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yukannaa · 3 years

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I’m OBSESSED with this story. God, I love it. (And I won’t even start with William on this chapter...🥵😳)

Shrine Of Your Lies 5

Forest God!William x Female Reader

Shrine Of Your Lies Masterlist

Warnings: Smut (18+), masturbation, being watched, mentions of physical abuse.

See my Pinterest board for picture credits and aesthetic inspirations!

You're gripping him tightly as he spins you in the water. You giggle into his shoulder, your legs being pulled outward by centripetal force as his spinning speeds up. He's laughing along with you, his torso is cool in the water, under the warm sun. Your naked breasts pressed flush to his chest and you're sure he can feel the hardened peaks of your nipples. If you look down, you're sure to see his straining erection, but it's not important right now. What's important is that he stops and you groan as your head spins and he laughs some more as you clutch him tightly, holding on for dear life. And with the dizziness comes the feeling, that you're not you, and he's not him. You're both just a single heartbeat in that moment.

It's what wakes you first- his heartbeat. He's on his side, facing you, and you're on your back. You're not exactly touching, except for the spot where your ear is pressed to his chest and you have a god's heart beating with yours. And it is in fact, beating with yours, you even press two fingers to the pulse on your wrist to be sure. The intimacy of the moment increases, when he shifts his hand, moving it over your body, to hold on to you. He makes a small hum, as if he's saying something. You can feel the heat of his palm through your shirt, and you try not to gasp as you realise his motions are just pulling your shirt higher up your body. His arm stops when it's just under your breasts, and he murmurs something again and you can't help but speak at the unintelligible grumbles.

"What are you saying?" You whisper sleepily, turning your head to kiss the centre of his chest, covered with coarse hair and dotted with moles.

"What's in a name?" He grumbles so deeply that you can barely catch the words.

"Is that Shakespeare?" You ask, not entirely sure he's awake.

You hear him take a deep breath, and then you listen as his heart begins to beat faster in his chest.

Awake.

"Mo chroí." he murmurs.

You raise your head to look up at him, he blinks down at you slowly, you can tell that he's barely awake.

"What does that mean?" You ask.

The question pulls him into full consciousness and he blinks several times, groaning and pulling away from you. He flops onto his back and you watch every muscle on his chest and abdomen ripple as he throws his arms above his head and stretches.

Jesus fucking christ, your brain hisses.

Sometimes it was so easy to accept that he was way too beautiful to be mortal. Other times, he could crack jokes like the best of them. This, this was somewhere in the middle.

He sits up, and the rays of the morning sun catch on some parts of his bare skin, painting him with a pattern of fractured sunlight. His hair sticks up in every direction as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. He looks like he should be put on display at a museum- or equally at place in someone's home.

The privilege you have to observe him is not lost on you. How could you tell him? That you could stand for ages and stare at him even if he never moved.

He's out of bed now, his back to you, tugging on a clean pair of lounge pants, before turning toward you. You sit up, and you think about pulling his body to yours and kissing him till you can't breathe. You smile at him instead, and before you can say anything, he's on you, tilting your head up to kiss your forehead and the corner of your lips. You reach for him as well, kneeling on his bed, pulling him down to kiss the two spots that you did yesterday, the freckle above his eyebrow and the other below his eye, before you move to kiss the tip of his nose.

"Good morning." He says with an easy smile.

"Morning." You respond. You haven't stopped smiling since you woke up and your eyes trace down to his lips, thinking about kissing him again.

His hand takes hold of your bandaged one, and you watch as he begins to unwrap it.

"Breakfast?" He asks, interrupting any further thoughts you have about pulling him back into bed and worshipping his body as it deserves to be.

When the bandage finally falls free, there's only a small pink scar in the place of the wound. His hand traces over the scar and your fingers twitch slightly at the sensitivity.

"Yes please." You whisper. He places one more kiss to your hand before he's pulling away from you, out the door in the next moment. His wide shoulders and slim waist taunting you as he leaves. You take a breath, flopping back onto the bed, with your hands over your hot face.

