#and ends up in twilight town.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojorgeous · 1 year ago

Text

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

34K notes · View notes

dumbpuppyfag · 4 months ago

Text

there's a rly good twilight zone where a rural kid is born with godlike powers and traps his entire town in a pocket dimension. if anyone displeases him in any way then he can, with basically zero effort, transform them into a monster or erase them from existence. it ends up being this hellish terror as everyone tries to live their lives without upsetting his childishly simplistic understanding of right and wrong, which is based on whether he feels like people are being nice to him. if they're insufficiently nice, no matter how good their reason, they get yanked away by unseen forces never to be seen again

anyway if you're a transfem who talks politics on here, check it out. everyone else watch it or don't, idc

2K notes · View notes

mirensiart · 6 months ago

Text

you’ve heard about linksmeet aus before, but today I bring you a LINKLES MEET AU

✨WELCOME TO THE LINKLE-VERSE✨

basically, an au that asks the question of: what if each Link had a Linkle counterpart? The Linkles don’t necessarily share a spirit, but they do share one thing, aka GETTING LOST! So lost in fact they end up in different eras lmao what’s better than this, just gals being pals trying to find their way back home amiright lmao

it all starts with Fauna (botw/totk!Linkle) following a story about Zelda’s whereabouts for the Lucky Clover Gazette and falling down a suspicious portal accidentally. She ends up in another era and another time, and pairs up with the local Linkle to find a way back home (though jumping through time will absolutely make a great story for the Lucky Clover!) what happens next will (not) surprise you (they get lost again and find themselves in another era, find the local Linkle and…rinse and repeat lmao)

👇 small notes and translation of their names down below 👇

they’re all sapphics cause like, I’m sapphic and I say so lol

the OG Linkle aka the one from hyrule warriors, is nicknamed atenea

fauna has no idea her coworker (botw/totk!link) is THE link everyone is looking for, cause I think it’s funny that he has the Tony Hawk syndrome lmao

hada dies to ganondorf’s forces while protecting oot!zelda in all timelines except the child timeline

brisa hates ww!link’s guts and refers to him as her sworn arch nemesis but it’s all one sided cause ww!link couldn’t care less about her lmao he keeps finding rare treasure and getting his hands on treasure maps, ITS NOT FAIR !

rosa is like brock from pokemon aka her eyes are always closed lmao

ocaso has a bitch resting face but is actually a sweetheart, she feeds the cats in castle town every day

linka is a traveling merchant in hyrule, while rava travels lorule. they both have had encounters with ravio in lorule/hyrule and hate him, they’re competitors lol the hatred is mutual though ravio hates them too since they keep stealing Mr Hero’s patronage from him lol

I like to imagine peregrina has stumbled upon loz/al!link a couple of times but has no idea who he is, like just a weird traveling kid lmao

alma likes trains and aspires to be a royal engineer like st!link but she also dreams of eventually being the captain of a steamboat lol

ever since she split, colores talks in plural sometimes

capa is mc!link’s cousin aka they both have the same grandpa :)

the translations of their names are:

Cielo = sky

Capa = cape

Hada = fairy

Rosa = rose or pink

Brisa = breeze

Ocaso = twilight

Linka is just Linka lol same with Rava

Colores = colors

Alma = spirit or soul

Fauna = same in English

Peregrina = pilgrim

946 notes · View notes

ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

Text

Error 404: Spin-off

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Update: Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized (That's it, that's the plot). Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, slight crack (literally. lmao, you’ll see), FLUFF! A/N: Finally starting the spin-off! Hello again 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 I’ve got a rough outline for the flow and a few key chapters mapped out, but I’m keeping it flexible for the most part. This isn’t gonna be a full structured story, so think more like vignettes of their life, w/ some world-building here and there (laying some groundwork for future chapters hehe). Come thru if you wanna see what error!Sylus and our lil player are up to post-reality jump 🙂‍↕️🙏🏼 Also: no posting schedule! I’m treating this like a chill side project I can pick up whenever, so not every part’s gonna be lengthy/that polished hehe. Mostly short snippets, unless the chapter calls for a longer one. (P.S. Just send a DM if you want to be taken off the taglist lol. I just assumed you guys would still want to follow along, but no pressure at all if you don’t! 💕)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2

You keep waiting to wake up.

For the sound of your phone alarm to blare somewhere beneath the covers, forcing you to fish it out at seven-thirty-something in the morning. For this absolutely wonderful, absolute mindfuck of a dream, to end—and for the real world to set in.

For another uneventful day to begin, the way it usually does after a short reprieve from the hustle and the bustle of life.

From behind the bathroom door, the sound of the shower cuts off.

You scramble to open the cupboard overhead, grabbing the pepper shaker from the first shelf. You do four rotations over the half-cooked omelette before flipping it over with a rubber spatula, trying not to lose your cool. Or what’s left of it.

Three days. It’s been three days since it dawned on you that Sylus has actually managed to cross the threshold – through a tiny, impossible fissure in the fabric of reality – just to get to this dimension. Your dimension.

Three days since you locked eyes with the other half of your soul from across a room, no screen separating the two of you for once. No physical barrier to stop him from catching you as you ran toward him past the counter, just as twilight kissed the sky goodnight, sobbing at the first touch of his skin—electric against yours. The taste of his lips, the bittersweet notes of extant longing and pure bliss blooming on your tongue as he captured your mouth in his; the two of you lost in each other, uncaring of anything beyond that precious, shared moment.

And three days for your mind to finally catch up to the sheer impossibility of it all.

As far as your Sundays go, you’d say this one takes the cake.

He’s been staying in a modest little rental just a couple of blocks away from you. Nothing extravagant – just a transient house he’s leased for the week. Not that you’ve technically been inside to know; he only pointed it out once, the single-storey residential from across the main street, as the two of you were heading back home—your home. To your little studio apartment.

Him. Sylus. In your condo. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it.

You know that he’d just arrived in town two days before that fateful encounter at the bistro. That he’d already done his research to know exactly where you were going to be during that hour, and that he’s been here, on Earth, for quite some time now. Even before meeting you.

But past this knowledge, you haven’t actually covered much of anything, really. Just this little awkward dancing around you’ve been doing since you’ve been together.

And you know you should ask, probe, have him break down the hows of his existence to you, a clearer timeline of exactly when he popped into this world, what he’s been up to in all the time he’s been here… and why he’s even waited so long to come to you directly.

You’re painfully aware that it’s just you who’s keeping yourself from getting the answers you want. You’re the one making this harder than it needs to be. You can’t help it.

There’s no manual to tell you how to deal with your emotions when your virtual lover appears in front of you, in the flesh, miraculously defying all laws of physics in the process. No handbook telling you what to do next when something you’ve been wishing for every night before going to bed – for the past two years – actually manifests into being.

Someone you’ve always longed for, staked deep within the confines of your heart, but never truly imagined the consequences of until your wishful thinking bled into reality.

And now he’s here.

All things considered, you think you’ve done an okay job at acting like everything’s normal. Mostly. Probably.

(You haven’t.)

The day after he showed up at your proverbial doorstep, you almost couldn’t believe everything that had transpired a mere twenty hours ago was even real. That maybe your brain had just gotten creative enough to invent a Hallmark-worthy scene to win you a one-way trip to your therapist—and that, maybe, you’d conjured him up simply because you missed him and you’re so down bad, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you.

...which nearly had your soul catapulting out of your body at the sight of the—extremely corporeal, extremely attractive—raven-haired (!) man moving through your kitchen the first morning he stayed over, wearing a black V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants, ambling barefoot like he already knew the place by heart.

You suppose he does, you allow cautiously, an odd sort of warmth blooming in your chest at the thought. Of course he would.

Still. It didn’t erase the surrealness of seeing Sylus, the Sylus—mortal, perfect, wonderfully alive—brewing you a cup of coffee at nine in the morning, your brain failing to fully comprehend the image of his towering figure working your faulty, secondhand De’Longhi like a pro.

"Are you," he started, eyes zooming in on the spot between your thumb and forefinger, mouth twitching like he's trying not to laugh, "pinching yourself?"

You had quickly withdrawn your hand, schooling your face into a poor attempt at nonchalance as you reached for the steaming blue mug he was holding out to you. "...No."

You can't help but hover around him, like some weird satellite desperate for orbit. You find yourself sneaking glances every five seconds—and more often than not, he meets your gaze with a wayward look of his own.

He never calls you out on it; he just gives you an infuriatingly impish smirk that sends your heart into overdrive, making you feel younger than you are.

You’re still stewing over the events of the past few days, absentmindedly worrying whether the eggs needed more salt, when you hear the bathroom door open.

You whip your head around, and all systems crash to a stop.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

He’s standing there—all six-foot-five of pure, lean muscle, like sin sculpted out of marble and left to walk your unvacuumed parquet wood floor without so much as a care for the cluttered little living space he’s in, looking completely at ease. Fresh from the shower, steam rising lazily from every inch of bare skin laid out in front of you, and it’s like The Neuron™ in your brain activates. The towel slung low across his hips leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, reducing your thoughts monosyllabic, like some half-evolved primate ready for mating season or whatever. Hot man. Hot man shirtless. Involuntarily, your eyes track a stray rivulet sliding down; right where the faintest suggestion of a happy trail (!!!) begins and ends… and you’re gone. Lost in some kind of trance.

Utterly hypnotised, you watch as it soaks into the edge of the borrowed sage green terry cotton, faintly wondering if what’s beneath it could soak you the same way, shit—

A strangled noise slips past your lips.

It’s terrible. You sound like a dying cow. Hot man’s fault. Bad.

A snort breaks you out of your shameless ogling.

Your head jerks up like you’ve been caught red-handed doing something you're not supposed to, guiltily meeting his eyes. You see Sylus already watching you wryly, the heavy drag of his half-lidded stare rooting you in place.

Your face starts to flush red with embarrassment, heat climbing all the way up to your ears.

He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe; arms crossed loosely over his chest, completely relaxed, and clearly getting a kick out of whatever expression you’ve got at the moment. His gaze doesn't waver, stuck on you like glue, drinking in every flustered reaction with quiet amusement.

You swallow nervously. His eyes flicker down, tracing the movement of your throat, and his lips tug up into a semblance of a smile.

Fuuuuck.

"You already started on breakfast without me, sweetie?" He tuts in mock-disapproval. "I told you it’d take me less than twenty minutes to shower."

You don’t manage much in response, just a dumb, garbled, "mhm, s’okay."

You're completely blanked out at this point—bluescreen dead if you will—except for one panicked thought flashing through your brain: Holy shit, he's practically naked. Sylus Qin from Love and Deepspace is practically naked in my house.

Then, not long after, a chorus of, “oh my god oh my god oh my god” starts looping in your head, overriding what little composure you had left like some raunchy PSA warning you about the dangerous rise of moisture down south.

Sylus cocks his head slightly, sending you a sly, knowing look—one that says he knows exactly what's going on in that overstimulated little brain of yours.

Slowly, he pushes himself off and saunters closer to where you are, taking his time crossing the distance with easy, measured steps. As if he’s in no rush at all to get to you. As if he’s merely curious whether you’ll combust just from him shortening the proximity between your bodies.

(You think you just might.)

And when he’s standing barely a few inches away – close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him – Sylus leans down, effectively trapping you between the counter and the solid wall of his chest. Between granite and sinew.

You lose all capacity to speak.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out a hand to shut off the burner stove behind you with an easy flick of his wrist, the brief brush of his arm sending a shiver down your spine. Then, with maddening tenderness, he pinches your cheek between two fingers—his thumb caressing the spot right after.

In a voice filled with faux sympathy, he coos, “What’s got you all distracted, poppet?”

He’s teasing. You know he’s teasing.

He’s done nothing but tease you with his devastatingly good looks, his overwhelming presence, and syrupy words spoken so sinfully in that low cadence of his voice, ever since he arrived. And, oh, you’re not sure whether to scream or kiss the smug look off his face silly.

You’re so bad at being subtle. You always have been, especially when it comes to him. And you know you can’t hide anything from Sylus – from the smallest flicker of microexpression on your face, down to the shortness of your breath. Both of you know this. Both of you painfully aware of the effect he has on you.

And just as much, you know he’s been holding himself back—that no matter how flirtatious he gets, he’s still keeping enough control to pull away whenever you start to get too overwhelmed.

Despite his provocations, Sylus never pushes. He waits, patiently. Giving you the space to volley back if you want to. And if you don’t, he backs off in a second, with the same effortless ease he uses to tease you. Leaving you room to breathe again.

Rinse, repeat.

It’s almost as if you two are playing a game with poorly drawn rules. You don’t know who’s winning.

The little spell breaks when you feel a disgruntled meow against your shin; it's immediately followed by a cat headbutting you, twice in succession, with a surprising amount of aggression.

"Not used to sharing your mother, are you?" Sylus sighs, pulling back from where he’d been caging you in—his movements slow, reluctant.

A warning hiss rises from below. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back to a safer distance, just out of swiping range.

"Yes, yes. You win,” he grumbles in acquiescence at the testy feline, a comically put-upon look on his face. “For now.”

You pull your eyes away from his bicep—look, you're just a girl, okay—to blink down at the temperamental little creature who’s now self-appointed himself as your personal foot guard.

He’s making some vague, cryptic noises, something between a purr and a growl, while keeping his eyes locked firmly on Sylus’ leg.

"He–um, he might just be hungry," you manage to mutter. A quick glance at the food bowl says otherwise. "...or not."

Sylus huffs under his breath, a low sound, equal parts understanding and mildly affronted. He tilts his head – eyes narrowing at the untouched kibble, then to the small furry menace claiming your feet like a jilted lover.

Unfortunately, Maru’s reception to the new person has been... less than cordial.

From the moment Sylus walked in the apartment, Maru had hissed at him as if to say: There is no reason for a Man to be here, before darting beneath the coffee table – tail lashing with all the theatrics of a petulant child. The churlish product of a mother who's been single for far too long, that he’s decided he’s the only boy she’ll ever need.

It strikes you as a little odd. He never usually gets antsy around guests, and you'd even thought he and Sylus got along—or at least, back when the man in question was confined to mere pixels on screen.

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted on that.

