. Holding her tighter to him as she placed her head into the crook of his neck.

“That won��t happen. You’ve got me, Marcus, Sitara and the other’s also working on the problem, they're not going to get one inch into our tight security.” He tells her reassuringly, “But the one thing you have to keep in mind is that you can’t do a five-person job by yourself.”

(Y/N) sighs into his neck, her warm breath sending a tickling sensation down his spine.

“Still, I feel so useless.” She says to him, it’s obvious that the problem is still weighing her down, causing a malfunction in her mind, so Wrench being Wrench decides that there is only one thing that he could do to cheer her up.

“Hey, why don’t I show you something cool?” He asks her, his hands on her waist allowing him to pull away to let her face see him again, “I know something that might cheer you up.” He tells her as he begins to get up, pulling her with him and grabbing his mask, placing it back on his face and clipping it. He gently takes her hand and leads her out of her room, passing the others on the way out and leading her to his station, where he usually smashes stuff.

She stands awkwardly next to his table, wiping the remnants of the remaining tears on her face as she watches Wrench bring some tech parts and dump them onto the table in a pile.

“Uh… Wrench, what are we doing?” She asks, curious to know what his plan was but also appreciating that he was trying to cheer her up.

Wrench picked up the sledgehammer that was placed near his workstation and walked to her, getting on his knees and presenting her with the hammer which she found odd but knew that this was his goofy side coming out.

“Your weapon, my lady.” He said, changing his voice in a poor attempt of sounding, like a loyal knight giving his princess his sword, which had a small laugh come from her.

“But isn’t that your baby?” She asked him as she tried holding it up, expecting it to be heavy, which prompted the hammer to fall to the ground while she kept her hands by the hilt. Wrench got up from the floor and led her in front of the pile of unused tech pieces. She held the hammer hilt in front of her, but the bottom part of the hammer would prove a challenge.

“Not this little thing. Wrench Junior is our baby, and right now, his momma needs to release some tension, and a good smash usually helps with that.” Wrench explained, his innuendos making her giggle but also making her swoon at the fact that he said 'our' when addressing Wrench Junior, although this did make some of the other members groan at the way he phrased it.

“I don’t think I can even pick this up, Wrench.” (Y/N) tells him as she attempts to but only gets halfway with picking it up before it hits the ground, allowing Wrench to wrap his hands around hers around the hammer hilt.

“Here. Let me show you.” He tells her as he helps her to bring the hammer up until it’s behind their shoulders, close to Wrench’s head until it slightly rests on his shoulder. “Okay, don’t think, babe. Just bring it down, alright?” He tells her, she nods to show that she has heard him, his hand’s warmth leaves hers as he attempts to support the hammer near his shoulder. And with a long, hard swing, the hammer hits down hard on the tech pieces, making a loud bang reverberate from it, pieces smashed into smaller pieces, bringing out a smile to her face.

“That… Was so fucking good!” She sighed out, although a small moan slipped in there too.

“Can I do that again?” She asked her boyfriend, smiling at him, although she was ready to have a relieved laugh. Wrench nodded to her, the emotes on his mask forming ‘<3 <3’ from the love-struck expression he had on his face.

He helped her bring the hammer up again, standing behind her, but this time once he released her hands, he placed his onto her hips, rubbing small circular motions, allowing his eyes to gaze upon the tattoo of his mask on her shoulder that didn't have the jacket draped over it.

Oh, how he loved the tattoo when she pulled him aside because she had something to show him. When she revealed it to him, he was sure that his cables short-circuited and he just went into freeze mode, because she had to call his name a few times before he acknowledged her, what she didn't expect was how hard the tattoo would influence him, every chance he got after that he would be tugging down her jacket or shirt to catch a glimpse of it. Wrench swears that it was the hottest make-out session he ever had, and he wouldn't regret it for anything.

The hammer came down again, smashing more pieces into smaller ones, and again and again. After the fifth time of her doing it, (Y/N) found herself feeling a lot better and huffing a held in breath.

Wrench’s emotes stayed on his mask, “That was insanely hot, babe.” He voiced as he sat in the nearby chair, “We should do it more often.”

“And maybe one day it will be me instead of the hammer?” (Y/N) asked, sending him a wink and a roll of her butt, placing the hammer down onto the table. The smashed tech pieces could be cleaned another day.

As she turned around, she felt his lips on hers, his hands gripping her forearms as he formed a lip lock with her once again, his tongue exploring her mouth from her gasp of surprise when she had turned around and he was in front of her, she didn’t notice how his mask was held in his hand, but his hood at least blinded the others from seeing him as he gently pushed her down onto his table until her back met the hard material.

“Okay, okay, love birds. Do that in your own bedroom.” Ray shouted as they had turned their heads and to at least pretend like they didn't see them.

(Y/N) was able to break the kiss, staring into his blue eyes before he placed the mask back on. “You heard him, Wrench. Let's continue this in a more private setting.” She giggled as she grabbed his arm and pulled him around again, the same way she had done previously.

Once they were back in the room, (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hug him hard. Repeating the words ‘thank you’ over and over. Wrench placed his hands around her, his chin resting on her head as his hands drew small circles on her back, the two stayed in that embrace for a short while before breaking apart, Wrench taking his mask off and placing it onto the night stand, cupping her cheeks and pressing kisses to her lips.

"I... Fucking... Love... You.” He told her through kisses, his hands moving down her sides and latching onto her hips, “Fuck! You don’t realize how hot that was.” He told her as his head moved to her neck, placing kisses up near her jugular before sucking on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, bringing a small moan out of her.

Pulling his head away, he picked her up under her thighs, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck, not for fear of falling but because she knew that he loved it when she clung to him in moments like this. He walked with her in that position until he reached the bed and gently placed her down, hovering above her while her hands still stayed behind his neck, her hands playing with the shaved blonde hairs behind his neck, she smiled as she looked at his dopey expression, pulling his head down until his lips touched hers, his elbows situated on either side of her head.

“So, I’m guessing your soft drive is now a hard drive?” She asked, attempting to make it sound sexual but realizing how cringy it sounded after she had said it, but it brought a laugh out of her blond boyfriend.

“So hard, babe.” He replied, his breathing getting short and laboured.

“Then, let this be a thank you present, from me to you.” (Y/N) told him as her hand drifted lower, touching his stomach from under his shirt and loving how his muscles flexed when her hands touched him.

“Only you know how to get me like this.” He told her as her hand continued on its path, “So, let me show you how much you mean to me.” He said as he leaned up to remove his jacket and shirt, “Now I’m going to show you what my sledgehammer can do.”

That night had ended with the other DedSec members going out to a nearby restaurant as soon as the door closed to avoid the intimate moment of the two dorks that they associated themselves with, but for said two dorks, that night ended in passionate love making and a proper display of what a sledgehammer could be used for.

...

©ASHER RITSUKO/Companion-of-The-Night ─── I do not give permission to having my works plagiarised, copied, modified or translated onto any other platforms, including Tumblr. On Tumblr, my works are allowed to be reblogged, along with credit back to me. My works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

#wrench x reader #watch dogs 2 x reader #wrench wd2 #reginald blechman #reginald x reader #reggie x reader #wrench x you #watch dogs 2 #watch dogs legion

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