You gather your thoughts and slip off the bed to the bathroom, where you give your dress a quick wash before hanging outside in the sun to dry.

William sets a beautiful table that has your mouth watering, and this time, it's not for the beautiful being flipping pancakes in his kitchen. There's a spread of bread and various jams, fruits of all kinds and a plate of freshly cooked scrambled eggs. A small leafy centrepiece sits in the middle of the table with black candles sprouting from it. It's absolutely beautiful and you stand smiling at the table for quite a while, imagining him setting such a carefully thought out arrangement.

He's beside you now, placing another plate filled with pancakes on the table and you look up at him and he smiles at you. The urge to to stay with him and never leave fills you.

His cooking is amazing, as always, and you love every moment of it.

"You are, such an amazing cook."

He accepts your compliment, and raises his hand to swipe at the corner of your mouth, where a drop of pomegranate jam sits. He sucks his thumb into his mouth and your eyes follow the motion. When you're mostly done with breakfast, he finally engages you in conversation.

"Why were you dressed so beautifully last night?" You finally hear him ask.

His tone is casual, but anxiety blooms in your stomach. You don't know why, and you can't reason it out in your head in such a short time.

"I had a... date."

"Oh? Who with?"

You take a final bite of the eggs.

"Peter, our neighbour. He saw me go into the forest and asked me out in exchange for keeping my secret."

William looks unamused, cocking an eyebrow and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is what his jealousy looks like.

"I'm assuming you didn't enjoy this date? Considering that I found you inebriated at the edge of my forest?"

"It was alright," You say, humming in protest "Couldn't compare."

"Couldn't compare to what?"

Shit.

Should you tell him? That nothing could really compare to him? To the things he'd shown you?

"Well, to some other experiences I've had. It was fine, but... well... I've just had better." You say, smiling at him.

"Really? What kind of better things have you had?"

You gulp.

He was definitely playing with his food- His food being you. You're not sure if he'd let this slide without hearing the truth.

"Well, you." You finally admit. You look right into his eyes, making sure he knows how genuine you are. "What could possibly compare to the things you've shown me?"

He leans forward, cupping your face. The tips of his fingers sink into your hair and he leans toward you. You close your eyes as his forehead presses against yours.

"So you like me then." A statement, not a question.

"Yes." You murmur, tilting your head upward so that your noses brush, so close to his mouth, you can feel his warm breath on your lips.

"Then why did you kiss him?"

Your eyes open, you pull away so that you can look at him properly. He stares at you patiently as your brain processes his words.

"I- you- you saw that?"

Breakfast has long been over as William lifts a corner of his lips into a wry smile.

"You couldn't hide from me if you tried, mortal."

The words sink into your skin, and lower, to the deepest parts of you, igniting a low thrum of arousal at the thought.

"It... didn't mean anything, it was empty and hollow..." You pause when he pushes away from you and he moves to a stand. He looks at the fireplace for a long moment, and you feel like you have to atone for your misgivings.

"I'm sorry, it happened and I can't take it back."

"I've been quite open with my home thus far, haven't I?" He muses as if you hadn't spoken.

He turns his head when you stand, his eyes follow you as you move to stand in front of him.

"You have." You say easily, "And I'm so grateful for that."

He spends a long moment looking at you, and you can feel yourself shrink under his gaze, no matter how hard you try not to.

"Why don't you repay me for my hospitality?" He suggests with a low voice.

Your eyes widen, and you nod your head eagerly, willing to show him how much you appreciate his kindness.

"Yes, anything." You utter readily.

"Why don't you take your clothes off?"

You blink.

You blink again.

Should you even question it? Or just tug your shirt off- actually his shirt- and do as he says.

"I'm not asking again." He says softly, cutting in to any thoughts you were having.

You slowly bunch his shirt up in your fists, searching his face for any form of doubt or apprehension or any sign that he doesn't really want this. He does the same to you.