Sylus, to his credit, hasn't once tried to close the distance or force a peace treaty. Amused, definitely; the way his eyes glint whenever Maru glares at him could almost qualify as charmed. But since stepping into your home, he’s been mindful about giving the creature a wide berth, moving with the quiet understanding that respect here is sacrosanct, something to be earned. That he’s the one imposing, and the truce between him and the (true) man of the house is a fragile, delicate thing.

You honestly haven’t decided if Maru’s behaviour is because he’s protective... or just pissed that someone else is hogging your attention.

"It’s alright, sweetie," Sylus—your son’s chosen rival—soothed you reassuringly; his hand rubbing a slow, comforting circle over the small of your back when he caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. "He’s just feeling territorial about his space right now. Give it some time."

“I’ll get dressed,” Sylus murmurs. “Don’t start on the coffee without me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another between your brows; the casual, freely-given affection leaves you warm and gooey inside. He turns toward your vanity, where his black duffel bag rests on the small plastic saddle chair.

You watch his retreating figure for a few seconds—long enough for him to glance back over his shoulder, one brow lifted in lazy inquiry. And the look is so familiar; so painfully reminiscent of the one he gives you in-game, right after you’d deliver a ‘slap’ to his ass, that it knocks you a little off-kilter.

… Which might explain why you don’t react fast enough when his eyes flash with mischief, and he casually undoes the knot of his towel.

The fabric drops.

You catch a glimpse—more than a glimpse, hello—of the perkiest butt you’ve ever seen in your life, and you spin around so fast you slam your elbow into something undoubtedly solid in the process.

A half-pained, half-mortified wheeze escapes your throat.

"Careful," he calls out to you—and though amusement colors his voice, there's a real thread of worry beneath it, enough to make you want to slam your head against the counter for some inexplicable reason. "Don’t feel the need to grant me modesty on my behalf, kitten."

"Kitten’s about to kill herself," you lament with a whine.

It earns you an unimpressed scoff.

“I just got here, my love,” he deadpans without missing a beat. “Daddy’s gonna have to ask you to hold on a little longer.”

You choke on nothing but air. Critical system failure.

Buffering… buffering… buffering…

You inhale sharply.

"Okay, pause," you beg, a slightly hysterical edge to your tone as you claw your way back from a full-blown breakdown. In an attempt to divert the topic, “D’you–uh, do you want anything on your eggs? I’ve got ketchup, hot sauce... barbecue sauce..."

"A proper chef now, are you?" And oh, the next thing you know, he’s right behind you again. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your shirt.

He smells faintly like your body wash, like Dove nourishing coconut and your calendula shampoo, a heady mix of something sweet and herbal.

The thought of him—of the both of you—smelling the same, actually makes you feel giddy.

What a stupidly trivial, novel thing to find joy in.

Snap the fuck out of it, it’s just soap, you chide to yourself.

You don’t even notice you’re trembling until Sylus curls a large hand around yours; steadying the shaky fingers reaching for the bottle of Cholula on the condiment tray, while his other hand gently cradles your hurt elbow.

Your breath hitches when he presses a kiss to your temple.

"Oh, sweetie," he murmurs, and it’s the way he says it—low and unbearably fond—that loosens some of the tension on your shoulders. "You’ve wound yourself up."

"I'm good," you mumble, though your voice betrays you, thinner than you mean it to sound.

"It's just me," he says, his tone as gentle as the breeze slipping through the open window, ruffling the choppy bangs that frame your face. "Nothing so different from how it’s always been, hmm?"

And you know he’s right. It's just him. Just Sylus. Your Sylus. No different from the one from two years ago.

"I know," you sigh, finally turning to face him, having to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes.

His expression is softer now, the type of softness reserved solely for you, something that never fails to make you ache. The teasing is gone, tucked away for the time being.

"I just need a little time to wrap my head around this," you admit, voice quieter now. "Is that... is that okay?"

The greys of his eyes melt into something silvery, moonlit—impossibly tender.

In one smooth motion, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and steps between your legs, closing what little space remains between you. You yelp in surprise, but before you can react, he’s already leaning in, stealing a kiss from your lips. Just a quick one, like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed a taste to hold him over. He chuckles when he sees your wide-eyed look.

"Of course, my love," he says, voice wrought with promise—in love with the way your lips part, bitten pink and unsure, as he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. "We’ll go as slow as you want. Forever, if that’s what you need." Forever, as what you two have.

…

For over a year, you’ve learned how to enjoy the small things alone. And you did—enjoy it, you mean. Once, almost a lifetime ago, you took for granted the quiet joys of a slower life. But you learned to take it day by day. One hour at a time, minute after minute.

It made room for reflection, and it moulded you into something stronger, and softer, all at once.

But this—with him—brings you back to another time. A sweeter time; the dog-day summer of your life.

The morning hums with a kind of quiet normalcy you’ve grown accustomed to. You’re used to the sunlight spilling through the linen curtains, lining the floor with streaks of honey-gold, soft as a happy memory. Used to the noise of the outside world bleeding through the walls, a constant presence you’ve long since accepted as a permanent fixture in this tiny apartment, like a second heartbeat.

He’s right, in a way.

This isn’t so different from the mornings you once shared with the same man—back when he wore a different face and led an extraordinarily polarized life, completely at odds with yours. The ones spent laughing into a screen, your fingers ghosting across glass, desperate to grasp something you never could.

That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone lonelier.

So, no. Maybe not quite the same – maybe not even close.

–

You finally allow yourself to give in; to sink into the warmth of him, folding yourself smaller in his embrace like a tired bird nestling into a safer sky, your heart fluttering wild and restless against your ribs. Too big for your body, too full to contain. Here – tangled together in this sliver of morning light – everything that has hurt you feels small in comparison. You were never alone to begin with. But with Sylus in your arms, the world feels brighter than you ever remembered it could be.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

671 notes · View notes

hoshigray · 9 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐆𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | s. gojō + k. nanami + h. higuruma

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Two demon hunters and a witch unite to take down a demon terrorizing the locals — sounds easy enough until the demon puts up a good fight and drags you three in for a night you’ll never forget…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: demon! Gojo + demon hunters! Nanami & Higuruma x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - fantasy! au - porn w/ plot - reader + Nanami (aged 27), Higuruma (36) + Gojo (???) - double penetration (anal & vaginal) - foursome (MFMM) - [anal] fingering! (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - handjobs - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - face-sitting + cowgirl positions - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - biting/nibbling - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!!) - pet names (baby, cutie, cupcake, darling, [my] love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - usage of aphrodisiacs - bit of humor bc i'm [not] funny - mention of blood, drool/spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (i'm so sick...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first fic of kintober, lessgooooo!! always wanted to write smthn with higunana, so I'm glad i can check that off my list now :333 my first foursome fic, I'm bout to end it all.

“—OWW!! Fuck…easy with the magic, witch!”

“Good work, sorceress; a good hit.”

“He went toward the abandoned mansion as planned; if we’re lucky, with that gash on his shoulder, he shouldn’t be going anywhere…Let’s stay close.”

You nod to the words, the pendant of your necklace shines. “Lead the way.”

Of course, it was a dark and rainy night befalling this day; the twilight light diminished hours within an hour, leaving the stars to scatter around as the waxing crescent dominated the black sky. The only light outside of these is the lantern harboring the flame as you tread under the forest’s trees with purpose, and heavy falling droplets coat your hood and mask the sounds of wet footsteps.

This isn’t the place to walk around during this time of night; the town is fifteen minutes away, the nearest bustle of civilization for its townspeople or passersby. For a night like this, you’d want to be as far away from the rain’s reach: hanging with neighbors or community within the local pubs, calling on a carriage that would service you to your way home, or already cuddled up on your bed and letting the hit of the rainfall hypnotize you to an easy slumber. This is what is expected of the regular townsman, away from the hands of trouble or danger.

However, you are not a townsman – nor are you ordinary – which is why you’re walking up a path that leads to the opened fenced gates of a deserted home.

“Blood on the ground leads us here,” you were not alone, as one hooded person comments while leading you past the gates forced open. He holds a lantern, the flame closeted by the glass being a light source aside from the periodic lightning that graces the dome above. Tiny bits of his blonde hair can be seen thanks to the glow.

“Just as you expected, Kento.” Another hooded man speaks before you in your company while tailing behind the other man. “There’s the old Gakuganji mansion…Sorceress, can you cast a veil to make sure the demon has no way to leave?”

You walk between them. “Please stand aside, hunters.” The men don’t move a foot as you distance yourself, leaving you with the space necessary to do what you need to. Because what you’re about to do is something no average man could do but imagine.

Again, that’s only possible because you are not an ordinary townsman…but, instead, a witch.

You raise a hand with your fore and middle finger to your lips. “Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness…” The shadow under your feet goes still, breaking its typical mandate and moving to swirl into a circle. “Purify that which is impure, impure that tarnishes the pure…” The dark circle increases, its massive size swallowing whatever is in its path. It sneaks under the feet of the two men behind you, their shadows unionizing with the giant shape and continuing to grow. Yet, the men remain silent as the darkness consumes the Earth. The grass, the mansion, the damaged fenced gates — the circle expands outward until it meets the trees of the woods. “May the shadows guard the light, keep the unseen from being seen…” Then, the shadowed shape spirals within its outline, picking itself while the foundations lay on the ground. Liquid matter encircles around as it rises, forming a dome-like profile until the dripping fragments atop piece together. “And may this viel cleanse its inhabitants and scene…Bounded Barrier: Curtain!”

The constructed umbra shields you three from the outside world, sheltering those below from the pattering hits and sounds of the thunderstorm. Knowing this, you discard your hood to the ground and let the cool air greet the skin of your cheeks; the two men behind you mimic and follow as you walk up to the old front doors of the mansion, which also, from inspection, is damaged. A massive hole is gashed onto the aged wooden frame, and lights aren’t on to greet you in the foyer.

The blonde man takes a few steps ahead of you. “His blood leads to the upstairs.” Now that his hood is off, the light from the lantern highlights more of his hair. “Higuruma-san, my blade.”

“Right here, Kento.” The other person, Hiromi Higuruma, is a brunet man with his hair pushed up, and the older hunter’s clothes is kept dry from the rainfall. Adorning an aloof expression, he pulls something out of his case and hands it to the blonde. “Be sure to stand on guard, you two. The curtain may keep things out and things in, but one wrong move and we’re in trouble.”

“Roger,” the fair-haired Kento Nanami is a younger huntsman despite his appearance. He takes the blunt sword sheathed with a black spotted cloth with one hand while the other scavengers through a pocket. “Sorceress, can you ensure the demon cannot leave this mansion?”

A curt nod is all you give before venturing a hand to the miniature bag that sits behind your back. You pull out multiple pieces of paper, talismans that you throw up in the air as you mutter words under your breath. They ignore the force of gravity and stay airborne, aligning themselves into a circle as they glow into a bluish-white halo. As you recite, your hands come up from the bell sleeves of your dress as if to hold the gleaming circle. But then, you snap your fingers, and the luminous papers immediately break from the circle and head in different directions. Some go outside the huge home while others scram around the inside, a trail following each as they travel up the stairs or down the vast halls.

“The talismans will go around to every window, door, or opening in this mansion,” you turn to utter a quick spell, and the broken door reconstructs itself back to its original standing with a big spell mark painted on its surface. It flares when you snap your fingers again. “Any contact he makes with them will subdue his powers temporarily. But I’m sure he knows that as well…”

“My thoughts exactly,” Higuruma agrees with you after pulling items from his case to pass to Nanami. He then claps his hands and enumerates a prayer under his lips, and something emerges from the shadows. A black body camouflaged with the dark shade with three stubby points and a face, eyes sewn shut and gritting its teeth. A shikigami, and it swims to where you three stand, curling to where the oldest is. “Better take care of him now while we have the upper hand. Let’s move.”

You and Nanami nod and let Higuruma steer the company to where the blood takes them, walking up the stairs and avoiding the darkness to take hold of their figures because of the lantern.

Walking in the woods and expediting in old, abandoned homes isn’t something you’d do regularly. But, for a case like this, it’s a routine you’re not unfamiliar with. It comes with being a leper of the woods, an outcast to those who don’t comprehend your routine. Endowed with advanced knowledge of magic and texts, you are the sole witch residing in these forests, practically knowing every way, sound, root, and print like the back of your palm and all the while staying enclosed to yourself, isolating away from the judgemental looks and discrimating words of the common folk.

Now, if you’re so looked down upon, what calls you here in what seems to be a chase for a demon? Well, for the past three months, the nearby municipality has been sprouting accounts of “supernatural” encounters. What started as something that only a handful of people would recollect turned into havoc brought upon the townspeople daily. The elderly are spooked to the point of shivers, children crying at the most bizarre sights of floating objects and beings, and even narratives that speak about being attacked — all of this from the same demon terrorizing this once peaceful community.

A demon is causing trouble; what does that have to deal with you? As far as you can tell, none of the people in that town even look your way or treat you with barely decent manners without you harboring a disguise — why should I care for them? That is the question you raised to the two hunters who traveled into the forest to find your hut and bring the issue to you. The same hunters you are silently searching through this mansion’s dusty halls and rooms.

Demon sightings and encounters typically go straight for the church, with experienced deacons and reverends coming together to ordain a jurisdiction on dealing with the wicked spirit based on their ancient teachings. Nonetheless, the church has admitted defeat in exorcising this particular demon. This robust, evil creature is gifted with abilities that have caused near-death for the most adept church members. Every failed attempt only fuels more despair for them and the citizens…which is the demon hunter guild sent two of their fairly newest yet most skilled to come to your abode and convince you to lend them your expertise.

At first, you watched as the two men tried to sway your resilience into giving them aid, yet your stubbornness was a solid obstacle for them to navigate. To you, helping a community that holds ill will towards you just because of your lifestyle to the point of outcasting yourself makes your stomach turn into the worst of knots — something both Higuruma and Nanami found validation in your sternness. But they inquired, you are a practitioner far from their customs, meaning your ridiculed ways have a different advantage and approach. To them, the combined powers of the hunting party and sorcery are necessary to bring down the same evil. Not to mention, you knew of this demon and his powers, so your intellect is profoundly essential – if not by the townspeople, then by the two comely huntsmen begging for your cooperation.

