Garreth finds himself entangled with the heroine of Hogwarts. As their encounters become habit, they devolve into a game of power dynamics and possession.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, possesive!Garreth, dominant!Garrreth, public sex, dirty talk, aged-up characters, unrequited love, pining.
AO3 // Word count: 3k
Garreth picked at the splintered wood on his broom from a recent tussle with a bludger, scanning the courtyard intermittently for any trace of his Quidditch team. Their head of house had recently delivered a stern criticism about their hero complex. Apparently, each member was too focused on personal glory, neglecting the importance of working as a cohesive team.
He eventually detected a figure on a broom, although quickly realised they displayed a level of nimble grace far beyond what he'd expect from one of his lumbering teammates. Hogwarts' resident hero was evidently making a return from one of her mysterious outings.
His eyes swept the courtyard again, a scattering of students strolled across the well-kempt grass, a handful basked in the sun near the fountain, but none he recognised. Thinking about it, Garreth wondered whether he should hang around for this team-building training. It was probably wise, considering he was not only the captain but also the one who had organised the whole thing. However, they were running late, and he had spotted far more appealing company.
Before he could put much more thought into it, he swung his leg over his broomstick and began to silently trail the unsuspecting witch.
He couldn't quite pinpoint when he started noticing her disappearances. He assumed he just hadn't been paying much attention to her whereabouts prior to her inquiry regarding his more 'unobtainable' potions. His tactics hadn't evolved significantly since fifth-year when he’d charmed the newcomer into pilfering Sharp's office for supplies, but he had become far more adept at sneaking around for rare ingredients.
He agreed to assist in whatever scheme she was cooking up, on the condition she helped him obtain the key component. Partly for the benefits of having someone on the lookout for wandering faculty, but mostly because the beloved heroine of Hogwarts could do no wrong. If their covert operation were to be exposed, her involvement would mean the detention time his aunt dished out would be significantly reduced.
They needed snakeweed, which he was fairly certain was cultivated and harvested in the greenhouse. However, Professor Garlick was extremely protective of her plants, requiring their thieving to be done after curfew.
Moonlight wiggled through the twisted tendrils of the countless plants scattered throughout the greenhouse as they dispelled their disillusionment charm and got to work.
"What do you reckon all of this is?" The witch gestured towards a dense blanket covering the harvesting bench, a few neatly folded sheets at one end made it appear like some kind of makeshift bed.
"Perhaps the rumours about Garlick and Kogawa are true. Maybe we've stumbled upon their secret little sex den.” Garreth turned around and playfully wiggled his eyebrows, narrowly avoiding stumbling into a venomous tentacula lurking in the shadows.
She pulled back the cover, unveiling a project in progress—mallowsweet leaves neatly laid out, drying between the two blankets.
"You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” she scoffed, laying the covering back over the golden foliage. “Or you need to get laid.”
"It was a logical assumption," he argued, crouching beneath a table, casting a dim lumos across a collection of small plant pots. "The height of these tables are just right for it."
"Should I ask how you know that?"
She lifted herself onto the table as if testing the height for herself. Garreth smirked as he shifted the pots around with flicks of his wand.
"I’m a warm-blooded male, I'd say I'm an expert in these things."
Spotting a small propagation of snakeweed, he cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she was keeping a watchful eye on the door. She wasn't. She was perched primly on the edge of the table, legs pressed together from knees to toes.
His eyes roamed across her body, and he realised he had never really had the opportunity to thoroughly check her out. She was like forbidden fruit, always flanked by her two Slytherin gatekeepers. It's not that he hadn't noticed she was attractive, she certainly was. Her feminine figure hinted at subtle signs of muscle earned from days spent sprinting around the castle.
His lusty gaze travelled up to her face, only to discover she had been watching him the entire time. Suppressing the flicker of embarrassment, he instead leaned into his Gryffindor bravery. He grabbed the small pot and approached her, his hips meeting her knees with an intentional bump.
"As promised," he presented her with the delicate plant, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed it over.
"That was easy," she raised the pot to catch the moonlight. Her eyes shifted from the plant to him, and her pupils bloomed. "You've earned yourself a returning customer."
"Splendid," he grinned, wondering whether this meant more after-hour hangouts, a thought that kindled his overactive imagination. "The first one's on the house, the rest might come with a price tag."
“I suppose I’ll have to start saving then. What's your price?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to make demands beyond your means,” he backtracked, worried she might think he was being serious. “Wouldn’t want to scare off my favourite customer.”
"Snagged the title of the favourite customer without parting with a single penny?” She chuckled lightly, scraping her teeth across her lower lip, “Business must be crawling."
"I prioritise quality over quantity," his eyebrow quirked as he studied her face, purposefully lingering a beat too long on her lips before flitting back to her eyes. "Now, what assets do you bring to the trading table?"
"Let me think," she reclined on her palms. "What do I bring to this specific table..." she emphasised each word with a tap of her nails against the wood, "that a warm-blooded male might find tempting?"
Heat surged through his body, and he began to regret pressing himself up against her legs, there was no way she couldn’t feel his enthusiasm swell against her knees.
“Did I mention it’s one for the price of two?”
She laughed, the sugar-sweet sound tickling his brain and the movement of her body causing her legs to part slightly.
“See, what did I tell you?" he pushed his palms against the table on either side of her thighs as he slotted himself between them. "Perfect height."
"I took your word for it. After all, you're the expert." She gave his tie a tug before running the fabric through her fingers. “Well, so you say...”
"Correct," he answered simply, because the only other words rattling around in his head was an offer to sit on his face, and he was trying really hard to play it cool.
She cocked her head to the side, “Are you going to verify that claim?”
You would have thought they were time-fated lovers, not classroom acquaintances. She had been right. He needed to get laid, and she needed some stress relief. It didn't take long before her skirt was hiked up around her waist and he was showcasing just how perfect the height of the table was. He assured her the greenhouse was soundproof due to the mandrakes, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was true. Frankly, he didn't care. Her unrestrained moaning, nails scraping across the wooden table, heels digging into his back to pull him in deeper—it made a lifetime of detention feel like a minor nuisance.
The saying goes, once is a mistake and twice is a habit, but Garreth wondered when it tipped into addiction. Whenever she was stressed—and fortunately for him, that was often—he found himself happily yanked by his tie into the nearest broom cupboard, beneath the Quidditch stands before one of his matches, by the edge of the lake under a disillusionment charm...
Maybe this time, on the balcony of the highest tower?
That's where she gracefully dismounted her broom. He followed suit, touching down behind her without a sound. Her jumper was splattered with mud down one arm, but for the most part, she was reasonably unscathed which was a rarity. She tugged it over her head to clean it with a quick charm, and he realised the stain bore a suspicious resemblance to a troll's handprint.
He knew she could handle herself, she’d been doing so for almost two years without his observations. Nevertheless, he realised he’d begun to worry about her when she was away.
He cleared his throat.
She whirled around with startled eyes and he muffled her gasp with a kiss. She squirmed for a few seconds, but her resistance crumbled as his thumbs glided up her neck, tracing delicate patterns under her ears.
He wasn't certain if she was doing the pulling or if he was doing the pushing, but somehow her back ended up crashing against the wall. Her fingers wove through his hair as his lips tore from hers and latched onto the sensitive skin of her throat.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she landed a weak thump on his bicep.
"You look like you lost a fight with a swamp," he mumbled against her skin, his hands wandering down to her hips.
"I'll have you know, I beat that swamp fair and square."
A ghost of a laugh dispersed across her neck, "I like the thought of watching you mud-wrestle. Let me come with you next time."
“Or you could come in me now?”
It was an obvious deflection tactic, but he gladly took the bait. His kisses grew forceful as he began to nip at her exposed skin.
“You better not be leaving marks, Weasley.”
He grumbled in protest against the light pink blotch he had begun to work into her throat. Something in the primal recesses of his mind itched to brand her. He wanted his lips stained on her skin, regardless of wherever or whoever she was with when she was gone.
"What if they're out of sight?" His fingers danced against her neck as he worked on undoing her tie, it fluttered to the ground before he finished asking for permission.
She withdrew her wand and uttered the incantation for a protective charm to shield their misdeeds from any potential spectators. He took that as consent, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her chest as he unbuttoned her shirt.
"Where have you been?" he probed before his teeth dug into the plump flesh above her breasts. It had been nearly nine days since their last encounter, easily their longest dry spell in the two months since their greenhouse tryst.
"None of your business," She hooked her fingers into his trousers to pull him closer, trying to find some friction.
"I want it to be.”
"Tough shit, Weasley,” her voice faltered as he hiked her skirt up around her waist.
“Garreth,” he reprimanded.
She only called him by his first name when they were fucking. He was certain she’d been deliberately conditioning him with it. If he teased her too vigorously in class all she had to do was say, "Shut it, Garreth," and he'd have to discreetly conceal his excitement for the next ten minutes. She made him dumb, plain and simple.