The shirt leaves your body, and you drop it to the floor beside you, rubbing your thighs together at the thoughts of what he's going to do to you. He looks at you for a long moment, eyes roaming over your body leisurely.

"Sit." His eyes dart to the couch behind you, the same one he placed you on the first time you met, "There."

You do as he says, sitting bare, on his velveteen couch, hoping that your arousal doesn't seep into the spot below you.

You keep your legs pressed together as he walks to the table and selects a handful of grapes, he pulls one of the wooden chairs to a spot in front of you.

He sits, legs wide, facing you, examining your naked form as he pops a single grape into his mouth.

"Spread your legs for me."

You're unbelievably aroused, every inch of your core aches for a touch of him, and frankly, it's quite embarrassing.

You part your knees a little and his jaw tightens.

"You don't want to repay me then?" He asks.

"I do!" You argue.

"Then spread your legs wider and show me your pussy."

You were probably dripping now, hearing such a vulgar word slip from his mouth easily, as if he said it all the time. Your mouth parts in shock and arousal and you spread your legs as wide as they can go. You raise one leg, to prop it against the couch, and you feel so open and exposed in front of him.

He licks his bottom lip, and slips another grape into his mouth. You watch his jaw move as he crushes the grape between his teeth, and for a moment, you know exactly how the grape feels.

"Touch your body for me."

You acknowledge his chosen words, and instead of reaching for the pulsing spot between your legs, you trail your hands over your thighs, starting outward, working inward. Hiking your hands higher up your body to cup your breasts. You let out a slow sigh as your fingers catch on your nipples.

He doesn't say a word as he watches you. You want to close your eyes, so that you can hide from his dark gaze, but you also want to savour this moment, when a god asked you to offer your body to him.

You wait patiently for his next command, you want to be good for him, you don't think you could handle getting him angry or upsetting him-at least more than you already had.

"Do you want to touch your pussy now?" He questions, again, with the vulgar word and you wonder what other words he can say with that divine mouth.

"Yes please." You say sweetly, tilting your head back with a sigh.

"Ask."

You raise your head.

"Ask?" You mimic curiously.

He nods his head firmly.

"Ask to touch that which is no longer yours."

You blink in shock. Did he mean what you think he meant?

He raises his eyebrows and puts another grape into his mouth. It was embarrassing to watch him eat so casually while he watched you.

"Please," you murmur, feeling like you're in a hazy trance, "Please can I touch my pussy?"

The corner of his lips tilt upward, and you think his teasing look may be more breathtaking than his smiles.

"Go on, use those pretty fingers on yourself."

You can't help but release a moan as his words.

You reach down, to press your middle finger against your clit. You rock your fingers lightly from side to side, before dipping down to gather some wetness on your fingers to help them glide. Your head rolls back, feeling too exposed under his gaze.

"Keep your eyes on me, mortal."

You whine, raising your head to watch him bite down on another grape.

"How does it feel to touch yourself?"

You can hardly think, barely able to form words.

"It's good." You murmur, your fingers speeding up its delicious movements over your clit.

"How many fingers can you fit inside that little pussy?"

The question makes your stomach flutter.

"Two." You murmur.

His eyebrows raise.

"Is that a joke?" He asks.

You fingers halt their movements.

"N-no." You say, feeling the sudden urge to cry under his harsh gaze. "Is that bad?"

"Only if you have a problem with being stretched open on my cock."

You gulp, resuming your motions with the thought of how thick he must be.

"Go faster, I want to see you lose yourself in the bliss."

You moan, biting down on your bottom lip to stifle your pitiful whining.

"Please..." you gasp, your fingers are good, and you know what you like, but you can't stop thinking about the way William would touch you instead.

Would he circle his thumbs on your nipples? Would he make you suck on his fingers before he touched you?

You watch as he carefully places another grape in his mouth and you decide that he may be quite a mean lover, and you shudder at the thought.

"Why are you begging mortal? Would you like something more?"

You nod, hoping that he moves closer.

"Why don't you.... pinch those pretty nipples for me."