So, with a heavy sigh and a “…Fine,” you agree to work with the men on their mission on the condition that they capture the ghoul alive. And with two handshakes and a day to devise a plan, you’re now in this rusty place combing for the injured specimen that’s caused all this disturbance…

The inspection is done quietly so the three pairs of ears can catch any cue of noise or voice. No sentences are exchanged, and the three of you are on the same page and motioning around the halls not to have your position compromised for your enemy. Until a clash is heard in a room down the hall, you and the hunters swiftly appear at the door.

Before anything is done, you gently place your fingers on the wooden surface, and your eyes glare with the contact. The material before you turns transparent, the room’s contents visible to your naked eye. According to the layout, this is the second-floor living area with a fireplace, a couch set, and bookshelves on the far right side. And something - no, someone - writhing on the ground, clutching its left shoulder - or what’s left of it as there’s a massive chunk eviscerated off from the collar to the bicep — and bolts of lightning course around the seething figure until faded.

He tried to escape from the window; you note that the exact strings of bolts come from a giant closed windowsill, a talisman plastered outside on the glass. Your eyes return to normal, “I’m going in.” You move without an answer from the huntsmen, your hands grabbing the handles and pushing them to let you in. With your entrance to the cold room, the person is alerted and groans in agony as they change positions for battle despite the pain conveyed in their huffs. You snap your fingers and throw light to the fireplace, and you’re finally met with the being you’ve been tailing after.

White hair is the first thing that captures your eyes, followed by the bare chest exposed by the lack of a shirt—black hakama with intricate blue and white designs that skitter the bottom openings. Sky-blue tattoos decorate the milky skin from his wrist to his shoulders, pectorals, and streak back to his nape. Finally, the blue horns and tail confirm his non-humanness, and the six signature eyes that his face holds. Six cerulean orbs lock into your frame; the “normal” set has two eyes sitting beneath them, all shining cautiously.

“Gojo Satoru,” you speak first. “Good to see you again.”

He scoffs with a pained grimace. “Wish I could say the same to you, witch. But I didn’t know getting my shoulder murked was part of the greeting.” His right hand was coated with blood from the open wound, crimson spilling down his arm onto the carpeted ground.

“My apologies,” you say flatly with a step forward. Yet you halt at Gojo’s bloody hand, which forms a sign and points to you. “But you were given multiple chances to stop and still ran.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do when you’re being chased by a dark sorceress and two pushy demon hunters,” he spits blood to the side before averting his gaze to the door. “Whom I can sense hiding with a weapon and shikigami, by the way—not cool, Nanamin!”

“Not my name.” Nanami bluntly retorts before you continue.

“You know why we were chasing you down, Gojo. You’ve been frightening the townspeople for the past three moons, an issue that’s been troublesome enough for the church to seek my help.”

Six eyes roll with the click of the teeth. “Mch, traitor, outed by a fellow outcaster.”

“Know it wasn’t my initial choice. Besides,” you move the slit of your dress to open the bag of your thigh. Your forefinger and thumb pull out a green liquid tablet. “You should be thankful that I’m the one capturing you and not killing you here and now.”

You throw the tablet in the demon’s direction, who catches it with his tongue and gulps it down. Instantly, a grumble of stress and pain befalls Gojo, his hand returning to the wound you’re responsible for. This time, tissue muscle regenerates and stitches itself back into its earliest mode, rebuilding his shoulder until the skin morphs back and restores the tattoo that once sat there. “Haaahhh…how thoughtful of you.”

“Stand down now, Satoru,” you cross your arms and crouch. “Leave this place and return to the demon realm where you’ve agreed to stay.”

“No can do, witch. I ain’t going anywhere until I get what’s mine.” Now that his injury is sealed, he stands up to dust off his pants and stretches. “And seeing that you’ve finally crawled out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding for three months, looks like you’re ready to return it.”

A neutral expression remains. “I’m not giving it back.”

“Then I’m not going back — not like I have any interest to anyway; it’s sooooo boring there.”

“The last time I had to come after you and your antics was with Yaga half a year ago,” you caught the slight narrow of his eyes at the mention of the retired demon hunter. “And the only reason you still walk among the living is because you agreed to his conditions that you return to the demon realm and give me half of your Limitless and Infinity.”

“Agreed or getting hit by the old man until I said I would?” He jokes, but he points to his head where the former hunter had beaten the young ghoul with the sheath of his sword. “But I don’t sense him with you. Guess the geezer finally retired, and not many huntsmen are up to his level now,” Gojo spaces his feet to steady his stance, putting his fists up with a smirk. “Meaning it won’t be too hard getting the rest of my power back.”

You lift a brow. “You underestimate me.”

“Can’t help it,” all his eyes laminate to a brighter hue. “You might be a sorcerer, but you’re still human, flesh and bones that can break easily with or without my Limitless.”

“You think you can break me.”

Metallic nails sharpen with a flex, “Without a doubt.”

Silence shays between you two briefly before you stand right back up. “Then you’re just as foolish as any other human.”

At the final word, the huntsmen dash into the room and begin to charge Gojo’s way, running past your figure as you recite spells. However, the demon’s eyes shine expectantly, slashing his hand filled with energy to dart red crescent-like blades to the men. They dodge and go in opposite directions. Nanami uses his blade and aims for Gojo’s forearm—no damage, used as a shield with his Limitless.

“Nanami~n, how’ve ya been?” The monster asks with a chipper, nonchalantly pushing his arm to push the fair-haired man back. “It’s been a while; I haven’t seen you since you came to get me and Suguru from an old pub!”

“Yes, I remember,” Nanami voices with slight reluctance, sneaking a dagger into the abdomen only for his wrist to be caught by the demon’s tail. “I also remember my superiors warning you and Geto-san to quit causing trouble.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? Staying in the demon realm is dull and boring. But here,” Gojo puts Nanami on his back with a swift swipe of his leg, kicking him to the chest for a strained groan. “Here is not much of a buzzkill; humans flock to this planet like sheep, little playthings that never cease to entertain me.” He places his foot on the other’s chest, biting his lips after a lick. “…And sure tasty as hell.”

In a flash, the three-limbed shikigami lurks to headbutt Gojo off of Nanami, propelling him into the direction of Higuruma, who stands ready with a sword in position for a slash. Gojo notices him in his peripheral and maneuvers to land on the wall beside the older hunter at the last second. “Hm? Hey, you’re new.” The ghoul gives the dark-haired man a punch to the cheek. “How long have you been in the guild, big-nose?”

“Five months,” Higuruma admits airly as Gojo swerves from the lunges of the steel sword. “But I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“Ehhhh, who woulda thought I was that famous!…Huh?” Something emerges beneath Gojo’s shadow, pulling the demon in and swallowing his body halfway into the wall. “And a shikigami user at that? Heheh, demon hunters might be becoming interesting this time around…”

Higuruma backs up once Gojo is consumed wholly by his umbra and disappears into the wall. He turns to you, “Is that it? How are we supposed—“

You cut him off. “Get back!”

The spot where the shadow that was once plastered on the wall appears again; this time, the dark shape changes from its black shade into a radiating sky-blue hue. Then, Higuruma backs away, cracks from the glowing tone flourish around the wall, and the old paint withers with ash. “Stay ready,” you warn with your hands coated with energy for whatever comes your way.

A fist emerges from the wall, two hands pulling the spot apart to create a more prominent crater. The fire in the fireplace is sucked inside the glowing hole, and blue horns and silver hair poke out with the torso. “Haaah, being sucked inside your own shadow is suffocating, ya know.” Six mischievous locks on the older hunter responsible for such a sneak attack. “Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine, newbie.”

Nanami doesn’t give him a chance, throwing a dagger to penetrate Gojo’s Limitless and pierce his forehead. A cry of pain is expectant yet not given, the creature pulling and discarding the weapon to let the wound heal. With a chuckle, he licks the blood drizzling to his lips. “That wasn’t nice, Nanamin. Be patient and wait for your…turn!” Gojo darts out of the wall with inhumane speed, the sand-haired man barely ricocheting the nails, eager to carve into his skin. Rapid kicks guarded and calculating every move, Nanami does what he can to keep up. Until a punch to his face knocks his goggles off, and a kick to his gut has him projected to another side of the room.

You clap your hands together, the power within your fingertips emits spider-like strings intertwined, and Gojo stops moving. The right hand comes up and slowly goes down, and Gojo suddenly goes to his knees with his hands up above as if holding – or preventing – something from pushing him onto the floor. “So much for ‘breaking’ me, huh.”

“—Khhh, fuck…” He grouches, trying to writhe from whatever spell you’ve enacted, yet appears more difficult than he figured. “Give me my…powers back, witch!”

“Surrender, now, Gojo Saotru.” Higuruma appears from behind, hailing his sword down to stab the vulnerable target now that he’s under your control.

“F-Fat…fucking chance!”

…Not entirely, though, forgetting one thing that acts with a mind of its own: Gojo’s tail. The thing extends to wrap around Higuruma’s wrists, squeezing painfully hard to throttle him and the weapon to the floor. Then, pupils dim from the glow of Gojo’s Six Eyes, directing onto your frame and blinding you instantly. Fuck! Whether you open or close your eyes, all you can see is the blinding strains of blue eyes that block your vision, your hands coming to your face and undoing the spell.

“Sorceress!” Higuruma calls out to you, standing up to initiate combat with the demon. Yet, Gojo already appears from behind and hits his nape hard, and the huntsman has no choice but to submit to unconsciousness. But that’s not all; he then grabs the knocked-out man and throws him in your direction. An action you couldn’t foresee and unfortunately got caught up in, unable to enumerate the force of the throw that has both bodies break several walls that lead to an empty room.

Nothing but pain stimulates your senses, aside from the disorienting eyes obstructing your vision slowly fading. You blink frequently, your body aching so much every time you move as you turn to your left where Higuruma’s immobile body lays.

“Hiromi, wake up…Hiromi!” It’s no use; his name isn’t enough to wake him, nor the slaps you pepper on his cheek. “Ghh, of all times to nap…Wake u—“

You hear a sound from the front, your head turning instantly to find a body before you: teleportation! Two fingers press to your forehead, and you, too, become immobile before succumbing to an abrupt rush of sleep. And the last thing you saw was an annoying, insolent grin on the face of a man with horns.

Oh, shit…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Nmm….mmm…”

You awoke to the sound of groaning, eyelids straining to rise. Moving a single muscle in your arm hurts like a bitch, pain permeating throughout tissues and nerves connected. The ringing in your ears begins to disappear, yet nevertheless irksome.

A few blinks ease the bleary eyes, registering that you are not in a familiar setting. The ceiling is easy to make out, and some warm lighting picked up, too. Must be candles. Old paintings, a dresser, and a nightstand — without a doubt, you weren’t in the living area anymore. You are now stuck in what appears to be a bedroom.

“Ghh…! Ahh, shit…”

That noise again. Turning to your side sluggishly, you see Higuruma’s figure lying parallel to you. “Hiromi,” you whisper to him, his name heard as the man grouses again. You place a hand on his shoulder; his clothing is sullied after being thrown around like you. “Hunter, are you all right?”

“Nnmm, yeah, I’m okay.” He answers, head still processing what has transpired. “Fuck, that was a throw. My head hurts…”

“Yeah, I know, you were knocked cold.” Your head turns to the sides; to your left are the windows that lead to the outside, and a couch sits to your right. “This must be one of the bedrooms of this mansion.”

Higuruma finally opens his eyes. “We’ve been separated from Kento.”

“Yes, and I can’t seem to sense his energy anywhere. Same with yours…” Lips flatten. “Damn it, Satoru must’ve subdued me somehow.”

“Hah, man. This is not how this was—“

“—Mmph! S-Stop, Gojo…!”

“Wh~y? You seem to be enjoying it.”

Two pairs of eyes shot wide at the familiar voices, catching the attention of you and the demon hunter’s eardrums. You two don’t move a single centimeter, allowing the room to respond to your suspicions, and more sounds and noises enter the fray—more…questionable sounds, at that.

You and Higuruma look to the couch, the source of where the voices were coming from, or rather behind it. Slow movements are taken to precaution, the two of you making your way to the furniture to creep and rest your knees away from the hard floor. Slowly lifting your heads, you two investigate what’s concealed by the couch’s camel back.

And what you see is beyond what you had envisaged.

There’s a bed that stands, and old canopy curtains draped along the wooden frame give it a luxurious appearance. Candles and lanterns are turned on by either bedside, basking a warm glow that goes with the tranquil safety of a bedroom. However, you weren’t alone; two occupants also keep the room company, and they’ve chosen the bed as the safest leisure spot.

What comes to mind when you think of a bed? Sleeping, of course. Possibly a place of rest whenever you come home from a long day’s work. And perhaps, maybe other explicit activities your mind can think of…But something as explicit as seeing a demon giving a demon huntman a blowjob? Hardly foreseeable.

There’s no mistaking it: the white-haired spirit’s head bobbing up and down was an easy catch, his tail waving from side to side as you picked up muffled moans that were somehow mute to you moments ago. Slurping noises are heard from a distance yet are too erotic of a sound for your ears to expect in this scenario, nonetheless. Nanami’s thighs spread for the ghoul, jerking and fighting to bounce with bitten lips, rosy cheeks, and golden-knitted eyebrows, an expression you never thought you’d seen from such a stoic man as the young man.

Nanami throws his head back, hitting the backboard of the bed. “Hnnmmmshit…Gojo, knock it–ahhaa!!-offff…!” His hands restrained to his back, probably from magic.

Gojo lifts his head and spits on the head of the human male’s cock. “You say that, but look how hard you’re getting,” he strokes the hunter with vigor, the human under his grasp arching his back to the touch. “Damn, who would’ve thought you had something this big; guess that’s expected of a demon hunter, huh.” His tongue laps around the pink glans, climbing to the urethra to tease; Nanami’s legs quiver more. “And look at all this precum…What’s got you all pent up?”

“—Tchhh, fuck, you!” Chocolate eyes hone onto the monster’s figure. “You are what, always giving me more shit to do…Mmmm, can’t stay still in one place…”

“Nope! You, of all people, should know that” he kisses the underside up before claiming the tip for a harsh suck, resulting in a yelp darting out of the blonde’s mouth — you covered your lips. “Besides, isn’t it my job to keep you on your toes, hmm? I’d be making your days pretty boring without me around.”