"You'll have to earn that," she purred, licking a trail along his neck that made his gut twist taut.
He scooped her up, spinning her around until she perched on the balcony's banister. A yelp escaped her as she teetered on the concrete edge, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
“I want to feel this tomorrow,” she popped open his buttons to speed up the process, “Please?"
“I've got you," he assured, feeling her pulse thunder against his chest as he positioned himself between her thighs. One hand supported her back, while the other fumbled to unclasp his belt.
It was difficult to recall how he'd ever got aroused before she came along. The way she demanded and begged all at once sent his brain spinning. "Say please again," he whispered, nipping her lower lip as he moved her soaked underwear to the side and positioned himself at her entrance. "I like it when you ask nicely."
"Pretty please?" she simpered before kissing him, her tongue eagerly seeking his.
He swallowed her moan as he pushed himself into her, she felt better than he remembered. Tight, hot, and quivering as he gave her everything he had. He loosely wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she whined against his mouth, her head tilting back as her eyes fluttered shut. He tightened his grip, her own hands scrambling at his waist to encourage him deeper.
He pulled her close by the small of her back with one arm, maintaining his grip on her neck with the other, aligning her to accommodate all of him. With each thrust, she bit down on the flesh of his shoulder as he bottomed out.
So, it was fine when she left a mark. He'd certainly remember that.
“You feel so fucking good, Garreth-”
A fractured cry fell from her lips as he pounded into her because his name had floated off her tongue like a prayer, causing something inside him to shatter, like it always did. Defining the constantly shifting dynamic between them was impossible, but it was addicting - He always found himself craving a little more than what he was getting.
“Who do you belong to?”
Garreth threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging her head up to look him in the eyes. She regarded him with a dizzy stare but remained silent. He began to slow down, and she instinctively bucked her hips to maintain some friction as her building orgasm began to ebb away.
“I said, who do you belong to?”
She wasn't his, they were both aware of that. This was never more than a matter of convenient timing and a means of stress relief. Nonetheless, he took pleasure in the hold he had over the most formidable witch of their generation. The witch with unwavering principles and determination. The witch who never faltered in her beliefs. The witch who was currently lying through her teeth for the pleasure of coming undone on his cock.
“You,” she whimpered, “Please, Garreth. Don’t stop, please.”
He didn't know if it was the way she was begging or the frantic desperation of her hips grinding against his, but he was teetering on the edge of his breaking point. He bit down hard on his lip, struggling to hold himself together long enough for her to reach the finish line.
"Chin up," he demanded, his breath coming in ragged pants as he reached one hand between them, rubbing a lopsided circle around her clit. “You look at me when you come."
He groaned through clenched teeth as his words caused her to instantly tighten around him, and that beautiful, hazy look fell over her face. She pulled him in by his collar, kissing him so hard it carved itself onto his brain and he released nine days of pent-up desire. He rolled his hips against hers as they both rode it out, briefly forgetting he should be gentle considering she was perched on the edge of a several hundred-foot drop.
He had believed there was nothing better than watching her unravel in his arms before seeking his own release, but he was wrong. Feeling her orgasm spasming over his shaft as he filled her up damn near killed him.
He fastened his trousers and helped her down from the stone balustrade. She smoothed down her skirt, trying to hide the fact that she was wobbling. He hoped his performance had met her expectations and he’d still be making her legs tremble tomorrow.
He peppered kisses across the blemishes he'd left on her breasts as he fastened the buttons of her shirt, trailing up to nip at the delicate spot on her neck just beneath her ear, the spot only he knew about, the spot that made her head tilt back and her vision fill with stars. He whispered an "Accio" against her skin, summoning a tie from the ground. He secured it around her throat with a playful tug before pulling her jumper over her head.
“You have to go?” he murmured between kisses, finding it bothered him less when he asked rather than when she told him.
Her chest heaved as she sighed, planting a lingering kiss on his lips before bending down to gather her things. “I have a study group. You’re welcome to join?”
He gave her a foggy smile and shook his head lightly. “I have some Quidditch thing I’m late for.”
“Alright, well…” She cast a fleeting glance at her abandoned broom on the floor. They hadn’t quite mastered the art of goodbyes yet. “Later, Weasley.”
“See you later,” he offered her a half-hearted wave, hoping she wouldn't make him wait another nine days before flying into his line of sight again.
As he watched her leave, he found himself wondering what impulse had led him to fasten his Gryffindor tie around her neck. There was the undeniable hope her irritation at his bold act would result in some passionate hate sex, but it ran deeper than that. It felt territorial. He’d been growing increasingly irritated with Sallow's lecherous stare and Gaunt's persistent attempts to cater to her every whim. They seemed to believe they held a Slytherin monopoly on her affections, all due to some unspoken event that happened over two years ago. Garreth understood her on a deeper level. She wanted someone who wouldn't procrastinate for two years, someone capable of making her scream on a greenhouse bench at two in the morning. He had a claim too, a far more substantial one.
You'd both sworn. You'd sworn that you wouldn't subject yourselves to sex in the Jeep ever again. Not after the last time ended with so many unnecessary injuries between the two of you. Following one rolled ankle, a noticeable egg on the back of your head, and a bruise to Stiles' elbow that had been so worryingly dark that the purple had been mottled with spots nearly black in color, it was decided that handjobs were fine, blowjobs were great, fingering was.. sufficient. But full-out sex — You had sworn, never again. And, yet..
You can't find it in yourself to care when the dizzying warmth of Stiles' breath falls against your spit slick, kiss swollen lips. Your mouths have separated only as a result of the way he's trying to maneuver you into a better position, a closer position, large hands encasing your waist as he drags you over to straddle his lap. The moment you've settled against his thighs, his hands are already pushing their way up underneath your skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties as his mouth finds its way to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.
And fuck if your own hands aren't already scrambling to undo the button on his jeans, tearing them open and pushing up on your knees just enough that you two of you can work his pants and boxers down his thighs just a few inches.
His cock springs free, already almost fully hard with the anticipation of what's to come, and your mouth nearly waters at the sight. You will never tire of the sight of Stiles' cock, you're sure of it. When your hand wraps around him, your fingers don't meet, and when you give the fat length of him a gentle tug, he groans deliciously into the skin of your throat, hips jerking up as he chases the feeling.
“Hey, slow down, why don'tcha?” Stiles teases softly, “Why're you in such a hurry, huh? Got somewhere else to be or-” He cuts off with another quiet groan as you twist your wrist the way he likes, “Or something?”
“Shush, you.” You reply with a smacking kiss to his mouth.
His fingers are moving in a teasing touch beneath your skirt, skimming the sensitive skin of your belly before finding home on your thighs. He gives the softness a pinch just hard enough to have you gasping before he's slipping beneath the fabric to drag long fingers between your folds.
“Shit, babe,” Stiles groans, his lips finding your cheek again before he drops a light kiss to your chin, “You're this wet already?” He asks, as if you haven't been working each other up for the last twenty minutes with heated touches and even hotter kisses.
He punctuates his question by slipping two fingers inside you in a ridiculously easy glide, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together as your jaw falls slack. He's giving you shallow thrusts, trying to open you up a little and get you ready for what will come next, and your free hand falls to his arm, tethering yourself with fingers circling his wrist in a firm grip. The way the muscles in his arm work with each drag out and then back in has your fingernails digging little crescent moons beneath the dark hairs on his forearm.
Your head is thrown back in pleasure, and it feels like it might weigh a million pounds when you drag it forward again to drop your forehead to his, your hips rocking down onto his fingers and your hand still working him to full hardness, closing over the head of his cock and collecting his precome just to slip back down his length again and again.
It had been days of longing glances across crowded rooms, and lingering touches that were a little unnecessary but desperately craved, and pushing maybe a little too far into each other's space when one of you needed to grab something just to feel the sparks along your skin. Each tiny moment shared had built upon one another slowly, day after day, and now that you're together, skin on skin and teeth and tongues on lips — that fire between you finally burns bright again.
You're both panting a little breathlessly already, worked up beyond belief after not finding moment alone like this in what feels like ages. Hot breaths mingle between your parted lips, the sound of it broken up by the quiet little noises clawing their way up your throats.
You've missed him desperately amidst the chaos that the week has brought. You find yourself wanting him to wreck you beyond repair, to turn your brain inside out until he is all that remains — no stresses about infuriating assholes in the form of college professors, or pack disputes, or the supernatural threat of the week — and the way Stiles continues to work his fingers inside you, pushing in deep until he's caressing that spot that makes your vision white out a bit at the edges, you think he's well on his way toward that wreckage.
“Condom?” You question desperately, tugging at his wrist in signal for him to extract himself from you.