"William." You gasp as you follow his directions.

"I've said it before, but you are quite exquisite, Y/N."

Your breathing shudders, and you're so close to climax.

"Th- thank you." You breathe.

William hums in thought for a moment as he watches you tilt precariously on the edge of orgasm.

"Stop." He says firmly.

You almost argue with the god in front of you. Your hope your eyes scorch him with your denial.

His eyes are filled with amusement, the corner of his lips lifting as he places the final grape in his hand into his mouth. You watch him chew the fruit slowly, eyes locked on each other. Your gaze falls to his spread legs, seeing hints of a large bulge in his pants.

"Go on," he says with a wave of his hand, "ease your fingers into that wet cunt for me."

Your lips part, captivated by the way his mouth forms those explicit words.

You take your time, gasping as you slip one finger into your wet heat. You feel the way your core clenches, accepting the stimulation gratefully. You begin to pump your fingers slowly, and you can't help but release a little cry from your lips.

"Add a second finger in, sweet girl."

You love the way he praises you, it makes you want to be the very best you can for him.

The second finger pinches slightly as you guide both in, quickly subsiding as your wetness coats both fingers generously.

You pump them slowly into you, toes curling as the pleasure burns your body.

You moan his name and he sucks in a deep breath.

"I'd fuck you slow at the start, so you could feel every inch of my cock, pushing into you stretching you open like your small fingers never could."

He tilts his head, eyes caught on the place between your legs.

"Then I'd speed up when I thought you could take it, until I could shove myself so deep into you and touch all those needy spots in your body."

He inclines his head, as he sees your pace increase. "Very good, your fingers may be smaller than mine, but it gets the task done all the same."

You wanted to tell him that it wouldn't be the same, that your small hand could never compare to his broad fingers and heavy cock. You're unable to speak, though, too lost in the pleasure, the only thing capable of leaving your lips is desperate whines and cries of his name.

"Go on, sweet girl, finish for me."

It's all the prompting you need, before your release hits you, spreading tremors of pleasure through your body as you gasp for air amidst your orgasm.

As you come down, your movements are sluggish. You pull your fingers from your body slowly and show him the wetness coating your fingers.

He's beside you not a moment later, pulling your naked body into his lap and sucking your fingers into his mouth to clean them off. You lean against his bare chest, his body is hot, and your cheek warms up quickly on top of him. You can feel his clothed erection, pressing against your naked behind, tormenting you with thoughts of how he would feel.

"Delicious, pretty girl. You taste divine."

You shiver with delight at his words. He definitely praised you too well. You'd never be able to be with another at this rate.

He holds you for a few moments, until your heart has stopped slamming into your ribcage.

"Get dressed, I'll take you home soon." He says.

You stare at the dress for a moment, despair seeping into you at the thought of leaving. You didn't want to go back. You didn't want to leave the calmness you had found. Your throat closes and you fight the urge to cry.

How could real life be so terrible?

You suck in a breath.

Anything else would be terrible compared to this, you finally decide. Your real life was perfectly alright, but it just wouldn't hold up against this. Against him.

It wasn't fair. Maybe you were better off never having met him.

You reject the thought as soon as it enters your mind. You were glad to have found this, and you were going to hold on to it for as long as you possibly could.

You get dressed quickly, and walk out of his bedroom to find him leafing through a similar book as earlier, before he watched you while you- before he looked at you.

"Take me somewhere." You say to him, a small smile on your face. You want to stay a little bit longer in the peace of his forests and he doesn't question it before inclining his head and reaching for his cloak. He presents a pair of your flats, that you know you left behind at your house last night while you were stumbling around tipsy. You figure that he must have had Frank acquire them, and you smile at his thoughtfulness, accepting the pair gratefully.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently, as you walk through a shady forest path.