Nanami observes Gojo retreat his mouth off him, substituting with his hand to stroke the erection to maintain the warmth and friction. The evil spirit draws his face near the hunter’s, all six orbs of his flushed expression, and he scoffs humorlessly. “You call it ‘boring,’ but I’d say any day where I don’t have to deal with the carefree and annoying Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s prominent eyes narrow with an impish glint, and his milky nose brushes with the pink of Nanami’s. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company. Especially with this mood, Na-Na-Min.”

You could not believe what played out before you: Gojo Satoru, one of [if not] the strongest demons to roam, kissing with the phlegmatic, young yet swift hunter, Nanami Kento!?!? Has the stars gone in disarray all of a sudden? Was there some dark omen befalling this hour?? You had no idea, your thoughts going a million miles to reach an adequate conscience. Yet how could you when you’re seeing the two opposites melt into the kiss, transitioning from a sweet peck into a more sinister and indecorous one!? Tongues exchanged within each other’s mouths, moans becoming louder with the increasing pace of Gojo’s hand on the excited hard-on. Such an unintended turn of events, especially for Higuruma — big wide eyes witnessing his subordinate be used.

The older huntsman brings you down to hide; however, the couch is no shield from the auditory commotion. W-What in the—what is the meaning of this? The two were in combat not long ago; how do we switch from a battle to an intimate moment like this? How long was I asleep for? Could Satoru have used something to cause Nanami to act like this? No, he doesn’t use spells like that; that’s more my domain…Unless, could he ha—

Your train of thought is put to a stop when something heavy lands on your right shoulder. Higuruma surprises you unexpectedly, placing his forehead on your shoulder. “Hunter?” You whisper with concern, shaking him by his arm. “Hunter Hiromi, what’s the matter? Are you fe—“

Words stop when you hear a deep inhale, and a shaky exhale exits from Higuruma’s lips. And then another, he turns his face to face where your neck is.

……Did…Did he just sniff me?

That’s not the weird part, though; the older hunter creeps into an area exposed from your dress’ cold shoulder. Another airy breath steams your skin before you’re met with something cold and hot. He kisses your collarbone slowly; the sensation makes you jump and stiff.

D-Did he just kiss me?!

“Hiromi?” You probe again, shaking him more. “What’s gotten into—“

“Sorceress,” his voice low to not grab the attention of the other men busy with themselves, yet loud enough for you to notice a behavior change. “My head, it’s…pounding like crazy…”

“Your head? Why, what’s—“ His head goes deeper into the crook of your neck, and your heart nearly leaps out your throat from his lips, kissing you again with a light puff. The contact has you suppress a gasp; your nerves under his mouth are hypersensitive for whatever reason! Okay, what the fuck? “Wh-what’s wrong? Why is your head aching all of a sudden?”

“You…smell so good.”

Wow, that’s not an answer you prepared for, both in mind and body.

Speaking of body, Higuruma’s hands creep on your frame, his left glides to your shoulder to hold – the calloused pads of his fingertips send shivers up your spine – and his right comes to wrap your waist, pulling you closer to him. And he begins to pepper your reactive skin with more kisses, sucking the flesh with a pucker after a lick. The soft smacks of his lips get wetter, and heat from your cheeks is more complicated to avoid.

“Hunter Hiromi…! Snap out of i—Ohhmm!!” Your lips clench to halt the yelp, almost jumping out of your esophagus. Fuck, why am I so fucking sensitive!? Hushed complaints fell on deaf ears, Higuruma still latching his lips onto your warm skin to suck.

It was then you looked at your bag positioned at the exact spot you were unconscious with the huntsman, tiny valves you stored sprawled out of their organized system. Then, you notice one shattered, pink liquid exuding to the floor burns into gas that fades with the atmosphere. You’re familiar with the potion you see, and your confusion switches to utter dread.

Before leaving on this mission with the huntsmen, you specifically remember telling your witch-in-training, Miwa, to stock up on your mini potions within your bag for defense. Knowing how ditzy that young, blue-haired witchling can be, she probably thought you meant every glass you had — no wonder the shit was a little heavier than usual!

Finally, it all begins to click: the flush of Nanami’s cheeks, Gojo’s unexpected sexuality, Higuruma’s demeanor switch, and your nerves acute at every touch — you got to be fucking kidding me! That broken vial was an aphrodisiac harboring a musk so strong it could bring down a humongous orc within minutes, a spell you had crafted for a customer only for your witchling to misplace it. Now, you’re here reaping the consequences in the worst situation possible! How did it break in the first place?! It could be from when you were thrown through multiple walls and went tumbling to the ground, the effects taking fruition when Gojo knocked you out earlier.

And to make matters worse, you’re not the only one undergoing this; three men now act like absolute horndogs because of this mistake, taking this mission to a complete 180° turn. Just when you thought this task was difficult enough, a curveball such as this throws you off. Unbelievable!

“For crying out loud,” you curse under your breath. “Hiromi, try to fight it! This isn’t—“ he kisses up your neck to your chin, and your attempts to push him off are weaker the closer he inches. Muscles tense when the hand to your waist glides to the crevice of your bottom — and a twitch between your legs. “Stop! Now is not the ti—Mmnn!” He cusps the flesh of your asscheek, bringing the other hand down to grope your ass. Holy Christ, “N-N, wait! Don’t touch it like…Haahhh.” Fuck these damn aphrodisiac effects!

“Fuck, you smell so fucking good, sorceress,” Higuruma inhales your scent brazenly. “That perfume is driving me nuts.” His fingers are hungrier as they fondle your butt, forcing you to rock your hips with his rhythm. The huntsman comes to your ear; his hot breath brushing the lobe causes your skin to crawl. And then he gives it a lick, and you jump.

“F–For Christ’s sake!” Your heartbeat hammers your chest. “Don’t do that, I’m sensitive…!” He doesn’t listen, lathering your ear with more licks and kisses. It sounds so erotic; his groans up close to your propinquity that you don’t know what to think right now. The heat between your thighs gets intolerable, imbuing your lower region more and more. “Don’t lick iiit…Ahaah…”

The both of you mesh together in each other’s warmth, Higuruma’s touches growing bolder to prompt you to bite down and stop your moans from getting louder. Your hands are still on his chest, yet exhibit not that much of a push, allowing the man to do as he wishes to make your brain turn into mush. Before you know it, his hands find the slits of your dress and meet bare skin, and you gasp at his calloused fingers ravaging your pantie-covered butt. Fingernails dig as he roughly kneads your rear muscles, silent screams pulled out of your body.

“Ughh, I can’t,” he speaks softly. “I can’t stop. I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, but” before you know it, his weight adds onto you and forces you to lie on your back. Great, now you’re really stuck under him. “I just can’t…you smell way too good. And you taste so good, too,” he peppers your cheek with a smooch just centimeters away from the corner of your lips. “God, you taste too good; it’s like I’m addicted.”

“Hahh–H-Hunter, not here…We shouldn’t—“

“No, stop,” Higuruma finally lifts his face; your field of vision met with glassy, hooded eyes and furrowed brows. Strands of his onyx hair fell out of its pushed-back form and stuck to the beads of sweat on his forehead, and a flush of red cascaded from one ear to the other. He’s heaving so desperately — as composure stands out, he looks awful! “Keep calling me…by my name.”

Your breath hitches as his face draws closer. “Hi–Hiromi,” and closer. “Hiro—Ohh!—…miii.” His knee meets the area between your legs, pushing onto where your underwear guards your chasm. And the thought that a potential wet spot might be protruding is embarrassing to think about.

“Good girl,” he praises, lips hovering tantalizingly over yours. “Good girl…”

Finally, after many teases all over your body, Higuruma places his lips over yours to claim. The kiss ignites a fire, instantly combusting within your nervous system and leaving you hot. The heat inside your panties worsens and has you writhing under him, hands grabbing onto the back of his black undershirt as he pushes his face into you more.

He drinks your squeaks, and his tongue slithers on your bottom lip, nibbling on it to evoke more helpless whimpers. “So sweet,” he mummers. “You taste so sweet, baby…”

Baby!? You had to be dreaming, your heart beating way too fast under these conditions, and your cunt spasming involuntarily. I can’t give in to this potion, I can’t…!

You chant these words internally, yet you can’t stop the quirks of your inner walls as Higuruma pushes his tongue to your teeth. It wasn’t suspected, your mouth opening up in surprise, not knowing that was exactly what the older huntsman wanted for him to intrude into your oral cavity with his wet muscle. You gasp aloud, the sensation of his moist tongue swirling around your mouth and dancing with yours tightens the grip on his shirt.

At this point, everything is happening all at once. You don’t realize your resilience slipped as you whine underneath the man’s bow, heads turning to stay locked with each other’s lips as the pecks grow prurient by the second. Your hips sway to and fro on their own, alongside Higuruma’s, as his hips rock to your tempo. Your legs came around his waist to keep him close, too enamored by him sucking your tongue to even notice.

Then, all of a sudden, something sneaks inside your dress and ventures south and pushes the damp spot of your underwear into your leaking cunt. Electric shocks shoot to your head, and it takes everything in your power not to scream. “—Thhh!! F-Fffaahhh…!! Hi-Hiromi, what are you—“

“Holy shit, I didn’t know how wet you were down here,” A finger presses down into the area, and more liquids flood out of your opening and expand the dampness. “Damn. It’s so hot.”

“Noo, stop it, don’t touch—“ the forefinger swipes up and down and gets swallowed by your clothed outer labia. Your legs quiver, “I’m too sensitized right now! If you keep touching me, you’re gonna–Aahhh!” He brushes your clitoris; oh, this is very bad. “I’m gonna break…!”

“Oh? But I can feel you aching under my fingertips,” he adds his middle finger to circle your slit, the movements tortuous to endure. “Doesn’t it hurt if I leave you just hot and twitchy like this? Don’t you want me to ease it?” You can’t reply, too distracted from his digits, pushing your underwear aside for them to feel the raw flesh of your bareness. “I think you do; don’t you feel how crazy you’re wanting my fingers inside you right now?”

“Stop saying that! It’s embarrassing…! Mmoohh…” Higuruma skims around the split of your vagina, and your breathing gets heavier. “—Nnnmm, fuck, it’s so hooot…”

He kisses your cheek and the corner of your lips. “It’s okay, baby, I got you…” He speaks so low you could melt. “Just relax for me, okay?”

You only reply to him with another passionate kiss, being way more receptive than the last by shoving your tongue into his. The hunter takes this to advantage and patiently pushes his middle finger into your slit. You whine at the insertion, mouth agape as the entire digit nestles inside your warmth. Higuruma instantly greets you with scrapes against your inner texture, the blunt of his fingertip itching your walls to the point of your toes curling.

The haze increases, coherent thoughts turn into fog, and your senses are overwhelmed by the lower commotion. You suck on Higuruma’s tongue with a hum, descending to the wiggle of his finger migrating your insides. Jesus Christ, it felt so good. Was it real, or was it because of the effects of the aphrodisiac, making every fiber of your body hypersensitive? Regardless, you can’t deny how enrapturing it is to have him ease your itch.

Once he adds his ring finger into your wet cavern, you grab hold of his shoulders as both digits push into you until they’re knuckles deep. “Oohhh, ohhhmyG—Hiromi, Hiro!” His name is the only thing that feels easy to blubber out. “I can’t, it feels so good…Ohhh, right there, please…”

“Yeah, you like it when I do this?” He curls both fingers to graze your upper wall, and you jolt upward. “Or…this?” He stretches them apart in a scissor motion, and you nearly choke on your spit.

“Sh-Shtop it,” you croak. “I’ll cum, I’ll fucking cummm!!” The chuckle you hear from above is smooth like honey, unable to fight the twitch of your walls.

“Go on, cum on my fingers, sorceress,” he coaxes. “And then I’ll go right between your legs, strip that underwear off, and lick you down for making such a mess on me until you’re sore and want nothing but my dick.”Ho. Ly. Shit. “You hear me?” You nod hurriedly, earning another short laugh. “Then cum, sweetie.” Higuruma increases the flick of his fingers, shoving them inside you as deep and fast as he can to where you don’t know how to contain your choked sobs. He gives you his lips again to quiet and calm you down while he effortlessly caresses your velvety channel.

Nonstop motions prompt you to buck your hips and arch your back until you feel as though you’re falling from a peak. Inner muscles spasm erratically around the hunter’s digits, legs tensing up with tremors, and your wails taken by Higuruma, who moans lovingly along with you. Your frame jerks to him with every wave of your climax, and shocks clatter up to make you dizzy and foggy.

“Mm, there you go, darling,” Higuruma coos before placing a chaste peck on your forehead, removing his fingers from you to see them coated in the fresh slick you’ve gushed. “So good.”

“Wow, what a show!”

Suddenly, the lukewarm feelings soothed around your figure abruptly halt once a new voice shatters you and Higuruma back to reality. Your eyes leave each other and look up to find six on your close-knitted bodies, blue orbs glued onto you two as if to examine you exceptionally near.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Gojo waves a hand. “Please go on~.”Higuruma is the first to make a move, but a firm grip catches his wrist, throws him into the air fluidly, and lands on the bed with no grace. “Not what I meant, newbie.”

“Satoru!” You try to slap him, but he grabs your wrist as well. “What are you doing—“

“Uhh, shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, witch?” He brings his face close. “I never took you, so stoic and all business, for a bit of pervert. If I knew you sounded cute and desperate having your pussy teased with, I’d have you wrapped my finger a long time ago.”

“Tah, I’m the pervert? You seemed to enjoy stuffing your face with Kento’s dick. Quite good at it yourself; is that your favorite sport? Something you like to do when you’re not terrorizing towns?”

“What, don’t know what it looks like to have a good time? And not to point fingers, but let’s not forget your potion has us all like this.”

You grimace. “Maybe don’t throw people at about five walls, or something will break!”

“Maybe don’t bring such powerful erotic potions to a battle, and we wouldn’t have that problem! But don’t worry,” Gojo then lifts you off the couch in bridal style. “You’ll take responsibility.”Before you could argue back, the evil spirit teleports you two back to the bed where he primarily was. Now, four bodies lay on the huge old yet soft mattress, all under the potion’s spell, and share a mutual lustful atmosphere. “How long does this aphrodisiac last?”

“…Two hours max.”

“Well, you’ve been knocked out for nearly thirty minutes. So, while we still have the time,” he pushes you off him to where Higuruma lies. “Why don’t you help these two with your mishap?”