He's muttering to himself while he fumbles to get access to where his back pocket is scrunched up beneath his thighs and you push up onto your knees all the while, maneuvering your underwear down one leg and then the other until you're free of them. When he produces the little foil packet, you take it from him without prompt, tearing it open and rolling it down over him in a quick, practiced motion that has him biting his lips together to hold back a curse.
Stiles slides his hips down the seat a bit further and grips the backs of your thighs to support you as you guide his tip to your entrance. The moment you start to sink down, his fingers dig into the doughy flesh of your thighs, fingertips curling below the curve of your ass to help spread you wider as he fills you up nice and slow.
“You got it, baby,” Stiles praises quietly, lips catching against your cheekbone to leave a small peck to your flushed skin, “There y'go.”
You're shuddering through your breaths as you accommodate to the stretch, knowing that every inch just a precursor to where he's thickest at the base. It's slow going, painful and delicious all at once, but when your hips finally meet his, clit nestling right up against the thatch of hair that trails from his belly button down to where you're connected, you let out a breathy sigh of relief.
Now that you're seated, his hands leave your backside to skate higher, rough fingertips dragging up to the back of your skirt to massage at your spine. You feel him fiddle with the zip at the back, his eyes meeting yours in silent question before you're nodding and he's giving it a tug and freeing you from the thick fabric.
You can't help but look down, and that first glimpse of where you've sucked him in, where he's filling you to the brim, has you eagerly rocking your hips a little to test the stretch. There's still a bit of an ache, a sharp little sting where you're stretched the widest, but it's lessening already and you can feel that pleasurable fullness behind your navel settling in.
“Almost,” You update him quietly, combing your fingers through the strands of his hair and grinning softly when he cranes into your touch, “Jus' need another minute.”
“Take as much time as you need,” He returns earnestly, “You know I'm just enjoying gettin' you like this. Missed you. This week was the worst.”
And it truly has been. Nearly every minute of every day, start to finish, has been an onslaught of lectures and assignments due and pack bullshit that you're both inevitably dragged into every goddamn time — the presence of the token pack humans always necessary if only to give another perspective to a mundane issue that, really, probably could've been solved by your brother and his co-alpha alone. Scott and Derek really shouldn't need to drag the two of you into every little problem — which in turn would leave the two of you with ample time to sneak off somewhere to do this, perhaps in a bed, without the risk of bonked heads or twisted ankles or the bruises that came with ravishing each other in such close confines. And yet, and yet.
You nod in agreement, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape to give it a soft tug, “Been so busy with classes. N' there've been way, way too many pack meetings,” You complain in a quiet huff, “Not enough time for this..” He grumbles his own agreement as your thumb finds the large beauty mark beneath his ear, “I missed you too.” You return softly.
Stiles is patient as ever, his fingers taking the time to explore every bit of exposed skin on your body with a gentle touch. His arms circle your waist only to release you a second later to run his warm palms up your spine and give your shoulders a squeeze. His movements slow for a moment when he finds the band of your bra, pinching and unclasping it in a practiced motion, and then his big hands are making their way back to the front of your ribs, thumbs dragging against the soft underside of your breasts as he dips his head to press kisses to the newly exposed skin.
You lean back a bit to give him more space to work, savoring in the feeling of his mouth peppering soft kisses over your breasts as your own hands fall from his neck to rest on his pecs. Your fingers trail over dark freckles that dot his skin, nails scraping ever so gently into the patch of hair at the center of his chest.
Even with the windows cracked to let in a bit of the crisp autumnal air, the temperature in the Jeep creeps higher, the windows already fogged over with a thin sheen of condensation that smears lightly when you brace your right hand against the window. Five little streaks through the microscopic drops of water covering the cool glass, one to mark where each of your fingers scrape across the surface as you finally rise up onto your knees.
A pitiful little grunt falls from your lips as you drop back down, the sound pushed out with the sheer depth that his cock manages to reach in this position, so full that you can nearly taste him at the back of your throat.
You settle into a slow rhythm and Stiles grabs a hold of your hips as you do, but he's not guiding you, no. He's not aiming for control, not pushing you to go harder or faster, but rather simply holding on and following your movements, his thumbs tracing little concentric circles against the sides of you belly as you go at your own pace.
“Fuck,” You groan when your knees slip a little against the leather seat. It pushes him impossibly deeper than before, driving his tip against your cervix in a way that erupts goosebumps along your skin even in the warm car. “You’re so deep. 'S so big, baby. You're so big-”
You're not even sure what's coming out of your mouth, already a little drunk on the feeling of being filled so completely, on the slick drag every time you rise up and then the sharp jolt to every one of your nerve endings with each thrust back down. Despite the ramblings falling from your lips, or perhaps because of them, Stiles begins to make little noises of his own — guttural moans against the curve of your throat, quiet grunts each time he hits deep.
He tips his head back and the warm brown in his eyes is almost completely taken over by black with how his pupils have blown wide. You catch sight of a small bead of sweat as it works its way out of his hair and begins a slow trail down his temple but you're kissing it away before it can reach his cheekbone. The salt of it lingers on your lips when your tongue runs over them just a moment later.
Dark eyes watch you move with rapt attention, his lips parted to let out low groans of encouragement. It takes a few minutes for him to find his voice, but when he does, his words send heat flooding through you.
“So good,” He tells you, hand tucking a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind your ear before his wide palm settles against the side of your neck, his voice thick with arousal, “Always so good. You're- Shit, y're so tight. So warm. So perfect.”
The thumb resting at the bottom of your cheek creeps up higher, rubbing the plush of your bottom lip until your jaw falls slack in acceptance and then he's cupping your chin and pushing the pad of his finger down against the softness of your tongue. You bite down softly with a moan and your bottom teeth dig into the meat of his palm with just how deep he's got his thumb before you're pulling off just a little and closing your lips around it, sucking and swirling your tongue and reeling at the way his eyes flutter shut with a groan, like he can't quite handle the sight in combination with the way you're riding him slow and deep.
When he removes his thumb, you suck harder to combat the spit that threatens to cling to the digit, but it doesn't make much of a difference because he's already sliding his hand around the back of your neck and bringing your mouth down against his.
You brace one hand on his stomach to aid your moments as your tongues meet in a hungry kiss. A whimper finds its way up your throat when he rubs his free hand achingly slow up and down the front of your thigh, around to grope your ass and then back, smoothing and squeezing along your skin like he wants to be touching you more — Harder, tighter, everywhere all at once.
He's so, so deep like this and you can tell it's affecting him too. His kisses are hungry as he licks into your mouth, a little messy while his nose presses into your cheek and his fingers graze your waist on their journey toward your chest. He's thumbing over the peaks of your nipples, swallowing up your moans with his own, breathing a little like he's the one getting the air punched out of his lungs every time you seat yourself, burying him deep enough that the head of his cock is driving into that spot that makes you see stars.
Your brain goes a little hazy with your budding orgasm, tiny noises becoming more frequent, falling against his mouth a bit like a plea. You don't need to explain, Stiles is already dragging his hand up to push between your thighs, thumb circling your clit the way he knows you like. Your eyebrows furrow as you slip from the kiss, far too focussed on chasing your high now. You bounce a little faster, shallower, fingers scraping at the pale skin of his chest, eyes pinched shut as your thighs tremble with exertion and your knees ache.
Heat licks across your body, a bead of sweat trickling down your spine as your movements start to become a little more difficult. You're so close — so close-
“C'mon, you're doing so good, baby.” Stiles says with far too much tenderness, far too much amazement.
“Fuck,” You whimper, shaky breaths tearing from your chest as you teeter closer and closer, “Fuckfuckfuck-”
“You got it. You can do it. C'mon-”
His gentle praises send you careening over the edge and your whole body shakes as you try to work through it. You're struggling, but then Stiles' hands are under your ass again, guiding you this time, gripping the backs of your thighs tight as he supports some of your weight and helps you ride out your high. Every nudge of his cock against the deepest parts of you has you moaning louder, brain going a little fuzzy as your orgasm peaks but never quite dies off.
Your arms curl around his shoulders, digging your face into his neck as you gasp against his skin, thighs shaking as he keeps guiding you back and forth, not pulling out nearly as far now before he's dragging you against him and filling you back up. Your breasts are pushed tight against his chest. The smell of his aftershave is in your nose and your forehead is pressed into his sweat slicked neck. You're panting, nearly drooling on his shoulder as you try to lock your knees to hold yourself in place, thighs feeling exhausted and like jelly all at once.
“Sti. Fuck, baby, I can't-” A moan cuts you off as it rolls off your tongue, “My legs can't-”
“Aw, your legs too tired, baby girl?” He asks, and it comes out a little condescending. You can practically see the satisfied little smirk on his face, even from where your own is buried in his neck as you nod. He lifts you up a little higher, hands still grasping at the crease where your thighs meet your ass as he adjusts his hips beneath you, “Need me to do the work now?”
The teasing in his voice has your body going traitorously pliant, your voice weak when it finally comes, “Please.”