You don't answer immediately, raising your head to look at the large trees lining the pathway. You suspect that William crafted this route by hand, based on the way the trees frame the walkway. They're planted in perfect lines along either side of you, and the tall trees block out most of the sun except for a few stubborn rays that push through. The word 'cathedral' comes to mind at the way the trees stretch and touch each other, and you can almost compare the sun to a divine light. You know how crazy you must sound. You know that true divinity is standing beside you, with your hand in his. The being that crafted this place with his own hands.

"I'm...struggling to accept that I have to leave." You answer honestly, "Did you build this place?"

You don't know how you know, but you know that he's smiling beneath the skull.

"This is one of my more recent designs, it's about seventy years old."

So much older than you but that's not something that bothers you.

"Beautiful." You compliment.

The end of of the lane opens into an impressive garden, filled with fruit trees.

They're all ripe with fruit, the larger trees tower over the smaller ones, providing shade where necessary.

"These are the fruits I use to make my pies and jams and wines with."

Your eyebrows raise.

"You make wines? Scratch that- you make pies?"

He nods, reaching for a pair of red cherries in the tree beside him. He breaks the stem free from the cherry and raises it you your lips. You smile, opening your mouth to accept the fruit. You crush the berry between your teeth and the sweetness spills onto your tongue. Your eyes close in bliss, and you let out a soft moan.

"It's sooo amazing, Will."

His thumb brushing against your lip brings you back to alert and you open your eyes to look up at the deer's skull on his face.

"Call me that again." He says, the flat of his thumb pressed against your parted lips.

"Will?" You say softly, trying to look into his eyes, but you struggle to see anything past the large skull. His thumb drags your lip downward, before falling away from your face.

"Come, there are many things to try."

You giggle as you spit the cherry pit into your palm and dispose of it.

He's got a small wicker basket in his hands that he extends to you.

"Select whatever you like and we can sit and try them."

Your face spreads into a smile and you accept the basket, beginning to wander around.

Exploring his garden feels different- more personal, like you're having a look into him. Which is ridiculous, because it's just a garden, but it's his garden, carefully thought out, crafted down to the finest detail. You stop in your tracks when you spot a small patch of flowers- blue bearded irises- the first thing in here that isn't fruit bearing. The flowers are a combination of blue shades, starting with light blue at the top of the flower and working its way down to a rich cerulean. Some are streaked with white, and others look more purple than blue.

You look back at William in question, he's trailing behind you.

Seeing your questioning look, he tilts his head to the side.

"It's the flower associated with me. Mortals once planted these outside their homes as a symbol of devotion. It also meant I was welcome in their homes."

"Was it a flower you chose?" You ask, touching the tips of the flower gently, feeling the softness of the petals.

"No my mother- the forest- when she birthed me, she left me in this patch to be found."

"Wait." You blink, "This patch? Here? You were found here?"

He nods, taking a step toward you until he's right at your side.

"Yes." He raises a finger to point out a spot, "There to be precise."

You follow his pointing to find an empty spot among the flowers. It's quite small, definitely only large enough to fit a baby.

And you imagine it, a newborn version of William, laying in this cluster of irises, waiting to be found and cared for. Before you realise, your hand moves beside you, fingers gently reaching out for him, and you blink when your fingers touch his, because he was already reaching for you and something warm blooms in your chest and you feel like one of these flowers, blossoming silently beside an infant, trying to be worthy of the beauty next to you.

Your hand slips into his and you have no words to give to him that would express your gratitude, your appreciation, your devotion to him. So you smile at him instead and hope that one day you can make him understand.

With a basket filled to the top with a variety of fruits, William guides you to a large maple tree in the centre of his garden. From one of the sturdiest branches, a moderately sized bench swing is attached with thick rope. The bench itself is covered in fur pelts and a few pillows.

"You made this." You say in awe.

It's not a question but he answers anyway.

"Yes, everything I've built came from the forest... except for the fancy plumbing in my home, of course."

You let out a little laugh, "Of course." You mimic.