“It was an accident—“

“Aye, an accident that now has Mister Big-Nose over here hard as a rock.” You look down to where Gojo’s pointing and see a tent jutting out of Higuruma’s pants. Your lips flatten at the sight, same with the owner of the boner. “Why the faces? What happened to all that talk about eating them out?”

“T-That wasn’t what—“

“Oh c’mon, newbie, you sure ‘bout that? Look,” Gojo maneuvers to where you sit and picks up a leg, moving your dress out of the way and removing your panties to discard. And now, your wet and sticky cunt is out for the men to see. Good Lord, Satoru!! “Look at how wet you made them feel back there; they were really excited about how good you made them feel. And I’m sure they look forward to your handsome face sitting in between their juicy legs.”

Had the silence been longer than a few seconds, you would’ve told Gojo off and left the other be. But the sound of an unbuckled belt is heard as you observe Higuruma sliding his pants down and revealing the erect limb free. The sight of precum sliding down the angry pink tip down to his balls is brain-altering. He then loosens his shirt, letting his stomach breathe, and your eyes catch the raven-happy trail from above his lower abs down to his pubes. Holy absolute fuck.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gojo pushes you further. “There’s a nice face waiting to be sat!”

“Shut up!” You wish to throw curses at him all you want. However, you crawl to where Higuruma’s face is crooked and sheepishly lift your dress to place your knees and align yourself. “Please…forgive me, Hiromi.”

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” your heart skips at the nickname and his hands finding your waist. “Nice and slow, okay?”

You listen to his command and slowly descend your hips to Higuruma’s face, toes quirking at the brush of his noise hitting your taint. A sharp gasp leaves your lips when his tongue greets your labia, swishing around to intake the nectar dripping out of it. “Ohhh, shit…” You hum as he groans, your hips having a mind of their own and swerving around, yet the man beneath doesn’t fail to latch his lips onto you, his hands now curling to your butt.

A hand finds its way to where his erection stands tall, your fingers circling the shaft before motioning up and down. More excessive cum escapes out the urethra to paint your fingernails and tips, veins pulsing against your palm as you jerk him off. He then laments when your free hand cups his balls to massage, kneading one of the testicles gingerly like rough dough.

From your peripheral, you spot Nanami coming into view, and you cry out when his peer sticks his tongue into your opening and slurps. “Kento.”

“Sorry,” the blonde man stands in front of you while fisting his cock. “Might need your help here…”

You titter, hearing him sigh heavily as you bend down and blow on his cockhead. “May I?” He nods to you and caresses your cheek, guiding your lips to take in his tip and gradually swallow his inches. You suck him in till your mouth is busy with his length, moving your tongue around the underside, which makes Nanami hiss.

“Hahhh, fuck, yes, love,” you hear him from up above, his hands coming to your head to maintain while he jerks his hips into your mouth. His balls meet your chin with every push, and his musk is all that attacks your nostrils. The fog in your head makes you dizzier and dizzier, humming on the dick you’re swallowing.

And you can’t forget the snow-haired person who brings his hand to your chest area and rips the seams open. Your breasts are now out and exposed to the open air, and a nipple finds its way onto the flat of a reptile-like tongue. “Awww, cupcake, you’ve been hiding these tits from me, too? Heh, not fair…”

The only sounds that you can pick up are all raunchy, squelching noises from between your legs, slopping wet cues as you slurp on cock, and Gojo’s moans as he sucks and plays with your breasts. If you thought things were overwhelming earlier, you’re sure as hell finding yourself drowning in your senses. Gojo nibbles on your nipples, his teeth grazing the buds, and have your thighs jolt. Meanwhile, Higuruma’s hands keep your asscheeks glued to him as he drinks up more of your essence while pushing his tongue into your slit, fucking your insides for more fluids to coat his tastebuds.

Nanami’s hip work dials up to a faster tempo, stuffing your face with more of his cock to the point that he hits the back of your throat frequently. Your eyes start to water as you begin to taste the salty precum lathering with your spit. Yet you slurp on him with a whine, sucking harshly onto the top, where you push your tongue to the split of his urethra to toy with.

The sand-haired man throws his head back. “—Khhfff, fuck,” his head pounding while you dance your wet muscle around the crown of his shaft and frenulum. “Ohhhh, Goddamn it…! Just like that, my love, like that…”You listen to Nanami’s requests and continue, your hand stroking faster onto Higuruma’s cock with vigor.

“Very good, you three, very good…” Gojo eggs you on, removing his face from your chest and tapping your cheek to release the girth. “Now it’s time to switch it up.”The ghoul then pushes Nanami onto his back; this time, you’re straddling him while Gojo urges Higuruma to straighten up. “Nanami’s been such a nice guy, huh? Why not reward him with a taste of what this newbie was feasting on, cutie?”

Your eyes travel down to where Nanami’s cock is pressed to your belly, and you lift your ass and grab him to kiss your folds with his glans. You both share a look and whimper aloud as his tip makes it inside your vagina, thanks to your come, and you leisurely drop your ass onto him. “Hoooh, fuck, feels so good…!” You shrill, and your hips begin to go to and fro.

“And as for you,” Higuruma groans as Gojo takes hold of him and aligns his glans to your ass. “Fuck them good here, got it?”

The raven-haired man’s hands meet your buttcheeks, and you go ahead and bend down for him to get the full view. “Damn,” he gulps. Before doing anything, Higuruma moistures his fore and middle fingers with his spit and circles around your asshole gently until they get past the puckered sphincter. You remind yourself to relax as he readies your ass, his fingertips pushing in and out to adjust the cavern for what’s to come. And after a minute, he pulls them out and substitutes them for his ready member, and you scream in mute as he pushes himself into your rear end. “Oh, fuck, fuck!” He swears with a bitten lip. “So tight…Hahhh…feel so good, darling.”

The two human men rock into your holes simultaneously, having your frame join with the cadence they inflict to follow. Both your holes are ravished, Nanami’s dick turning your insides into goo with every graze to your sweet spots, and you almost shut down from the occasion of surprise pokes of your cervix. The man behind you plows your butt with purpose, shoving his member deep into your rear channel and rubbing on the walls that have you unable to fight the drool escaping.

And last but not least, Gojo grabs your chin and pushes his tip to your puffy lips. ��Hey, baby. Mind I have a turn with those lips of yours?”You roll your eyes with a smile before curling your tongue around his crown and taking it inside your lips. The demon sighs under your lips, bucking his hips impatiently for you to suck every inch of him. “Fucking—Nnnmm! Your tongue…Gggahh!!”

All three men go wild in your grasp. Nanami’s pace slips to an erratic fashion, rutting deep with accurate rubs to your G-spot that leave you mumbling onto Gojo’s dick. Higuruma nearly loses himself while pistoning his pelvis to your ass, his forehead coming to your shoulder to rest. “Christ, your ass is driving me crazy.” He kisses the space between your shoulder and neck and bites down. You cry and suck on Gojo’s cock harshly, making the demon hiss above you.

“—Uugghh, so tight!” Nanami grabs your waist with firm hands and drills himself upward faster. “Fuck it, I need to cumm…!!”

“Me too, Kento—shit—me too…” His older peer slurs, burrowing his face into your neck to lick and nibble on your skin. “Almost..there….!”

It isn’t long before all three men come at you with a unioned tempo, and you’re way too engrossed in the sensations to notice how wet you’re getting from the constant pleasures. Your frame is used as their plaything as they fuck your holes, borderline degrading, yet you can’t deny how good they feel for relieving the horny itch you’re feeling. Fuck! More, more, more!! Continuous rough ruts to your chasms and mouth have you numb, and your scream is muffled as Gojo grabs for your face to bury his cock deep into your throat as he dispenses his load into you.

Nanami and Higuruma aren’t far from joining him, too, the two climaxing simultaneously and filling you to the brim with their white, thick essence. Groans bounce off each other and the bedroom walls; three bodies pant heavily and heave above and beneath you, as they experience the peak of their crescendos. And after a few more thrusts and jerks, they soon allow themselves to slide down from their high.

The huntsmen from behind take his cock out of your ass, a string of his cum still linking to your puckered hole. Now, with him off, you swallow down the last of Gojo’s semen before withdrawing your face and raising your hips off of Nanami’s dick.

Gojo comes to you to place his forehead on your sweat one. “Holy shit, that was good,” he praises as he cups your cheeks to squish them. “That’s one way to take me down. But, are ya ready to let me fuck that pretty cunt of yours?”You don’t say anything, just grabbing his chin to lure him into a kiss, which he anticipates…

…However, he doesn’t meet your lips as expected. Instead, while he’s distracted, you sneak a hand to the chain that wrings around your neck. A locket that you open the pendant to grab for a tablet and quickly shove it inside Gojo’s mouth. Six eyes widen as you cover his mouth shut, forcing him to swallow whatever it is that’s inside his oral cavity.

And before he has the idea of pushing you off and overpowering you, Nanami is quick to grab hold of his arms and restrict them to his back. Higuruma takes his lesson from earlier and grabs Gojo’s tail before it goes around, making people fly off. It takes a group effort; however, the freakish devil’s strength weakens in seconds, and his eyes roll until the lids fall over. Slumber hits the creature, unconscious both in mind and body, as his figure slumps on Nanami’s chest. The blonde hunter gently places the white-haired being down as you all watch him fall into a deep sleep.

“Finally,” you exclaim and let your body fall to the mattress in exhaustion. And the other huntsmen do the same. “For God’s sake….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Thank you again for your help, demon hunters!”

“Yes, we don’t know what we could’ve done without you two.”

“You two make the demon hunter guild proud; may Yaga recognize the talent laid after his years!”

The rain was long gone, exchanging its grey clouds with the gleaming shine of the sun and the vibrant blue of the sky. Everyday life finds its way back into the swing of things now that things are not in turmoil. And to close a mission down on a sunny day seems like a reasonable bid for closure.

Coming from your lair deep into the woods – after scolding your witchling, Miwa, for that aphrodisiac potion accident of hers and cooking a contraceptive tea – you walked toward the town to appear before the demon guild. Eyes and leers of the common folk linger onto you as you make your steps amongst them, ignoring their unconcealed judgment. Of course, it makes you uncomfortable that discrimination follows you every which way, especially after lending aid to the demon problem they so desperately needed. But alas, you didn’t come here for recognition, so you continue to walk until you reach the wooden tavern-like building.

At the front, you find a pair of familiar faces — Nanami and Higuruma — conversing with a local townswoman who thanks the huntsmen for their service. Neither party seems to notice your appearance the moment you tread closer to the front. Which is fine; again, you’re not here for celebration or acknowledgment. You’re so used to being cast aside that it practically feels innate.

That is, until you spot something beside the woman, a smaller being glued to her hip. A child, you pick up: a little boy with raven spiky hair similar to a sea urchin and slim yet puffy cheeks signature to a toddler. And his blueish green eyes are honed in on you unmistakably. It’s a bit of a funny image to see a tiny human be bold enough to look at you yet still hide their presence behind the shadow of their guardian. Whims of a child, you suppose.

The woman bows to the men with gratitude before heading off in business, only to stop in her tracks once she sees you. And to your surprise, she beams a smile. She is undoubtedly the child’s mother – her unkept hair proving hereditary. “You must be the sorceress, right?” She inquires, and you answer with a silent nod. “Good, because I wanted to come express my thanks to you and the huntsmen for having to take down that demon for our sakes! I imagine it wasn’t easy, nor was it something you wished to be burdened with.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” you shook your head as the woman bowed to you. “The demon and I have had multiple encounters before, and I’m the nearest person outside of town who’s well-versed in the demon realm and beyond. So, it’s only natural that I’d be pulled in to help the cause somehow.”

The townswoman nods along to your explanation, her smile still present. “Regardless, you did save this small city of ours. I don’t know how to thank you properly for your service, but I hope you know I am sincerely grateful you lent your prowess along with the hunters.”

“Your gratitude is well-taken. I ask that you try to stay far from trouble and be safe and vigilant.”

“Yes, I understand…And you, Megumi,” you both turn to the child you sensed observing you during the entire conversation. “Don’t you have anything you wish to say to the sorceress who saved our home?”

Quiet, the vibe you get from the silent kid who keeps his eyes on you as if you’re a stranger. Typical behavior of a child. He slowly comes behind his mother and pulls something out of his pocket. With delicacy and steadiness, his balled fist points to where you stand, and you decide to crouch down and extend a hand to him to place something.

“…Is this for me?” You ask. In your palm lies a green four-leafed plant, a clover. Not crumpled or torn in any way, ideally in its original form, and you could tell it was treated with care—a gift.

Megumi gives a curt nod. “I went to the fields yesterday with my sister and found some four-leaf clovers. Mama said they give good luck and protection to those with them. I gave one each for the hunters, so I saved this one for you.”

You have to be honest: you’re not one to gift-give in your profession. Hell, you’re not even accustomed to being handed gifts, either! It’s a custom foreign to you as you’re deemed as an outcast in many eyes of this town. Gratitude or hospitality isn’t something you’d expect from anywhere…But it seems that is different in a child’s world, for you can tell his heart is in a genuine place.

With a smile, you bring the clover to where your necklace sits above your chest. Muttering an incantation, the plant glows and disintegrates itself and is absorbed by the pendant of your locket. “Now, I’ll be sure to have good luck wherever I go, thanks to you, little one.”The young boy’s eyes flashed with wonder from your minuscule display of magic, flashing an awkward yet confident smile as you stood upright and bowed to him and his mother. “Be safe and strong for your sister and mother, Megumi.”

The child nods to your words before you bid his mother farewell, and the two spiky-headed ones walk by to wherever they came from, leaving you to the matters you initially intended to take care of.

Speaking of matters, “Sorceress,” you turn to find the huntsmen walking to greet you. Nanami is the first to talk, “You came in just in time. He’s awake now but still experiencing some grogginess.”

Higuruma adds on. “And we made sure to call him up to appear today, so things should be going smooth this time around, as you said.”

“Good,” you reply. “Thank you for your cooperation on this mission, hunters. The townpeople can return sleeping soundly now that Gojo isn’t around to cause a ruckus.”

“No, we should be thanking you.” The sand-haired man interjects. “Yaga had spoken highly of you and your professionalism during the handful of times you two had worked together. Without you, dealing with Gojo would’ve been more of a hassle I’d want to deal with.”