“I got you,” Stiles promises, taking a little pity. He drags one hand toward the center of your spine while the other falls to the outside of your knee to hold you steady, “I got you..”
The first thrust up into you has you crying out. Not hitting nearly as deep as before, but he's driving in so much harder, so much faster. It pulls whiny little gasps from your lips with each thrust and your jaw's gone slack where it's buried in his neck as his skin slaps against yours with every snap of his hips. The sound of it is loud, and the combination of noises both lewd and salacious only proves to turn you on that much more.
“Shit.” Stiles grunts, voice a little hoarse and yet somehow high as it catches in his throat, “You make the prettiest noises, baby. Fuck. Just listen t' you.”
You don't entirely mean for it, but your next moan is just a little louder in response, unabashed and desperate even as you attempt to muffle the sound of it in the curve of his shoulder. The pitch his voice has taken is one that you only get to hear when he's getting unbearably close to his own peak. The sound of it is so, so sweet to your ears, mingling with the obscenely wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of you.
“'M gonna come,” He warns, his hips jerking just a bit rougher, a bit less coordinated as he fucks up into you, “Shit. Shit, sweetheart, 'm.. gonna.. come-”
His arms curl and lock around your waist as he does, dragging you down against him and burying himself so deep that it has you crying out again, fingers digging into his shoulders where your arms have curled under his to hold tight. He comes with a moan and a grunt that both get muffled with the way his face is now hidden in your hair, his cock kicking up inside you as he releases into the condom.
The increased stimulation against your sensitive walls has you going a little teary in the best way, overwhelmed but loving every moment of it, and you roll your hips over him despite the soreness in your thighs just to hear the way he groans in response.
You pull back just enough to lock your fingers in the hair at his nape and tug him into a sweet kiss, it's warm and a little sweaty as your lips slide together but it's also so full of unspoken thanks and emotion and undeclared love.
When you lean back again to collectively catch your breath, his thumb finds your wet eyelashes and swipes at them gently.
“Oh- hey, you good?” He checks with concern, his free hand already at your waist and drawing soft patterns along your skin, “You okay?”
You turn your head into the hand on your cheek and press a kiss to the center of his palm, scraping at his scalp beneath sweat-dampened locks, “I'm good,” You promise, “Gonna be sore as fuck tomorrow though, God.”
A smirk finds its way onto his face, “Fucked you so good you're gonna have trouble walkin', huh?”
“Shut up,” You huff, a laugh slipping out in contradiction to your weak display of annoyance, “But with the way my thighs feel right now? Yeah.”
You wince as you push up onto your knees, both from the ache left behind as he slips out and from the soreness in your legs. When you rise up a little higher, your head hits the roof with a painful thump and you can't bite back a curse.
Stiles is quick to bring a hand up to the back of your head with a sympathetic wince, cradling the tender spot on your skull softly, “Oh, shit, y'alright?”
“Ow,” You respond with a pout, your own hand reaching back to cover his over your hair, “Stupid Jeep n' stupid metal roof..”
“Hey,” Stiles frowns, “Don't blame the Jeep, alright? It's not Roscoe's fault you bumped your head.”
“Is too.”
It comes out in a huff and Stiles chuckles in amusement at your disgruntled expression as he slips his hands under your thighs to help you dismount from his lap completely. You fall into the seat beside him and drop your calves over his knees, bumping your forehead against his shoulder in a silent gesture of gratitude.
After a few long minutes wrapped up in each other as you collect yourselves, you both gather your haphazardly discarded clothing and redress. Stiles digs out a new air freshener from the glove compartment and adds it to the hoard of them already hanging from the rearview mirror. Another little tree to the collection, this one a pretty shade of purple and smelling of berries, dropping to sit right atop number of similarly shaped scented hangers in a wide array of colors.
And later, when you're forced to part ways, you push up onto your toes as you lean back in through the driver's side window of the Jeep for one final kiss. The breeze is cool against your thighs as it catches beneath your skirt, goosebumps causing you to tighten your fingers around the window frame as you prepare to lean back. Stiles has a hand coming up to the back of your neck to hold you in place at the first sign that you're about to pull away, stretching the kiss out for as long as he can get away with. It's a sickly sweet press of lips. One that will hopefully be enough to hold you over until you get the chance to have him like this again.
A glance over your shoulder as you walk away has your gaze meeting Stiles one last time, elation and melancholy both pulling at the edges of your lips until you're left with a saccarine smile to pair with your tiny wave goodbye. Your fingers come up to brush your lips as you begin to turn away, and when you extend your hand in his direction Stiles nearly throws himself out the open window to catch the invisible kiss that you've sent his way. His unnecessary enthusiasm has you stifling a giggle as you finally turn your back to him and make your way down the street.
You're forced to jog around the block from where Stiles has dropped you a safe distance from your house, hopping into the shower the moment you get home to wash away any and all evidence of the afternoon from your skin.
It's with skin scrubbed clean and a heavy heart that you head to the washing machine and dump your clothes inside to extinguish the lingering smell of Stiles that you know clings to the fabric, of you and Stiles, together.
And when Scott pauses the load mid-wash with the intention of throwing a shirt in, your brother is sure to complain about the way you've pointedly used the scented detergent — the overpowering artificial smell of lavender much too strong an irritant to his overly-sensitive, supernatural, wolfy nose — But, you remind yourself, if you want to keep up this thing with Stiles, which you desperately do, then that's just how this has to go, because, well.
description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]
word count: 11.1k
trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,
main masterlist
Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!
She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard.
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her.
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall.
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal.
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was.
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven?
“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin.
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly.
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches.
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be.
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t.
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
FOUR DAYS EARLIER
“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day.
As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.
Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.
She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in.
A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.
“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.
“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”
She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name.
It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him.
Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated.
“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”
She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here.
No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho.
“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor.
A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.
“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up.
“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression.
In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was.
But that was not real life.
Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s.
“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.
Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum.
“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms.
“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:
“Road works-”
They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh.
“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.”
Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.
The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front.
It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it.
They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice.
She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven.
Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him.
It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.
Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about.
“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone.
Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”.
The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips.
“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment.
“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten.
Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked.
“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about.
“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway.
Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?”
Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.
“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.
Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug.
The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs.
“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.
“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”
Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her.
“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper.
Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”
Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away.
“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you. “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”
Liar. Liar. Liar.
It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.
He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went.
“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing.
“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her.
“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”
“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk. “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,”
He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.
She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary.
She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”
“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more.
It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.
Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was.
Her sofa.
The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?
Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain.
Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was.
Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited.
She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under.
Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller.
The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.
“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked.
“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”
“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.
“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window.
“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London.
“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?”
She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.
“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.
Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside.
“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted.
“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date.
Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.
“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears.
Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing.
“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”
“Alright, gators!”
She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag.
Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse.
She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.
This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now.
Which only meant…
Her date had fucking stolen from her.
“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes.
It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties.
She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend.
“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building.
Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money.
And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.
“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics.
“Even Stevie-”
“Steven,”
“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat.
“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes.
She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.
In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”
She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop.
Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist.
She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.
Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.
Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.
“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know.
This man was no friend.
“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?”
“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him.
She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man.
“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be.
That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system.
She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before.
“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice.
“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact.
Her heart plummeted.
Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.
“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.”
Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her.
“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”
But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.
“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered.
“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.
“You won’t believe me if I told you-”
“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her.
Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but.
Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,”
She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before.
She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”
“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,”
The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being.
She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening.
She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push.
“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”
Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel.
She was too good to him.
“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest.
She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately.
Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now.
Yet the two of them barely spoke all day.
Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying.
It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first.
“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?”
“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course.
She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought.
“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be?
She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.
“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom.
“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only.
Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment.
Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish.
They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself.
It only made her heart yearn for him more.
Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented.
She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her.
Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound.
But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement.
She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor.
“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”
Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room.
She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor.
“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”
His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely.
Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be.
And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly.
His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot.
The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know.
“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”
The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt.
The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.
And they were approaching.
An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down.
But that was the thing. There was nothing there.
“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there.
A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct.
“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush.
“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit.
She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it?
Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill.
Which she no doubt would be.
Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside.
The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions.
Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-
Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.
In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left.
Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward.
Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room.
The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go.
It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it.
A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll.
The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.
But the worst was yet to come.
There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover.
She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself.
She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting.
Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side.
That was when she started screaming.
Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment.
She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.
It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp.
It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor.
Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently.
What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort.
“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home.
Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear.
The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was.
“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second.
He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them.
Where was she?
“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”
He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame.
“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone.
“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog.
“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay.
“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him.
“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”
“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.
Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger.
“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears.
It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice.
It was her.
It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her.
“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless.
“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”
That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.
He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time.
She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard.
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her.
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall.
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal.
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was.
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven?
“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin.
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly.
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches.
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be.
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t.