He sits first, and gets himself comfortable, his entire body fitting well on the swing. He extends his hands out to you to help you on. The swing wobbles a bit when your full weight is on it, and his hands reach out to grip your hips to stop you from falling over. He takes the basket of fruit from your hand and guides you to a spot in the crook of his arm. He waits patiently for you to get comfortable, leaning against him before he returns your fruit to you and he lifts his mask from his face.

Your eyes are drawn to his movements in an instant, always eager and desperate for the sight of his face. It's the first time you see him under such sunny conditions. A beam of light pierces through the leafy top cover and shines directly on the top of his head and you sit up with a start.

His eyebrows crease in confusion as you stare at him.

"Is everything alright?"

"I thought your hair was black." You murmur, noting the way his eyelashes and beard gets caught in the bright sunshine for a moment, almost glowing.

"What colour is it?" He asks, his eyes fixed on your face.

You tilt your head to the side.

"It's, well, brown, but not just brown? Perhaps it's like every shade of brown that's ever existed."

You notice that all the hair on his face holds a similar trait. Your fingers ache to touch him.

"And your eyes." You say in a daze.

"My eyes?" He prompts.

You swallow nervously and nod.

"Dark brown," you whisper, "like syrup, or caramel. The colour of your eyes remind me of the way ambrosia tastes."

He smiles, and you almost think it could be a shy smile, and you bring your face in close to his, yearning for one more touch of your lips to his.

You take another soft kiss from him, not nearly enough, but too much at the same time. Your lips tingle once again as you re-settle into his side.

He picks up a strawberry from the basket in your arms and he holds it to your mouth. You part your lips and accept the fruit easily, sighing in bliss at the sweet, tangy flavour. You watch as he raises to remainder of the fruit to his lips to finish it off.

There's something too intimate about that, and you think about the fact that right now, in this moment, you're both tasting the same things.

"What do you think?" You ask him, referring to the flavour.

"It's not the sweetest I've ever had, it's quite alright." He looks down at you then, "What about you?"

You smile, "It's the best strawberry I've ever tasted. Juicy, sweet, a little bit acidic at the end." You look up at him and smile, "And this strawberry has ruined me for all others."

He laughs, reaching to select another fruit, a bunch of red grapes. He selects two from the bunch, and places one in your mouth before eating one himself.

"Are you feeling better now?" He asks, looking down at you.

You don't meet his eyes, instead looking up at the maple leaves.

"I think so, I just, I really like it here, and I feel so at peace, and you hold no expectations of me."

"That's not true," William responds, "I have expectations of you. Respect my forest, don't harm anything under my protection, be kind to things smaller than you."

You blink up at him.

"Those are easy." You say.

"Perhaps to you, but I have killed many that have tried to desecrate the forest, and I will likely kill many more."

His easy admonition of murder makes you think for a long moment.

"What about nurture?" You ask, mentioning something he'd told you weeks ago.

He shakes his head with a smile, and you really feel like an inexperienced mortal for a soft second.

"Some things aren't willing to grow."

"Oh." You murmur.

He brings a peach to your lips, and your hand covers his so that you can apply the right pressure to take a bite.

You moan. It's juicy, and delicious, and you're so caught up in having the flavour in your mouth that you miss when some of the juice spills out the corner of your lips. His thumb collects the sweet liquid before you notice, dragging it up and back to your lips where you suck the juices from his thumb easily before releasing it with a pop.

You look up at him again, and watch as he bites into the peach as well. He lets out a low hum, and you feel his chest vibrate beside your head.

"This one is good." He says and you smile, his skin is a little pink in the sun and for a minute you find yourself wishing that it's because of your company.

"What kind of expectations rest on your shoulders outside of my forest?" He asks next.

You nibble on your bottom lip, deep in thought about exactly how much you could tell him without bursting into tears.

"My grandma fell suddenly ill a couple of months ago, it was bad. My mom and I, we were living in another place, and she quit her job and uprooted her life to be here. My job, well, I can do my job from anywhere as long as I have my laptop and WiFi, which means that I can support the household while my mom cares for my grandmother."

"So there's a lot of pressure on you." William says.