“Kento’s right,” the dark-headed one agrees. “Weapons and shikigami aren’t enough to bring down a strong demon lord such as Gojo; we needed as much help as possible. And it was an honor to see you in action for myself.”

“I thank you, gentlemen,” you say with downcasted eyes. “However, I apologize that it was on my bad that the situation went to a more…ridiculous turn,” you peer to see that the two men avoid your gaze at the nuanced mention. “Nevertheless, we can put this behind us and not bring it up with anyone else. Agreed?”

The two men nod concurrently.

“And, perhaps…If the wind finds me at the right time and you two wish to work together again, I would…consider it a little more lenient the next time.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that because now you can barely look at the two huntsmen in the eyes. For crying out loud, you’ve seen each other naked; how can you ever work with each other again after such unprofessional circumstances?

But you guess they don’t seem to find a problem with it, seeing as they both share a smile at you. “Thank you, sorceress.” The older male speaks for both of them. “We hope to see you again when requiring your assistance.”

The younger hunter nods with soft brown eyes. “It would be wise to lend you a helping hand just as our former leader did for you.”

And for the second time today, a tiny smile returns to curling your lips before you straighten yourself up.

“Well, until then, what should we do with you, Gojo Satoru?”

Although the expressions of thanks and appreciation served as a pleasant stratum to begin the day, a conflict still needed to be solved. That is why the three of you walked inside, deep into the demon hunter’s guild, past the many hunters who watched you make your way to the hall at the back of the building. Many rooms are stationed to the right side, yet only one harbors a recognizable aura for you to trot in front of and open the door when no one is looking.

Lo and behold, the sole being in this cell-like room is Gojo Satoru, the ghoul sitting on the dirty ground with chains restricting his feet and wrists. Talismans with small writing decorated his biceps, shoulders, and abdomen, the mark of your subjugation as his power isn’t as high as before. It is positioned at a level where it occasionally bursts until it returns to a low steady.

“You tell me, witch,” the demon answers your question. “We’ve had this dance a million times already, sending me back to the demon realm and supposedly ‘promising’ not to come back.”

“Well, you are being sent back this time,” Nanami crosses his arms. “Yet instead of ‘supposedly,’ we’re going to have to make that a definitive.”

Gojo cackles, bearing his canines to shine. “Oh, bullshit. Me staying in the realm ‘forever’ forever when I’m aware that half of my Limitless has been stripped from my possession? Don’t you know you should never touch what belongs to a demon; whatever is taken from me might be taken from you tenfold.”

“That’s why there are demon hunters in the first place,” Higuruma sighs and slumps on the door surface. “Your powers were taken under contract after the carnage you caused last time. Judging by how we handle you this time, you might lose the other half of your Limitless.”

“This has nothing to do with you, big-nose.” Gojo retorts. “If I weren’t chained up right now, you’d be the first to jump at.”

The hunter raises a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“Perhaps. Although…” devilish lips curl to a smirk. “After what happened last night, maybe I’ll have some fun with you and Nanamin one of these days if—“

“Satoru.” You cut him off, the conversation steering to where it’s not supposed to go. Higuruma takes the white-haired spirit’s words for thought and stands up straight with more alertness, his blonde subordinate fixing his glare on the same. “If it weren’t for your status and relations with this realm, your fate would’ve been handled differently. Be thankful that it was me and the hunter guild who had to deal with you this time; anyone else would have your head on a spike and your body torched.”

“Awww, what caring babysitters you guys are~,” Six blue eyes roll in one direction with a click of their teeth. “Oi, witch, you know it doesn’t matter what you do with me. I could be thrown off the grid, shackled to the demon realm, held in some dark supernatural prison, or even killed — no matter what, as long as you’re the holder of half my powers, I will find you. And I don’t care if it means ripping your pretty face to shred; I’m getting my Limitless and Infinity back.” Eyes gleam with a fury, like ocean waves in a wayward thunderstorm. “Believe that.”

“I do believe it. And I will wait for the day you learn to find me, not vice versa.”You take his threat with earnestness. “However, until that day comes, I will reprimand you for this case. Along with the help of an old friend of ours.”

He sucks his teeth. “And who would that be?”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!!

Gojo’s ears perked before the harsh bangs were put on the wooden door. You pan to Higuruma, who nods silently before he turns to unlock the locks and grip the handle. With the pull, a silhouette befalls into a vision of all four occupants in the room. A tall, muscular man who appears to be in his forties minimum, head-shaven except for the spiky top, adorning a wolf pet over his shoulders with leather slashes. Gojo’s six eyes widen when he sees the man’s face: the familiar thick eyebrows sitting above minor yet dominant eyes and a mustache and goatee adorned on the chin.

“W-Well, hello there, Yagaaa~,” the snow-haired being switches his demeanor to a chipper tune now that a new visitor has come to pay a visit. “What a lovely surprise to see you! You clean up nicely. Is that a ring I see on your finger—“

“Gojo Satoru.” A guttural voice puts a stop to the ramble. “Last time I saw you, I put you in a chokehold that had you screaming for your mama and promised I’d put you in another worse than that the next time I see you.”

You can sense the demon’s aura dwindle like a tiny flame, and you can’t help but find amusement; no one better to put the ghoul back into his place than Masamichi Yaga, the seasoned, skillful, and former commander of the demon guild. “Is…today the day?”

“Hmph.” The older man pulls up a chair to sit in front of Gojo. “Possibly, yet the sorceress pleaded for your case and told me to withhold until after our discussion.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Miss Sorceress!” Now he wants to shower you with affection; whatever happened to that threat he made a minute ago? “That’s nice to know because I have a lot I would like to get off my chest before you sta—BHROOOF!!” Gojo’s cut off from a swift kick to the chin Yaga inflicts, causing him to fly to hit his head on the wall and fall to his back. “OWWWW?!!!??!!! What was that for?!”

“For bringing me out of my retirement,” Yaga cracks his neck with a heavy sigh. “You little bastard.”

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

2K notes · View notes

takimakiiiii · 24 days ago

Text

not part of the race strategy - better than the movies inspired oscar piastri fic!

synopsis: rom-com lover, hopeless romantic, you ask oscar, your car park-stealing neighbour to help you get into one of Lando's parties, the boy you've been obsessed with since he moved into your neighbourhood.

pairing/tropes: oscar piastri x fem!reader - childhoodfriends to lovers, boynextdoor, "enemies" to lovers

wc: 12.0k (this is a long one! (i have issues))

includes: angst, swearing, consuming of alcohol, vomiting, romance, fluff, (i'm sure there's more but i can't remember them)

a/n: it's finally here! sorry for the long wait, I got totally taken out by schoolwork and other stuff. Also if the end is bit crappy it's because i rushed it a little, also there's more focus on oscar than lando, after all it's an oscar fic

playlist: movies by conan gray, every breath you take by the police, crazy in love by beyonce and jay-z, kiss of life by sade, twilight zone by ariana grande, friday i'm in love by the cure, paper rings by taylor swift, baby i love your way by big mountain, all night long by lionel richie

“She’s not you.”

“What?”

“She. Isn’t. You.”- Better Than The Movies

Monday, 3:21pm

Winter arrived as it always did, and for your little town it meant rain, a lot of rain. As in the river would occasionally flood onto the streets sort of rain. But winter itself held something magical, cafe’s would become cosier, puddles scattered themselves across the sidewalks, libraries offered warmth, umbrellas would sprout in crowds with the call of rain and thunder. It was like you were living your own small-town rom com life. Though, truth be told, the whole rom-com part was still in the works.

The bullets of rain ricocheted off the windshield as the wipers moved helplessly from side to side against it. “Movies” by Conan Gray was playing quietly through the speakers of the car, drowned out by the sound of the rain. A shiver prickled goosebumps across the skin of your arms. You let out an exhale, the breath pillowing out as a puff of hot air. A hot chocolate, candles lit and kicked back onto your couch with a rewatch of La La Land sounded really good as you turned the corner onto your street. Immediately, your jaw dropped open. Through the pouring rain parked directly outside your house - well perhaps not directly outside your house, sat an unmistakable bright yellow car. In your parking spot.

Oscar Piastri.

That little motherfucker.

You hit the steering wheel in frustration as you let out a fake sob in your own pity party, leaning back into the headrest. Exasperated, you continued down the street, passing your beloved parking spot where the blinding yellow car sat tauntingly. Through the window of your next door neighbor’s house you could’ve sworn you saw Oscar all rugged up in a blanket, smiling at your misery. Your blood ran hot as you fumed. Stealing your parking spot today out of all days? While it was pouring down cats and dogs? Unacceptable.

You pulled up down the street in the parking spot dubbed “The Loser’s Spot.” by a very creative Oscar back when you first got your own car. That had been when the war first began. A not-so-silent war between you and him, a race for who could get the parking spot that was placed exactly in between both of your houses. Unfortunately, there was no actual owner of the parking spot, meaning that everyday you would jump in your car and race for just a chance to snag the spot from Oscar. Though for the last two very wet, cold weeks of winter, Oscar had beaten you, every single day, much to your annoyance.

Mentally preparing yourself to sprint down the street through the bucketing rain, you snatched your bag from the passenger seat, rummaging through for your umbrella. No, you thought frantically as you emptied out your bag, not an umbrella in sight. You let out a groan as you stuffed your textbooks back in. Luck was having a day off today.

Letting out a groan you pushed the car door open, rain showering down as you jumped out of the car. You held your bag over your head in an attempt at staying dry as you sprinted down the street. Cold air whipped at your hair, your boots splashing through wet puddles. As you dashed past Oscar’s house you glared through the rain to see the devil himself seated on the windowsill with a mug in his hand, clearly entertained by your suffering. You gritted your teeth, resisting the compelling urge to march up and knock on his door.

1 week was tolerable but two weeks of this?

You froze in your tracks and turned in the direction of Oscar’s house. This was too unfair. In the corner of your eye, through the window, you saw him get to his feet cautiously. With a huff, you beelined straight for his front door. You stomped up his front steps, drops of rain sliding down your calves and into your damp socks. Your clothes were already cold and wet, pressing to your skin uncomfortably like you’d been vacuum sealed with water. Biting the inner flesh of your cheek, you pushed on the doorbell.

Brushing the wet strands of your hair out of your face, you waited impatiently shifting from one foot to the other. There was a thudding sound of footsteps on creaking floorboards before the letter slot flapped open with a small metallic squeak.

“What do you want?” he spoke, voice slightly muffled through the door. You clenched your jaw, fighting back the urge to yell at him. You decided on something less provoking for both your sakes. “We need to talk.” was all you said. There was a beat of silence before Oscar replied. “I think I’m good, thank you very much, but feel free to head home now.” The letter slot flapped shut with another metallic squeak.

You broke immediately, pounding against his door with your fist. “Oscar, this is crazy! You’ve had the parking spot for the last two weeks!” you protested feeling mildly stupid yelling at a wooden door, hoping no one would walk by and see you facing off with a door.

“I got to it fair and square, that’s part of the rules if you don’t recall.” he deflected quickly as if they could somehow back his argument. You let out a groan, stamping your foot on the worn doormat that had a giant smiley face printed on it. “I don’t care! This is so unfair! Open the door!” you huffed, wanting to strangle the boy on the other side of the door. “That’s-” Oscar began before he was cut off.

“Oscar! Who’s at the door?!” a voice you immediately recognised as Oscar’s Mother, Nicole, yelled from inside. A grin cracked on your lips as he went silent. But the smile didn’t last long as you shivered in your boots, now fully soaked from the rain that was still pouring down. “No one!” Oscar began before you butted in, “Hey, Mrs Piastri!” you yelled, teeth chattering. There was a quick set of footsteps on floorboards until you heard a loud CLICK! The door creaked open, warm light spilling out followed by Nicole’s face popping out of the door with a very grumpy Oscar in the back. You flashed a smile, “Hey, Mrs Piastri sorry for bothering you.”

“Oscar! Why did you leave her standing out here in the cold? I raised you better than this!” she gasped, turning to him, Oscar’s jaw slackened, “She-” he began again before Nicole swatted him in the arm with the spatula in her hand. He flinched away, pulling a sour face much to your satisfaction, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Come in, goodness you must be freezing, go fetch her a towel, Osc.” Nicole ordered as she pulled the door open, Oscar disappeared into the house with a grumble. You stepped inside, warmth embracing you like a toasty hug. Droplets of water trailed in after you as you took off your boots. “How have you been, honey?” Nicole asked, a plaid apron tied around her waist. Her hair was tied up messily in a bun that somehow looked flawless all the same.

You set your bag down by the front door, “I’ve been good thank you, how about you guys?” you asked, glancing around the living room. Wow, you hadn’t realised how long it had been since you’d stepped inside of this house. It was exactly the same, small and quaint. It made you feel welcome every time you’d come over when you were younger. In the living room there sat a record player above a wooden cabinet. Spinning on record, "All Night Long" by Lionel Richie was humming softly through the air.

There was a warm scent of something baking in the oven wafting through the air. You shrugged off your jacket, hanging it up on the coat hanging stand that you had recalled had fallen on you when you were younger in a game of hide and seek. During primary school there was a brief moment when you were younger that you’d play with Oscar after school. A few of the kids down the street would also join in, you’d play Mario Kart - a game that Oscar excelled at, play tips, run around the playground and bake choc chip cookies. But it didn't last long. Because everything shifted when Lando Norris arrived, the new boy that moved into your neighbourhood in your first year of high school.

“Oh, you know, it's the same here. Hattie’s been learning the guitar, Edie’s always out and about with friends and Mae’s constantly trying to tag along.” she let out a warm chuckle that you returned with a smile.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” she asked, walking into the kitchen as you trailed after her. When you were younger you always said you’d want a kitchen just like hers. There were small jars of marmalade in a corner, cute plastic magnets on the fridge, the tiles were white and blue and bright full flowers sat in a vase on the island bench. You smiled to yourself, “No thanks, I’m expected at home for dinner, thank you for the offer though.”

“Well, you’ve got to stay for the cookies I’ve made, they’ll be out in 10 minutes.” she chimed with a wink and you couldn’t resist the temptation of her baking. You nodded just as Oscar entered the kitchen, towel in his hand. His jaw was clenched and a bitter look plastered on his face. “Here you go,” he muttered, passing you the towel, “Thanks,” you chided, amused by his misery just as he was to yours moments ago. He shot you a dirty look as he leant against the other end of the island like a stubborn child.