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
Hello!! Could I request an ethan Landry x reader fic where maybe reader puts 2&2 together after their first kiss or something and she like runs out of the dorm goes to the libary and looks up the previous ghost faces and maybe finds an old picture of ethan/richies family and she just sobs prints out the proof and rushes to warn her friends but before she gets a chance Ethan’s there and he’s just taunting her like you shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t concern you now you have to pay. And either readers escapes him and ends up killing him in the end or she dies?
Yes I can babe
My Little Liar
warning/ pretty violent; character death
He was always conveniently missing when shit went down.
You trusted him. You were sure you trusted him, but…
You’d been hurt that night, attacked as you’d been on the way home from the grocery store. Ghostface had pinned you against the wall of some disgusting alley, one hand against your mouth to muffle the keening noise that left you when he dragged his knife down your arm, leaving a long line of red from elbow to wrist.
It was a cut that would’ve ended your life in seconds had it been even a fraction deeper. But he’d made it shallow, just enough to sent pain searing down your arm, all while tilting his head at you as if in amusement.
And now Ethan, your friend, was cleaning the cut, frowning down at the bloodied skin. He’d said he was on his way to bring you back your textbook when he’d knocked, hardly ten minutes after you’d stumbled, bleeding and crying softly, into your apartment. You stared at him, eyes lingering on the curve of his nose, his curly hair, his mouth that was turned down at the corners as he began to wrap gauze around your forearm.
“At least it wasn’t deep.” Ethan commented, peering up at you.
You sat on the edge of your tub as he kneeled by your feet, your arm still in his grasp. Good lord the boy’s eyes were stunning. But he was unamused as he stared at you, his expression almost blank. You tugged your arm gently out of his grip.
“I’m surprised he didn’t kill me.” You raised your eyebrows, running your fingers across the bandage. “He had the chance.”
“Maybe he wants to drag it out.” Ethan mused, eyes still holding your own, and a chill ran across your skin.
You left out a half-hearted laugh, eyebrows knitting together as you looked at him.
“Ethan that’s not funny.” Your voice was strained as you remembered the fear and the pain that the killer had inflicted on you, on others, and you were surprised to feel a tightness in your chest.
“I’m not trying to be funny.”
“Then don’t say shit like that.” You were tearing up, standing and moving away from him. He should’ve been comforting you not suggesting Ghostface wants to take his time. Ethan rose and grabbed your hand before you could leave the bathroom, pulling you back towards him.
“Hey, look, I’m sorry.” He said, grasping your face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No you shouldn’t have.” You sniffed, looking up at him, at his brown eyes that had softened and were peering down at you.
“I’m sorry.” He said again, as sincerely as he could, before he leaned down and kissed you.
Your heart stopped.
You’d known you liked him, but he was—
“Y/N.” Ethan whispered against your mouth, tugging you closer. You made a soft sound of pleasure as he kissed you deeper, one arm of his looping around your back.
“Wait,” you breathed, pulling away, and laughed when he chased after you, his face flushed, eyes focused on your mouth. “hold on, hold on. We need to tell the others what happened.”
“Can’t they wait?” He protested, already guiding you towards the living-room, dead set on getting you on the couch. You grinned when he sat down, pulling you onto his lap, his lips finding your neck.
“Just…for like, ten minutes max.”
“Mhmm.” He murmured against your skin.
-
That night as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t fall asleep. You had been tossing and turning since Ethan had left, and the sting in your arm had reduced to a low throb. But something was nagging at you. Something about the way he’d looked up at you from the bathroom floor, that cold look in his eyes reminded you of—
You sat upright instantly, your breath catching. No. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.
But you were standing, pulling your shoes on and throwing open your apartment door, tearing off into the night. You made it to your university and slipped silently into the 24 hour study room, surprised to see there was no one else in the large section of the library.
So you made your way to a laptop, logging in and googling Ethan Landry. Your fingers clacked along the keyboard at a rapid clip before the data came up: nothing. You frowned, pulling out your phone, to search him on Instagram. Still nothing. It was like your friend didn’t exist online at all.
Then, breathing a bit shallowly, you searched for the other name that you had on your mind. And you scrolled. And scrolled. And then, you saw it. You squinted, leaning in, heart racing as you took in the image.
It was a man, a man who looked vaguely familiar, with his arm around—
You lurched back from the screen, staring at the trio. He was younger there, so was Richie, but it was unmistakably Ethan.
“No fucking way.” You mumbled, feeling slightly panicked, your face turning red hot when you realized you’d made out with the brother of the Ghostface who had nearly killed you. You saved the image, opening up your WhatsApp on the computer as you made to send the photo to Tara.
But then a hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you away from the computer, and you screamed as your chair crashed backwards onto the floor, your head hitting the ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan demanded, hauling you up against him, his grip on the back of your shirt almost choking you. You thrashed but he held tight, growling into your ear as he spoke. “What were you doing, Y/N?”
“You—he’s your—” you steadied yourself on your feet, smacking at him, still trying to wrench yourself away. “You’re a liar.”
“First smart thing you’ve ever said to me, baby.” He laughed and let go, causing you to stumble forward and away from him.
You bolted towards the door, yanking on the handle, and let out a strangled sob when you found it was locked. So you turned towards the other exit, only to find Ethan blocking your path, a sinister grin on his face.
“It was so easy to get you to trust me.” He purred, taking a casual step forward. “I’ll admit though, you’re a hell of a kisser. I might’ve even slept with you if you would’ve let me.”
“You’re disgusting.” You spat, edging your way around a table. “Get the fuck away from me, E.”
“If you promise not to tell,” he offered, tilting his head as he moved forward again, inching closer. “I might let you go.”
You wept, heart racing as the swell of his betrayal washed over you, your head shaking rapidly.
“Ethan, no. You were my friend.”
“Shame.” He sighed, as if this was tiring, and then picked up the nearest laptop and threw it at you.
You shrieked as you dodged but it still managed to hit your shoulder, the slam of it causing pain to rush throughout your chest and arm. The blow caught you off guard and you hardly had time to react before he was rushing you, grabbing your waist and tossing you to the ground.
“No!” You screamed, scrambling away, and then your scream turned into a wail when he dropped on top of you, his knee digging into the top of your arm, forcing your injured forearm against the ground.
“I can make this worse, Y/N.” He threatened, and you heard the slide of the knife when he removed it from where he’d hidden it. You were crying in earnest, shaking your head as you thrashed. “Beg me, Y/N.”
“Fuck you.”
“Beg me, and I’ll stop.”
Your chest heaved; your arm was pooling blood onto the ground, the ache in it almost unbearable, and his weight was crushing you. And you really, really, didn’t want to die.
“Ethan please.” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please. Please if you ever cared about me don’t—”
He lifted his weight just enough to roll you over before straddling you again, your tear soaked face staring up at his. He looked down at you, his psychotic expression having had calmed, settling into a serene little smile that scared you more than anything. He’d pinned your arms with his knees again, though he was putting less force on your wound. The direct pressure was still agonizing, though, and silent tears ran down your cheeks as you shuddered.
“Don’t cry, baby.” He sighed, eyebrows furrowing. You stiffened, trying not to sob aloud when he lifted his knife and ran it slowly across your cheek, his eyes tracking the movement. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to cut you.” Then, as an afterthought, “again.” As if for emphasis he threw the knife away from him, out of reach. “You still haven’t promised not to tell anyone.”
“I won’t.” You lied, blinking up at him. Then you cringed when he reached down and cupped your face in his hands, eyeing you with a knowing look that made your heart stumble. It was already pounding so hard you thought it might give out.
“My little liar.” He smiled, and slid his hands down to your throat. When he dipped his head down and kissed you, a long kiss, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to tremble. “We would’ve made a good team.” He murmured against your mouth, and then his hands began to squeeze.
When you realized what he was doing you started shaking, thrashing against him, fresh tears running down your face.
“No, no, E—” But you couldn’t speak, not as his fingers crushed into your throat, pushing you down so harshly to the ground you thought your neck would break.
You were gasping for breath, your chest growing tighter and tighter, the feeling of fire wrapping around your lungs making you sob violently. There was no air—no air left in the world—not as the taste of bile seemed to fill your mouth and your skin began to tingle, all the way from the top of your head to your toes.
Your lips were soundlessly forming his name, over and over, as spots began to spark in your vision. To his credit, and your surprise, his eyebrows furrowed and he looked away, his throat bobbing as he roughly swallowed.
And when the darkness swarmed in and you felt the first twinge of cold, you held onto the image of him, the good one, the one where he hugged you tight, the one where he kissed you and you believed he cared, until you couldn’t think anymore at all.
𓆩 ★ 𓆪 . . bloomic love interests x reader ⁝ wc. 1.5k ⁝ fluff
☆ And out of every star in the sky, Nightowl would remember which was your favorite.
It was a routine – ritual, habit, whatever he called it – to find comfort in the moon when nobody else kept him company. He found joy in counting all of the stars, connecting them together in his brain.