You nod, looking up at him. You reach for another fruit- an apple this time- and you raise it to his lips. You see the little smile he makes, before cupping your hand and biting into the fruit. He hums in delight.

"Apples are my favourite." He admits to you.

"Why?" You ask, thinking that the fruit was a very basic choice.

"It was the very first fruit I've ever tasted. When I was a boy, the immortal taking care of me at the time was trying to teach me a difficult lesson- that it wasn't necessary to eat. He starved me for weeks and when I finally escaped from his home, I found an apple tree, but I was too small to reach any of the fruit. A passing mortal took pity on me and picked as much as she could reach, leaving me a pile. I ate until I threw up, and then I ate more. Everytime I eat one, I don't taste the apple, I taste her kindness."

He keeps his hand over yours, and he guides the apple to your lips.

You don't look away from him as you bite into the sweet fruit.

You walk in silence to the edge of the roadway, your hand pressed to his.

"I'll see you next week?" You ask, your hand slipping from his as you approach your end point.

"I'll be here." He murmurs gently, behind the mask. You nod, turning away.

You're only a step away when he calls your name. You turn back quickly, eyes taking in his looming figure.

"I have, one more expectation of you now." He says.

You wait for him to speak, a small expectant smile on your face. He takes an imposing step toward you and presses you back. Your eyes widen when you bump into a tree, he braces one arm beside your head and leans down a little, tilting his head so that his large antlers don't touch you. His scent engulfs you, the earthy hints of spice and oak.

You gasp when you feel his rough hand drag its way up your thighs to cup your mound over your underwear.

"I expect," he says softly in your ear and your skin tingles where the sound of his voice touches you.

"That you will not play with what's mine without my approval. Do you understand?"

You can't help the small jerk of your hips, pressing into his hot palm, hoping for more friction.

"I- I understand, William." You stutter.

"Good." He says, pulling back from you and turning away.

"Till we meet again, mortal."

You stay in that spot for a long moment after he's gone.

You hadn't picked up your keys when you'd left your house the previous night. Which meant that you'd most likely have to find an explanation for where you'd been. Unfortunately, the best reason that you could come up with, as you knocked on your door, was Peter.

Your mother opens the door with raised eyebrows.

You gulp.

"Are you just getting in?" She asks you accusingly.

"Well, I got home last night, and then I left again." You explain, stepping in.

"And where have you been?" She asks, and you can tell it's not anger, but merely concern.

"I, um, I spent the night at Peter's place." You say, watching her eyes light up in excitement, "Nothing happened!" You raise you hands up to erase her train of thought, "we just stayed up, watched movies, listened to music, and I just fell asleep there."

"Nothing happened?" She murmurs, a little disappointed.

"We kissed once," you say, suddenly remembering the parking lot kiss. It had felt like ages ago, but you realise it was only last night. So much had happened with William since then. You fight a smile, rembering the way his body had felt, laying beside you.

You're interrupted by your mothers squeal of excitement, "Oh! You like him! I can tell!" She says.

You shake your head.

"We're just friends mom."

"Do friends kiss?" She teases.

You splutter to explain the scenario but at the same time your grandmother ambles in.

"Staying the night at a boy's house? Are you getting married soon?"

Your mother rolls her eyes, "Mama, it's 2021, she can spend the night at a boy's house as long as she's safe and comfortable."

"Relax, I'm only joking." Your grandmother raises an arm to pat your shoulder and you try not to stiffen too much under her touch. The memories of that same hand slapping you harshly across the face when you were younger were too ingrained in your memories to completely ignore. You smile warmly, making sure that it meets your eyes, before murmuring words about taking a shower and backing away from them.

You're only around the corner when you hear the harsh hiss of your grandmother's voice, speaking quietly to your mother, but not quiet enough.

"Did you smell it? The oak? It has to be him!"

Your heart begins to pound in your chest.

"We'll have to keep a closer eye on her." Your mother murmurs quietly in thought.

When you hear them begin to move in your direction, you take the steps to your room as quietly as possible.

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