“I’ll be back, I just have to get changed, Oscar don’t be a stranger.” she pointed to her son who nodded with a sigh. Nicole disappeared and you turned to Oscar, determined to finish what you came here for.

“Okay, here’s the deal, you get the parking spot Monday to Wednesday and I get it Thursday to Sunday.” you offered, holding out your hand for a handshake. Oscar pretended to think about it, eyeing your extended hand. “Why do you get 4 days?” he asked skeptically, an eyebrow raised. You swore your eye twitched, “Because it’s literally my parking spot!” you protested, throwing your hands up in a fit.

“It’s literally not.” he corrected, his tone light as if this was nothing but fun for him. You let out a frustrated groan, “You can’t just hog the parking spot, you hogger.” you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest.

“Hogger. . .?” Oscar blinked, taken aback by your derogatory remarks. You tilted your head slightly, ‘I could call you worse things.” you added defensively.

“I don’t doubt that.” he grinned, entertained by your frustration as he watched you huff again, face red.

“That parking spot is mine. I've been eyeing it before you even got your car. Manifested it. Claimed it by the universe. It’s my birthright. You can’t just waltz in and steal it from me because you’re too lazy to walk 20 feet down the street.” you threw up your hands again to which Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re being a little bit dramatic.” he chimed, letting out an amused chuckle, his eyes following you as you walked back and forth through his kitchen. You turned to him, finger pointed at him. “You’re unbelievable. I cannot believe you.”

“All’s fair in love and parking, Lover Girl.” he shrugged, his arms up as if to say what can I say? You bit back an insult as your nostrils flared. “That’s not how the saying goes, Piastri.” you retorted, brushing away your slick hair from your face. Whether Oscar felt bad for you or not, he didn’t show it as his eyes flicked up and down you. Your clothes felt tight around your skin, cold and damp as you stood in his kitchen. All you really wanted was to go home now. To be in the comfort of your home with that hot chocolate you were craving earlier in the car. “It does now.” he finally said, running a quick hand through his hair. You let out a dry chuckle, “You think this is so funny, don’t you?”

“I think it’s hilarious.” he admitted with a stupid grin that made your skin crawl. You glared at him from across the room at his stupid face and his stupid hair that looked like he used 20 different shampoos in it. You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to strangle him to the ground.

“I’ll get that parking spot tomorrow, I swear.”

“I said I love The Smiths.”- 500 Days of Summer

Tuesday, 3:39pm

Newsflash: you didn’t get the parking spot.

It felt like a walk of shame as you set foot on the 5 metre walk down from “The Loser’s Spot.”

Oscar, when I catch you, Oscar, you thought bitterly as you passed his house and bright yellow car parked out front. This time, he wasn’t standing by the window which made you feel only a little bit better that he wasn’t watching. And you thought that just maybe luck was semi on your side today because it hadn’t rained an ounce since the morning. As you stuffed the keys into the lock, your phone began to ring, buzzing away in your pocket. You paused and fished it out, the screen lighting up with your friend, Chloe’s contact name.

Pushing the door open into your house, you answered the call.

“Hello,” you greeted, throwing your bag onto the couch as you passed it. Looping around into the kitchen, searching for an afternoon snack. "Baby, I Love Your Way" by Big Mountain coming from the radio that sat on the kitchen bench. Excitedly, Chloe squealed on the end of the line. “Girl, I’ve got tea. Lando’s hosting a party next Saturday and guess who’s invited?” she squealed, a lot of background voice feeding into the call. You winced, pulling the phone away, resorting to popping it on speaker. “You?” you guessed curiously. Chloe was one of your oldest friends, having met her on your first day of school, you’d been inseparable since. There was a loud clatter on the other side of the line before Chloe replied, “No, but good guess. Oscar is.”

You wrinkled your nose, a frown pulling at your eyebrows. “And this helps me, how exactly?” you asked cluelessly. There was a loud frustrated sigh, “God, put two and two together, ask him to take you!” she concluded as if she’d just concocted a masterplan to solve all your problems. You instantly shook your head, “What? No! One: that’s weird and two: I hate him right now. He’s a little pain in the ass and he keeps stealing my parking spot everyday.” you reasoned bitterly, eyes drawing to the yellow car parked outside. You bit your lip as the idea began to grow inside of your mind. It didn’t sound too bad.

No, you thought immediately, there was no way you were going to let Oscar take you to a party. And most definitely not to one Lando was hosting. “You always hate him, just suck it up and ask him to take you.” Chloe sighed as you scoffed lightly. “I’m not doing that.”

“Okay, hear me out. They’re good mates, right? What if you ask Oscar to help you get with Lando in exchange for the parking spot.” Chloe proposed, you could hear the proud grin through her voice. You sighed, “Okay no for 3 different reasons. The first is that there is no way I’m telling a boy, not to mention my next door neighbour, who I have a crush on. Secondly, we barely talk and it would be hella weird to ask him to take me. Lastly, no.” There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line before Chloe spoke. “You're no fun at all.” she grumbled.

“Also, I love my parking spot.’ you added.

“It’s basically his.” she shot back and you huffed. “Don’t say that, I still have hope for tomorrow.” you protested, throwing yourself across the couch, sinking into the cushions. “Girl, you and I both know you ain’t getting that parking spot.”

You sighed heavily. Unfortunately, she was very right about that. That night, you lay in bed turning left and right and left again until you threw your pillow at your door in frustration.

What if you ask Oscar to help you get with Lando in exchange for the parking spot? Chloe’s words echoed around your head, unable to erase it from your mind. No, it was stupid idea and anyone would be crazy to do that, you thought and yet somehow you found yourself knocking on his front door moments later.

Wednesday, 1:23am

Shivering in your pajamas, you prayed that his Mother didn’t open the door for your own sanity and saw you shaking in your pj’s with a jumper thrown over. You shifted back and forth on your feet, teeth chattering like only days before. The lights in the living room turned on, light spreading on your face as you heard the floorboard creaking again, the familiar sound making your heart soar. Warm light spilled out of the door as Oscar’s head popped out. His eyes were wary, squinting into the darkness.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing? It’s 1am!” he grumbled as if he’d been woken from a nap. You rolled your eyes, beginning to regret your choice.

“God, you sound like a grandma,” you commented, eyes trailing his face against the light. His brown freckles were sprinkled across his face, his hair unkept as though he’d been asleep only moments ago. His nose scrunched up slightly, “If you’re here for the parking spot, you’re not getting it.”

You waved your hands quickly, “I’m not, well. . . sort of.” you trailed off, words getting caught as you welled in the gravity of your decision. He frowned, “What?”

You flexed your fingers, rocking slowly back and forth on your heels. Your slippers and jumper falling damp under the light rain. “It’s just a thought, okay?”

“God, you think? That’s concerning.” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. You shot him a glare as he shrugged under the light of the porch. “Hey asshat, just listen, okay?” you reasoned, licking your lips nervously. He stared at you as if debating whether or not to shut the door in your face and call it a day.

“You have 2 minutes and then I’m closing this door in your face.” Oscar said after not-so careful consideration, after all it couldn’t get weirder than you standing outside his front door at 1am. “Okay, okay!” you jumped hastily, you swallowed, eyes snapping to his, dreading to see his reaction. “So, Lando’s hosting a party next weekend,” you began slowly, dipping a foot into the deep waters.

Oscar rolled his eyes, “I’m aware, Lover Girl, what do you want?”

You felt like a mad person as he watched you grasp onto your words. “Alright, here’s my pitch: you take me to the party and you can have the parking spot for a week.”

There was a beat of silence as Oscar stared at you, his eyes narrowing by the second. His eyebrows ticked up, amusement pulling at his mind and lips as if caution should wary him. “Why are you acting weird? You were literally going to kill me for it yesterday.” he asked, eyeing you strangely, his eyes dark dancing under the shadows of the light.

“I’ve changed.” you snapped impatiently, folding your arms across your chest, wind blowing past you as you stood on the porch. “I highly doubt that.” he deflected with a small chuckle that tore through your patience. You sighed, “That’s beside the point, Piastri. The point is, you take me, you get the parking spot.” you bribed, “For one week.” you added quickly, the coldness of the night inching closer.

“Do I at least get to know why?” Oscar asked, amused, perhaps even curiously as he looked down at you. “Nope.” you answered through chattering teeth, hands brushing against your arms.

“Well that seems sort of unfair don’t you think?” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. He watched as you began to bend under his stare, flinching away. “Nope.” you said, but your voice wavered as if you already knew he wouldn’t let you take advantage without knowing your motives for such a strange proposal.

“Okay, fine.” he shrugged and your heart jumped in your chest. Hope blooming in your mind, maybe this Oscar boy from next door wasn’t all bad. “Really?” you asked excitedly, a grin pulling at your lips.

“No.” he shot back and the hope sunk to your stomach. You bit back and insult, “Why not?” you demanded, looking up at him. He sighed heavily, holding up two fingers. “Because one: it’s Lando’s party not mine and two: you’re being weird.”

You threw your hands up in protest, “Those aren’t even valid reasons!”

Oscar shrugged carelessly, “They’re valid to me unless you tell me why.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m aware, now continue.”

You hesitated, heat rising to your cheeks. You stared down at your boots that had flecks of raindrops across them under the porchlight. “I just. . . I don’t know, It’s just, Lando. You know?” you swallowed, looking up, stomach twisting in embarrassment. Oscar was staring at you, a slight frown on your face as if he was waiting for you to backtrack and explain that this entire thing had been a complete joke. But you didn’t.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, face drawn dead serious.

“Yes.”

Oscar fell against the doorframe, erupting in laughter, his voice echoing down the empty street. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushed as he snorted. “Sorry, who am I to judge?” he concluded with another chuckle. You rolled your eyes, standing right in a circle of embarrassment, each turn your own words against you. “Alright, stop.” you grumbled, watching as he clapped his hands together with a satisfied sigh. “Okay, I’ll help but on one condition, I get the spot forever.”

The words sank into your mind, “What? No!” you immediately snapped. There was no way you were going to give up the parking spot that you’d been fighting 2 years for. You’d rather die. You let out a scoff, the absurdity of it all weighing in your mind.

“Then no deal.” Oscar shrugged casually as he began to shut the door, the warmth of the house pulling away into darkness. You lunged forward, grabbing the door as Oscar hesitated. “Okay! Okay, wait. Let’s not be too hasty.” you reasoned, thoughts racing through your mind to figure out a way to make sure both parties won.

“I’m waiting.” Oscar tapped his fingers impatiently against the doorframe as you scoured your brain for words. “Okay, new deal, you help me get into that party and closer to Lando and you can have the parking spot for the rest of the year.” you clapped your hands in finality, a giant grin on your face, sure that would make a reasonable deal. Oscar stood in thought, weighing out both pros and cons of the proposal. “Are you done thinking?” you prodded after he was taking too long, thinking he’d pull the same stunt as earlier. You shivered, the wind blowing against your ankles, your fingers pulling the hem of your jumper down lower to shield yourself. Oscar’s eyes flickered down to you, he opened his mouth slightly as if the words were on the tip of his tongue. Come in. But instead he nodded, “Okay, deal.”

“Really?” you jumped up, fireworks going off inside of your brain. You refrained from doing a little victory dance after already embarrassing yourself enough in one night. Oscar shrugged casually, “I mean, who am I to refuse the parking spot?”

“Okay, deal.” you held out your hand with a grin to which Oscar slammed the door shut. The warmth and light of the house were gone in an instant as you were left standing with your arm extended, left hanging. You blinked, taken aback. What the hell? The letter slot flapped open with a squeak. “Your two minutes were up, Lover Girl.”

“Asshole.”

“Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” - Dead Poets Society

Wednesday 12:43pm

You stared at the clock as if somehow it would make the seconds pass quicker. It did not. Unsurprisingly, it made the class go by even slower. However, the second the bell rang through the halls you were up and out of the classroom. You weaved past students until you came to a stop just by the lockers at the end of the corridor. Excitedly, you peeked slowly, eyes focused on a classroom door where students were spilling out from. Your heart soared as Lando filed out of the door in heavy conversation with Oscar who’s eyes looked tired and dazed, you were almost certain you were to blame for that. Lando smiled and you felt your heart pound in your chest, a smile tearing at your lips. You watched as they turned in your direction, eye catching Oscar’s. Your hands snapped to the closest thing as you pretended to fidget with a lock on one of the nearby lockers. Your eyes flicked up to Lando as Oscar trailed behind him yawning. As Lando neared closer you felt your cheeks flush pink, heart hammering in your chest.

How could he look so perfect?

Since the moment you’d seen Lando you were infatuated by him. Everything about him was likeable, he was charming, he had an addictive smile, and above all he was funny. He never failed to make you laugh, he was sweet and charismatic, almost like the complete opposite of your grumpy next door neighbour. Having a crush on Lando also made you feel like a crazy person, like any other girl in your year, hopelessly in love with his smile. Your Mother had told you about guys like him, Lando was male lead material, the charming rom-com guy that would sweep you off your feet and guarantee a happy future.

Oscar, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was a boy with no emotional intelligence whatsoever. If you were to ever give your heart to him, he’d trample all over it and chuck it out the window without a second thought.

“Hey, Y/N?”

Your head snapped around, your eyes falling onto Lando and a sleepy looking Oscar who was rubbing his eyes. Your heart jumped to your throat as you stumbled over your words, “Hey.” you blurted out and Lando chuckled warmly. Instantly, your knees felt weak under you as if they’d give way any minute, abandoning you in front of him.

“Oscar told me you’re coming to my party next Saturday,” he grinned, nodding to Oscar who looked just about as lost as a child at a carnival. His eyes were tired, large eyebags hanging underneath his eyes as he turned his head and glared at you. You prayed that he hadn’t let anything slip about the deal you’d made last night. You nodded, “Yeah, he invited me.”

Oscar looked at Lando who nodded. “That’s cool, I didn’t know you guys were friends.” he mused, which surprised you even though you and Oscar were anything but friends. You didn’t deny it though, “Yep,”

You met Oscar’s gaze from behind Lando as he rolled his eyes. You held back rolling your own eyes and smiled at Lando.“I guess I’ll see you next Saturday then.” he said, sending you spiralling as you watched him walk away until he disappeared into a wave of students. You grinned to yourself, unable to contain your excitement. You could've run down the hallway screaming the lyrics to "Paper Rings" out of joy.