He found relief in closing his eyes and imagining what pictures they would make, humming to himself as he wondered who would paint those pictures? Every time he looked at the stars, they held some kind of makeshift home for him.
Until you.
He had a makeshift home until you started texting him awful (literally the worst) puns during work, until you started memorizing the lyrics to his favorite songs, until you started buying him gifts without cause for concern, just because you thought he would like it. He had a makeshift home until you made him a real home.
He watches you sleep, a gentle reminder that you're still here, and he smiles softly to himself. A gentle reminder that, out of everybody in the world, somebody as perfect and heavenly like you chose him. You want to be with him of all people.
Nightowl feels his chest tighten. And he’s not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing. His hand finds yours, intertwining together.
He can't remember when you became his. He can't remember when he was listening to the radio, and suddenly all of the love songs were about you. He can't remember when he started surrounding and drowning himself in you and your interests, hobbies, likes and dislikes, everything.
There was nothing specific about you that had caught his eye, he just knew. A part of him just knew that he wanted to spend his firsts and lasts with you.
He loved how often you laughed, so he listened. He loved how you craved for his admiration, and his admiration he gave you. He loved how you always seemed to smile at him, even throughout the worst situations, and he questioned.
Bightowl questioned how you thought, how you felt, how you loved. And no matter how many times he found the answers, there was always something in the back of his mind, itching and starving for more answers. For more of you.
He hopes it stays that way forever.
Nightowl pulls the covers up a little more (just so that you aren't too cold when you wake up) and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. He breathes in your scent, and then he exhales you.
He’s home.
☆ Quest was yours the moment you asked him to stay.
The moment you greeted him with open arms and a blinding smile, sparkling with stardust and a future he knew could become a reality if he didn't fuck anything up, he was yours.
The moment your hand slipped into while he watched a movie with his friends, shooting him a small smile before returning your attention to the movie (and not making a comment about how sweaty his hands were in that moment), he was yours.
The moment your lips met the scar beneath his eye while you two were entangled in a pure showcasing of love, claiming that you were kissing his scars better, he was yours.
The thing about Quest is that he never liked himself. He looked in the mirror and ripped himself apart, like he was a page of bad lyrics. But now when he looks in the mirror, you're almost always there. You’re either brushing your teeth, or complaining about how you ran out of your favorite lotion (he’s noticed you use an unnecessary amount, he'll just buy you extra next time), or you have your arms wrapped around his waist and you're smiling at him in your reflections.
You’re smiling at him.
It’s so absurd to think about, how you - an angel in all humanly ways possible - are smiling at quest of all people- he doesn't know how to describe himself, but it’s not that good, that's for sure.
But all of those thoughts get wiped away like sand on a beach when you kiss him again, smiling ever so softly and stroking your hand on his cheek left and right and left and right. A barely there motion that just makes him so lovesick it’s like he's gonna throw up.
You always make his worries melt away, with a small thumb stroke on the back of his hand, or how you gently kiss the corner of his mouth.
A small message that everything’s gonna be okay.
When Quest looks into mirrors, he thinks of himself as a somebody, thanks to you. He thinks of himself as a person deserving of at least a little bit of love, ever since you held his hand during this whole healing process he never knew he needed.
He never knew he needed you until he saw you, and Quest doesn't want to think of another possibility to his life that doesn't end with you and him having matching wedding bands.
Just please let this be his one and only good ending.
☆ Xyx wants to marry you. That's it. He's not going to make you look in between the lines for a message like that, he'll say it upfront. He wants to be yours forever, your prince charming in a Disney movie. Point blank. That's it.
He wants to shower with you with the lights off, so the monsters in the dark can feast off of your insecurities that are left in the brightness.
He wants to make dinner for you when you're sick, just for you to groggily get up and rest your head on his shoulder, and despite his protests that you're gross and sick he doesn't make any effort to move.
He wants to have pillow fights with you like he's a teenage girl, as long as he hears your laughter. And boohoo if you say oh, but my laugh is a cackle, because that's even better to him. He wants you to be pure and honest and raw with him.
He wants to have deep, philosophical conversations with you in the dead of the night and come to the comfortable realization that there are six continents, eight billion people on this planet, and a lifetime of choices and fuck-ups that could be made with you by his side and he still can only see a life that leads to you.
He wants to paint your houses' walls with you, only to get more paint on each other rather than the walls.
He wants to hold you in his arms and just feel alright. Did you know that he has never felt more safe than when he can feel the weight of your head resting on his chest? He'll tell you a thousand times over.
Xyx wants your pretty sides and bad sides because falling in love with you wasn't necessarily falling, per se. It was more so an injection of a drug. It doesn't kick in immediately, but when it does, it's fucking heavenly. He wants you to be his drug forever.
And he knows forever is just a what if? situation, but he can counter that just as simply. What if you two live together until you're old and wrinkly? What if you two slow dance in the kitchen while the cookies you're supposing to be making together are probably (definitely) burning? What if you're the story your kids tell in the future because they're so dumbfounded how love like yours exists?
What if you're his forever and always?
☆ Toast wants to listen to your voice forever, like a broken record stuck on repeat.
They aren't good with words, they have a difficulty understanding how his thoughts or actions can be put into scribbles on sheets of paper, or something that leaves a fuzzy, almost numb-like feeling in their mouth.
But you make it look so, so very easy.
They love it when you talk about your interests, and how you compare certain character that always happen to be your favorites to them.
They love it when you text them in the middle of the day, sending your favorite songs to him and screenshots of the lyrics you listen to the most that's followed up by something dumb like it's just like us fr :P.
They love it when you come home every day and fall on his bed and talk about your shitty coworkers and how you're this close to becoming a stay-at-home fiancé.
They love it when you cup their cheeks so gently and kiss every part of their face, their freckles and moles and their everything, just to appreciate them.
They love it when you think they're asleep and whisper the softest praises to them, when you melt into their chest a little more and your voice gets muffled in their shirt. They love it when you whisper these tender phrases to them, worshipping them like a God-sent deity.
Toast just... really loves you. They aren't the best with words.
now taht i know you're requests are open, could you maybe write a solidarity x reader from empires 2 where the hermits visit tumble town and reader hears about it, goes to say hi and they're like kind of 'close' with one of th hermits (doesnt matter who) and then jimmy gets a little jealous and then theres just fluff :) (if you'd be okay with it, feel free to change otherwise) <3
Yes ofc! I love the idea! Thank you! Sorry it took so long to post. I going through something personal, and then I just ended up going inactive. But here you go!
You're ridiculous (solidarity x gn!reader)
You knocked at the door of your neighbor from tumble town Jimmy. You had come over for some gunpowder as his shop is empty as always what a shocker. The door opened and he smiled.
"Well howdy partner what brings you here to Tumble Town?"
"Well I came here for gunpowder but a certain someone," You put heavy emphasis on certain someone, "doesnt keep his shop stocked full." You looked at the sheriff unamused.
His face became a light shade of pink in embarrassment that he was called out for his shop never being stocked by you. "I'm sorry, we can fly over to Joey's farm and I'll provide you some gunpowder."
You chuckled softly. "Hey I'm only messing with you but let's go." Were your plans before you heard a rumble of some sorts. "What was that?" You turned and looked at the sheriff who shrugged in return.
"I have no idea. It was probably no big deal." He shrugged it off. As you both continued with your already made plans to get gunpowder.
On the flight back you grabbed some gunpowder and helped Jimmy restock his shop. "In all seriousness, keep your shop stocked for Joel's sake."
He rolled his eyes at you. "Dont speak of that little wannabe God's name in my empire." To which you just rolled your eyes in turn.
"Joel, Joel, Joel." You giggled seeing Jimmy get all riled up was such a fun thing to do.
"You called?" Joel flew down being followed by a mysterious figure that you didn't recognize.
Jimmy let out a distressed yell. "Y/N! Look at what you've started! Now HES here in MY EMPIRE and he's gonna start something."
"Well Jimmy what a toy way to introduce our new guest." Joel rolls his eyes and the figure behind him goes to introduce himself, but before he could you tackled him in a hug.
"Scar! Oh it's been forever since I saw you last. What are you doing here? How are the others?" You threw questions at your old hermitcraft buddy for explanation you joined hermitcraft for season 6 and the start of 7 but got busy and ended up leaving and joining empires.
Scar chuckled slightly pushing you off of him. "Well, first off. Hello Y/N it's a pleasure to see you again. I dont know how I got here, see I walked through a portal with Grian and the others, and the others are great, they're around somewhere."
"I'll have to look around for them, see I was here in tumble town for some gunpowder, then I had to go on a quest because SOMEONE, not to name names or anything, never has their shop stocked." You explained to Scar. "Ooh! You'll have to let me show you around to the places Joel hasn't shown you yet!"
"Oh! Is that Y/N?" A familiar voice said walking into view. You looked up and saw Grian.
"Oh, hi G!" You waved at him.
Jimmy glared at Grian. "YOU??!?!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"
Grian smiled and walked over towering over Jimmy menacingly. "Guess you'll never escape me Timmy. I'm always here, every smp you'll never be safe."
"Well that doesn't matter," he pulled you away from Scar. "As Y/N likes me better than you, which is why they chose to stay on empires!"
"Hey! I never said that!" You gave a stern look to the sheriff. "I just haven't had the time to talk to X about rejoining. It has nothing to do with me liking you guys better than the hermits."
Jimmy blushed in embarrassment as he let go of you. "You can't say things like that Jim!"
"I'm gonna go show Scar around and catch up with him because he asked me to. Then I have all the time to spend with you." You smiled and flicked Jimmy's nose. Before heading off with Scar which caused Jimmy to have a sad pang of jealousy in his heart.
Scar and Y/N caught up after not having talked to him in such a long time. They ended up running into some of the hermits and caught up with them. It started to get late so they waved bye to their friends and flew back to Tumble Town.
They walked into the room to see Jimmy pouting. "You know, you're incredibly ridiculous right?" Y/N shook their head as they went over and wrapped their arms around Jimmy pulling him into a hug. Jimmy hugged back. He didn't say anything to Y/N so they just sighed and ended up cuddling the night away. "You know you'll always be my favorite Sheriff Jimmy Solidarity." You smiled kissing his cheek
He blushed "Yeah, I know, and you'll always be my favorite deputy, Y/N L/N."
૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა damon reznor x f!traveller
— sfw / fluff / lazy proofread / 1.2k wc
it’s not as if damon had received a lot of gifts in his life.
growing up, his birthday was never celebrated, if even acknowledged, and he’d learned that expecting so much as a “happy birthday” was a complete waste of time. he would be met with nothing but disappointment, and damon wasn’t a huge fan of disappointment.
it was just another day to live through. another year in which he had somehow avoided a one-way ticket to hell. because, let’s be honest, only in his wildest dreams would he be granted any bittersweet depiction of an afterlife. in reality, damon reznor was undeserving of second chances—even ones that he didn’t believe in.
throughout the years, the assassin had somehow acquainted himself with people that, deep deep deep down, had a heart. one big enough to bless him with gifts on a day that he had gone years without recognising.
but opening the door of his quarters at the ass crack of dawn to a member of the royal peg’asi family clutching a knife in their hands on such a day? the thought of an afterlife paled in comparison. that seemed more within his reach than whatever clusterfuck of a fever dream he was having right now.
My first Blooming panic fic, I was inspired, writing block cured (for now)
Quest x GN!Reader
Quest takes reader out for valentine's day, trying to be sweet but ends up bringing reader's insecurities out at full force.
2.5k words
Trigger warning: Reader bulling themselves, Quest fear of being feared( that's a weird phrase), breaking down in front of people
Let me know if I missed a trigger or if you spot any spelling mistakes.
Feedback is encouraged!!
Masterlist
You currently sat across Quest. He had reserved a table at a nice restaurant, which was packed for valentines day. You felt a little selfish for not doing as much as your boyfriend. It's not like you were unprepared, you knew it was coming up but valentines day always left a bad taste in your mouth. You always went all out for your valentines, and it always went underappreciated, so you decided to stop celebrating valentines unless your partner instigated it. You didn't calculate it would be a surprise and here you are being spoiled and you have nothing in return. You looked into Quest’s eyes, they looked so perfect, so bright, so pure, and the memories of every other February 14th ruined the moment. All the rejections, all the times you were a bet, the days you were stood up in the rain, the fights. The nights you waited with anticipation for something as simple as a flower, only to be yelled at, belittled for wanting to celebrate a fake capitalist holiday. You repeat to yourself what you've been told over and over. That you're worthless, unlovable, unworthy of love, that you're not enough. You tell yourself not to fall for this, that it's all a lie, just like last time, just like always.
"Angel?"
That voice, it breaks your thoughts. Its Quests, you know that, something about his voice, the name he used, the way he sounds worried as if he cared as if he knew what was going on in your head. All of it made you think, just for a second, that everyone else was wrong, that those little voices were wrong.
"You ok? If this is too much we can leave."
He makes move to wave over the waiter, but you interject
"I’m fine Quest, this is perfect, I was just in my head"
Lowering his hand he reaches over to take yours
"You sure?"
You smile, looking into his eyes
"Never been more sure of anything"
The two of you got lost in each other's eyes, you both knew your words were not just about the restaurant.
"Did you need something, sir?"
The waiter nervously asked, not wanting to disturb your moment but also needing to do their job. Quest keeps his eyes on you, make sure one last time that you truly want to stay. Then turning to the waiter.
"Sorry about that, I know you're packed but would it be fine if we ordered now?"
"That’s perfectly fine sir."
You and Quest order and eat. The night is filled with cheesy moments, feeding each other, kisses, shared desert, longing gazes. It was almost too much, but as soon as you started to feel overwhelmed it was over, mostly. Quest was walking you home, hand and hand, you started to relax, recovering from being overfilled with all the cheesiness of the night, still fighting those thoughts from the beginning of the night. While walking Quest takes note of how many people cross the road to avoid him, not wanting to have his night ruined by outsiders he decides to ignore them. He turns to look at you, he takes the peaceful walk to admire his angel, the way they held onto him like he was safe, someone who would never hurt you, you cling to him like he was your protector. He loved it, loved you, he had to fight himself to not blurt it out loud, you were so focused and he just needed to wait a little longer.
Arriving at the door of your apartment, ready to get in and finally take a breath. You loved tonight, but you'd never felt this spoiled? Loved? You just wanted to be able to relax and process everything. So opening the door, after kissing Quest goodnight you were surprised to see candles and flower petals littering your apartment. You can feel the presence of Quest behind you. You know he is waiting for a reaction, you want to give him a good one but you can't hold it anymore as you let out a sob, you try to catch it but it's too late. Quest rushes in front of you, he checks to see if anything is physically wrong, his arms and eyes frantically rooming your body
"What's wrong? Angel? Are you ok?"
He sounds so concerned, so scared, you can't lie to him
"It- it doesn't make sense-"
You struggle to say more. Quest straightens up and pulls you into his chest, realizing his worry wasn't helping. He rubs your back and whispers to you
"Shh it's okay, breath takes your time."
You can hear his heart racing, you want it to calm you but it only makes you realize how nervous Quest is now. You refuse to make him wait, blurting out what you feel, not a thing of the wording
"I'm so scared."
He continued to rub your back
"Of what angel? Please tell me. I want to help?"
Sobbing out your answer, once again not think normally
"Of you. I'm scared of you."
As soon as the syllabus hits his ears he pulls away from you, his heart dropping from his chest, he swears he hears the thud it makes as it hits your floor. He questioned every moment you were ever close to him. Wondering if you were ever uncomfortable but too scared to tell him. Were you uncomfortable on the walk here? Did you want to cross the road and run away from him like everyone else? He takes multiple steps backward, almost tripping over himself, trying to protect you from himself. He had to protect you, even if it was from himself. He looks at himself, was he always this big, scary, threatening? Was he so desperate for your love that he missed all the hints that you hated him, that you were afraid of him? Quest does his best to shove his thoughts down, he's still here, in your apartment, your probably terrified and he can’t stop thinking about himself, he labels himself as selfish before speaking.
"Ang- I mean- I’m sorry. I never wanted to scare you. I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner- I’ll leave."
Even though he says those words he stays still, waiting for you to move from the doorway, he doesn't want to harm you anymore so he keeps his distance.
You had watched as Quest stumbled back, you were so worried, you plagued your mind for a reason he’d react this way. Was it something you did, something you said? You quickly realize what you said, and why it affected him this way. You wanted to fix this but he looked so panicked, you didn't know what to do, the words wouldn't come out and you felt approaching him would only make it worse. Then he spoke, you felt the tears drip from your eyes at his words. You knew about his past but you knew him for him, you knew he'd never hurt you. It was so obvious to you that he was safe that you forgot about his insecurities, or how others perceive him. Images of people avoiding him flash in your mind, moments where strangers asked if you were endangered, you never thought much of it, but to him, it was the very thing preventing him from going any further in your relationship. While you connect all the pieces in your head you let out a quiet cry.
"No"
Quest heard the tiny plead, his thought froze will he waited for you to say more, not expecting what happens next
You plan your next words out carefully, unlike before, and you take all the anger you had for anyone who ever looked at Quest with scared eyes and you yell, letting all that anger out in your explanation.
"NO- I’m not scared of you, physically- I’m"
You stumble over your words as you take a deep breathe, your voice back to a whisper
"I'm scared you'll break my heart."
You pause waiting to see if Quest will react. When he doesn't you start ramble, wanting to make it crystal clear what you mean. You cry through it all.
"I'm afraid that you using me, that I’m a joke, that eventually I’ll find out the server all placed their bets on how long I'll believe that you like me, care for me. I’m scared that you’re like every other person who ever claimed to love me, because, because..."
You start to yell again
"Because it doesn't make sense. Why would you like me? Look at me, I’m a joke, I’m worthless, I’m unlovable, and yet here you are. You, who is so amazing, you who has such an optimistic look on life, who has that outlook even though you've seen and dealt with things you never deserved. Why would you be here? It already hurts so much to think about and you haven't even revealed the truth. Please- please get it over with- just tell me the truth."
Your voice cracks so much it hurts, your legs struggle to hold you up.
Quest moves quickly as he sees your body start to give up, catching you, holding you tight against him. When he heard that first sentence he felt a wave of relief, he knew it was true. He had heard it in your voice, the honesty behind what you were saying, he heard the desperation of needing him to understand, and he did, with such honesty. His relief was short-lived as you continued, as he watched and listened to you say such horrible things. He understood that your beliefs weren't about him, but more about your past experiences, about how idiots, like society boys, treated you. He wants to change that, show you it is not true, show you that you can be loved, that you deserve just as much love as everyone else, he wants to do what you've done for him. When he watched your body start to give up he rushed to hold you, griping your body tighter than ever before. Quest holds you with all his might as he organizes his thoughts, taking in a shaky breath before speaking, before telling you what you need to hear, the truth.
"Angel? I'll tell you the truth but first I need you to accept that you're not any of those things anyone from your past has called you."
When you don't reply Quest pushes a little harder
"Say it 'I’m not worthless, I’m lovable and I deserve love'"
You stay quiet
"Please angel?"
His voice cares so much emotion with those two words, so you try
"I’m- I'm not worthless"
"There you go."
"I am lovable?"
"It not a question.{"
"I am lovable."
"And?"
"And I deserve love."
Quest pulls you out from his chest enough that he can kiss your forehead
"Good job angel. Now let me tell you how I feel about you."
He rests his forehead against yours, locking eyes as he begins
"You are not a bet or a conquest, I'm not with you for money or pity or any other crazy thought in your head, and the same goes for the server, we care about you. And I- I love you. I love the way I feel around you, I love the way you make me feel like I'm a safe person over a dangerous one, I love the way you make me forget the negative connotations that come with my size. I love the way you don't try and fix me. I love how you accept and see me more than anyone else."
"You love me?"
"Yes, I'm so in love with you it's crazy."
There's silence, Quest’s mind races again. What if they are scared of me and feel threatened to say it back without meaning it
"You don't have to say it back though, I understand that you might need time, and i-"
"I love you"
You whisper, tears streaming down your face, but a smile on your lips. He freezes and your mind races with the possibility that this was what he wanted that, that he was going to pull away, start laughing at how gullible you are
"Are you lying?"
"Never, never to you. I love you"
I love you
I love you
The two of you repeat the three simple words back to each other until Quest’s lips cut you off as he holds your head against his, kissing you with all the love he has for you. When you pull away the two of you laugh with each other. After a while, the two of you settle on the couch. You lay on Quest chest, relaxing to his heartbeat as the two of you talk about the day .
"Sorry I ruined everything."
"You ruined nothing, I still gotta say what I wanted."
"What was that?"
You asked, oblivious
"That I love you"
"Oh…right."
You blush as he said it again. He laughs at your reaction.
"Oh shush, I love you too, I've loved you for so long, and yet you get to have all the fun teasing me."
"Oh, and how long have you loved me?
You go silent before whispering
"8 months"
"What?! 8 months, what took you so long, I mean I've loved you for just as long but-"
"I was scared"
Quest stops speaking and lets you talk
"Just like today, I was afraid that as soon as I said it, you would start laughing and .. well y’know..."
Quest almost can't believe how long you've felt like this. He wishes he could do more, but to you, this was enough
"I’m not like anyone you've been with, I'm not a blind idiot."
You laugh at his remark
"I care and love you, and will always appreciate the little things you do for me."
He kissed the top of your head. The two of you basked in the silence as you worked up the courage to speak again.
"You know, I know you’re not like them, I never thought that you were, I know your different, better, it was just, I've never had this, a person who shows they care and-"
Your rambling is cut off by your loving boyfriend
"I know angel, I get it."
"And- I'm not scared of you, I never was, I know I said this but I feel awful I said that I couldn’t stand the way you moved away, or the way you looked at yourself, I feel so bad and I just- I wasn't scared of you, I was scared of losing you and even more of my dignity. I'll never be scared of you."
You look into Quest's eyes as you apologize, he doesn't have to say anything, you can see the love and forgiveness in his eyes as you lean in for a kiss. When you pull away the words fall from your lips.
"I love you."
"I know."
You lightly hit Quest on his chest as he laughs at your reaction.
"I love you too"
Hope you enjoyed it!! Thanks for reading it! Reblogging is always appreciated!!!
hey there, welcome to my blog! my name's ivy, and i go by they/them or fae/faer. here's a gallery of my work!
currently writing for: blooming panic and probably twst in the near future. my favorite characters are nightowl + onionthief, and ace + riddle + leona + kalim!
requests for fics and scenarios are currently closed! asks for rambles (such as my thoughts about bp, reactions and such) or chatting are always open :>
some stuff i'm into: visual novels (bloomic, OM, OL series, xoxo series), genshin, valorant, twisted wonderland, kpop (txt), art!
hiya I was wondering if you could Empires smp solidarity x f!reader?
Where the reader gets injured by a skeleton
AHHHHHH MY FIRST ASK, YES YES ILY /P. Also sorry I didn't make the reader female, I prefer to give them gender neutral pronouns so my content can be read by everyone :)
Warnings: Mention of injury
It's okay! I'm fine!
Solidarity x Reader
You hadn't even realized how late it was until you got out of the cave you were mining in and grumbled to yourself. Checking your inventory for a bed you saw that you didn't have one on you. "What idiot doesnt bring a bed with them when mining!" You grumbles to yourself and sighed putting your elytra on. You were quite a bit away from your base and the closest person around was Jimmy in his Mesa so you decided now was a good time as ever to stop by the sheriff's humble abode.
You had been flying when you reached the outside of Jimmy's empire. You smiled he had a nice empire building up. You realized that this was the first time you'd stopped by as you'd been busy setting up your own empire in the desert. You softly flew down and landed on the ground right outside his empire with a yawn. You walked down the path it was really dark and there were mobs everywhere but you sped walk. The faster you got there the quicker you could get to safety and bed. As you were walking you yelped in pain, a skeleton shot you in the shoulder. "Ouch!" You turned towards the skeleton and pulled out your sword attacking it while getting hit by another arrow in the leg by a different skeleton. You searched for your bow pulling it out and killing the skeletons after a few hits before ignoring the pain in your leg as you dashed towards the mesa.
By the time you got to the door of a specific sheriff you caught your breath your leg aching and both your leg and shoulder bleeding. You slowly knocked a few times feeling bad for waking the poor man. You stood there a few moments before the door opened with a confused Jimmy standing there.
"Whos knocking on my door in the middle of the night?" He yawned and looked at you. "Oh dear Joel! (Haha get it cus Joel's God i swear this needs to become an actual thing) Y/N you look horrible."
You chuckled sheepishly at the sheriff using your good arm to rub the back of your head. "Sorry to bother you so late Mr. Sheriff but I'm incredibly tired and your place was the closest nearby."
"Dont apologize! Come in, sit down let me get you some bandages for your shoulder!"
"Its okay Jimmy im fine really, it's nothing too terribly bad." You tried to calm the man in font of you down while sitting in the chair as it felt nice to stop standing on your leg. Jimmy dissapeared for a second before coming back with a first aid kit.
"Here let me pull the arrow out of your shoulder." He rolled your sleeve up and slowly and gently pulled the arrow out of your shoulder.
"Ow." You whined out As soon as the weapon was pulled out of you he put it on the table and put a bandage on it before wrapping it up. Him accidentally nudging your leg which caused another "Ow!" To slip from you.
"Oh Y/N! I'm so sorry I didn't even notice." He quickly finished wrapping up your shoulder before pulling the arrow out of your thigh and doing the same process. "I'm going to go get some of my spare clothes so you can change out of these bloody ones, and ill help you to my bed."
"Oh no Jimmy im fine! I can sleep on the couch, I don't need to sleep in your bed."
"Hey, it's okay I don't mind, you're injured."
You sighed as he helped you out of the chair and too his bed. "Thanks Jimmy."
"No problem, im the sheriff its my job to help people."
He helped you sit on the bed and grabbed some spare clothes out of his closet. "Here you go, ill be just down the hall if you need me at all just shout."
"Alrighty Mr. Sheriff."
He rolled his eyes at the little nickname before heading back to the living room to get settled on the couch.
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