“But you know, the thing about romance is, people only get together right at the very end.” - Love Actually

Sunday 4:43

“Why would I need to hit on another woman?” Matthew McConaughey asked, or rather Ben Barry asked Andie Anderson. “You’ve got more than enough personalities to keep me completely occupied.” he chimed through the tv speakers and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ was by far one of your favourite rom-coms of all time. The characters, the plot, the setup were all amazing and executed flawlessly. It mixed all your favourite tropes together and made your heart flutter like a crazy, obsessed person. You glanced out the window of the living room, through rain Oscar’s car was still in the parking spot. You sighed, looking back at the TV, your concentration lost as the movie continued muffled away in the background of rain.

Were you crazy?

Was Oscar crazy?

“Hey Y/N! Can you return these containers back to Nicole?” your Mother’s voice broke through the silence, as if on cue. Your head snapped toward the kitchen where your Mother hummed away, melody travelling softly around the house. You let out a groan, splaying yourself across the couch. “Right now?” you called back, eyes drifting back to the rain bucketing outside. “Yes!” she replied, followed by a clattering of metal pans. You gritted your teeth as you whipped the blanket off, making your way into the kitchen. Your Mother stood, her back facing you as she did her weekend tidy. There were plastic containers and pots strewn all over the kitchen bench as she sorted through the drawers. You picked up the containers that had small ‘Piastri’ stickers stuck to them.

“Thank you! Take an umbrella!” your Mother called behind you as you disappeared out the door-without an umbrella. The cold wind felt like a slap across the face as you trotted down the front stairs, a breeze whipping at your undone hair. You squinted through the sprinkle of rain, the sidewalk scattered with puddles as you sidestepped, avoiding them.

You raised your hand and knocked on the all too familiar door. The loud squeaks of floorboards came from the other side before the lock CLICKED and the door swung open. Oscar’s head popped out the door, his eyes immediately narrowing skeptically as you stood in front of him. You pulled a smile to your face, “Hi neighbour.”

His hair was dishevelled, like his hand had run through it one too many times as he glared at you. “I’ve already agreed to take you to the party.” he said flatly as you gritted your teeth.

“Hello to you too, lovely neighbour. I’m here to drop off these containers for your Mother.” you rolled your eyes as you held out the containers. Oscar’s eyes dropped to your hands, “Oh, thanks” he mumbled, taking it from your hands. You scoffed as his eyes met yours. He held your gaze for a moment, perhaps a moment too long his eyes lingered on yours as something unspoken passed. “Want to go on a walk?” he abruptly asked and you frowned, taken aback by the question. You looked out onto the street as the rain fell down slowly, pattering softly. The sky was overcast, grey clouds painted across it, the sun hidden from view. “It’s raining though.” you said as if it somehow explained everything. You looked back to him, his expression all the same, “I know,” he smiled. A chuckle escaped your lips, without giving it much thought you shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” you nodded, finishing ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 days’ gone from your mind in an instant. He nodded, “Let me get a jacket and we can go,” he said as he disappeared into the house, the door left ajar.

What were you doing?

You nearly laughed out loud to yourself as you stood waiting on his front porch.

If you’d told yourself last week you were going on a walk with Oscar, you would’ve laughed in your face in absurdity.

Moments later, Oscar popped out of the door with a jumper thrown on. You were leaning against the porch railing, looking out onto the empty street. His eyes lingered on you, for far longer than he would like to admit until you turned around. He whipped his eyes away, clearing his throat. “Let’s go?” you asked, looking over at him. He nodded, trailing after you, an odd sensation sitting in his chest pressing tightly against his thumping heart. Oscar fell into step by your side. The rain was slow, the storm passed and instead was replaced by a soft sprinkle of rain, falling gently if it had been any colder would’ve been snowflakes. His eyes flickered to you, “Where do you want to go?” he asked as you raised your eyebrows, a knowing grin plastered on your face. He eyed you as you wiggled your eyebrows in exaggeration, “Are you down for milkshakes?” you asked, a sly smile on your lips. He burst out laughing, “Milkshakes in this weather?”

You nodded, eyebrows raised, “Yep, I know a place.”

“Well then lead the way, Lover Girl.”

In your rainy town by the corner of the shops there sat an old 90’s diner. Its doors were welcoming, a sickenly sweet smell wafting through the air that enchanted passing strangers inviting them inside. A soft bell would tinker each time a wandering customer would come in and it had been your favourite place to go as a kid.

As kids, it had also been the place Oscar’s Mother would take you guys to have an occasional milkshake after school. You and Oscar would both bicker, debating which flavour was better, chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Oscar had always been insistent on vanilla whereas you would scrunch up your face and shake your head in disgust.

Hattie, who would often tag along on your little side quests, would order banana which only gained disapproving looks from both you and Oscar. The last red booth had been the spot you’d all run to, ice creams in hand, pushing one another out of the way to get the window view out onto the street. Though unfortunately for Hattie, only either you or Oscar would win, outrunning her on her little legs.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Oscar mumbled, looking up at the diner, a smile painted across his face. It’s bright hanging lamps, twinkling through the glass. The bright red leather booth seats were visible, sitting upon the inviting black and white checkered floor.

You nodded in agreement, “Me too,” and his eyes flickered to yours, his grin only growing wider under your gaze. Your heart skipped a beat and for a fleeting moment it was like you were children again, standing outside of the diner pulling Nicole inside excitedly, wishing you could try all the variety of bright coloured flavours. You snorted, “Shall we?”

“After you, milkshake-during-winter psychopath.” Oscar joked playfully, pulling the door open as you rolled your eyes, stepping inside. A soft tinker of a bell chimed around the store, warmth enveloping you like a blanket. Waves of nostalgia hit you as your eyes drifted to the last booth with its bright red seats and view that really wasn't that great but had seemed like a win whenever you got it. The chatter was low, people buried in their books or laptops with a coffee or milkshake at hand, the smell drifting through the cafe. And behind the counter still stood the old woman from all those years ago, serving customers with a giant warm smile on her face. Wrinkles had worn through her skin beautifully with time, hair with small streaks of grey now. But her striking green eyes had stayed the same. She wore a bright red apron and a pen tucked neatly behind one ear.

“Good afternoon, lovelies.” she greeted softly until her eyes grew wide, shifting between you and Oscar. “Nicole’s son, right?” she asked excitedly to which Oscar nodded. She looked at you, “And you must be the young girl who would come in with them!” she clapped her hands together, green eyes lighting up. You laughed softly with a nod, “I’m pretty sure we would invade your diner each afternoon and hog the last booth,” you said, nodding to the empty booth that stood at the end of the aisle as if waiting patiently for you and Oscar to return.

“Nonsense, it was always a pleasure to have you here. What can I get you guys?”

You glanced up at Oscar who met your gaze, nodding before turning back to the lady, “Two milkshakes please, one vanilla and one chocolate.” the order slipped off his lips as if second nature to him. You blinked in surprise, he still remembered your favourite flavour? Perhaps it shouldn’t have made that big of a difference, but you didn’t have enough time to fully process it before Oscar handed it to you. His fingertips gently brushed yours, sending an electric spark through your body. You stood stunned, there was no way that this was your parking-spot stealing neighbour you couldn’t stand.

You trailed after Oscar, mind still racing as you tried to figure out why your chest felt tight all of a sudden, heartbeat loud in your ears as you slid into the red leather booth.

Oscar however, noticed nothing out of the ordinary and dug into his milkshake, devouring it like he’d been starved. Your eyes flicked up to him, with his perfect hair and pretty smile, and oh geez, this wasn’t right.

Oscar wasn’t the charming male lead, he was the measly side character who would throw in a laugh every so often to keep the audience engaged. He was your annoying next door neighbour, the only boy who’d constantly nag you about your rom-com obsession. Even as kids, in your eyes he never held a candle to Lando Norris. Though, it didn’t seem like that right now, because here you were sitting across from him drinking milkshakes like you guys were best friends.

“I can’t believe we’re drinking milkshakes during winter. It’s freezing.” Oscar chuckled and your head snapped back, mind pulled from wondering to the present. You swallowed your thoughts and nodded, any idea of Lando disappearing in an instant. “Well, you can’t go wrong with milkshakes, right?” you shrugged, without much effort from keeping a smile off your face. You sipped on the straw, the coldness of shooting straight to your brain. A shiver of cold ran down your spine and you shook in your jacket. Oscar snorted, “Just to clarify. . . are we trying to get pneumonia? Or is this your awful master plan of trying to get me sick?”

“A bit of both,” you admitted solemnly, a playful glint in your eye as you met his gaze. He raised his eyebrows, as if testing the imaginary waters of just how sarcastic and funny this conversation could get. “I can respect that,” he finally agreed and you nodded along. “I mean, with vanilla I don’t really know though, you could probably get poisoned by the blandness of it.” you shrugged playfully before cracking, letting out a laugh. Oscar’s eyes followed you as you shook, laughing in your seat.

“That’s pretty rich coming from a safe-option chocolate eating psychopath.” Oscar mused with a nod toward your milkshake, the cherry still on top from your lack of attention. “I’m a pretty charming psychopath though,” you pointed out with raised eyebrows, giving Oscar a reasonable nod. Though he was the only charming one here, you couldn’t deny. The curve of his lips formed into a grin that had your eyes flicking nervously out the window where rain began to pour down again. You swallowed hard as your gaze snapped back to his. He didn’t deny it. “So you do admit you’re trying to kill me?” he asked playfully, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“I mean, only if that vanilla doesn’t kill you first.” you chimed before the two of you both broke out in fits of laughter. You couldn’t help but admire Oscar, the way the corner of his eyes crinkled whenever he laughed, how his nose scrunched up and the warmth in his eyes was undeniable as he looked at you. And you felt like you melted under his sweet gaze.

The last booth in Macy’s diner was filled with giggles of laughter and sarcastic remarks that afternoon, just two kids off in their own world that hadn’t been explored in a long time. To the old lady who served every customer in the diner, it seemed just like the old days. From behind the counter she watched fondly as the two kids sitting across from each other held childish grins on their faces.

“That’s the thing about love, you never know when it’s real.” Ben Barry said, ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ back on the screen as you lay across the couch with a blanket pulled up your neck. Your heart skipped a beat as you swallowed hard, it was all wrong.

“In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find someone who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you.”- Juno

Tuesday, 4:32pm

You stopped on the front steps of the school as students pushed past you, running through the pouring rain in an attempt to get to their cars before the storm got worse.

“What do you mean, you can’t pick me up?” you whined, phone connected on a call with Chloe. In the morning, you’d taken your car to go get the tires changed and Chloe had offered to come and pick you up. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m stuck on the other side of the bridge, the river is flooding over. Can you get a ride home with anyone else?” she asked just as your eyes landed on an all too familiar car as it pulled up in front of you. Squinting through the rain you saw Oscar roll down the window.

“Need a lift?” he called out from the car. You hesitated, standing in the rain, 10 feet from him. The wind whipped at your hair, clothes damp under the rain. Since the diner it had been awkwardly weird between you both, or at least to you. It felt wrong to be hanging out with Oscar if Lando was the one you were chasing. It made no sense. Your mind kept circling back to Oscar, after school, hoping that somehow you’d run into him by chance. You longed for the feeling you’d felt sitting in the last red booth, laughing from across him as you both reminisced the old and the new. But you folded, banishing any thought of your feelings from your mind you bounded forward. Bolting through the rain you slid into the seat, the inside of the car even colder than outside. You shivered, coldness wrapping around you in an uncomfortable choke. “It’s so cold in here, do you have the AC on?” you chattered, rubbing your hands together. Oscar shot you a glare as if he’d taken that personally. “She’s old, okay?”

“So no heater?” you asked doubtfully, turning to him.

“No heater,” he echoed with a grimace.

“Right.” you concluded, looking out of the window. You felt his eyes on you, skin prickling under his stare. The car slowly rolled forward in the line of cars. Stealing a glance over at him, you bit your lip doubtfully, his hair was slick and wet from the rain, drops rolling down the sides of his freckled skin. Instantly, your breath hitched in your throat, heart thumping loudly in your chest almost like a chain reaction.

“The bridge is flooded, we’re going to be here for a while.” Oscar said, eyes on the line of cars ahead. You slowly nodded, snapping your eyes away from him, uncomfortableness closing in on you. Silence followed by “Every Breath You Take”, starting, filling the air from the old radio.

“Do you remember when we were kids and our coat stand fell on you during a hide n seek game?” Oscar asked, turning to you. Your eyes flicked to his, warm, gentle and curious. You let out a half hearted laugh, “You remember that?”

“Oh, absolutely, I remember you bawled your head off.” he teased, a smirk making its way onto his lips, your eyes catching onto it. You swallowed, “That was a moment of weakness, in my defence I’d never gotten bonked on the head with a 12 foot wooden stick, on top of that I got drowned in jackets and coats.” you pointed out, shooting him a grin. He laughed, eyes crinkling up at the corners and without much effort to stop yourself, you laughed too. His laugh was addicting to your ears, like a melody that you’d listen on repeat to by choice. “And then my Mum baked you cookies,” he chided, the memory flooding back into your mind. “And you didn’t get any,” you added with a soft chuckle, eyes on his.

“That was unfair, I still remind her about that to this day.” he huffed, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Well to be fair, it’s because you laughed at me.” you corrected.

“Touché, Lover Girl.” he said, giving you a nod. Your mind lingered on the nickname, you’d never really noticed when he began to call you that, though you were certain it was after he found out you were a hopeless rom-com lover. Which had been by pure accident after he’d found your DVD collection of every one of your beloved movies.

“Is ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ still your favourite movie?” he asked. Your head snapped in his direction, “I can’t believe you remember that.” you murmured, heart light in your chest.

“Of course I do, after you forced me to watch it with you.” Oscar said with a roll of his eyes. You shot him a glare. “I did not force you to.” you retorted with a snort. Though you were most almost certain that you did. You’d dragged him to your living room and sat him down to watch it with you because Chloe had been away on a trip. “Sure you didn’t.” he quipped and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Even if I did, it’s a good movie so you should be thankful.” you casted a look over at him and Oscar shrugged, “You know what? It was actually an okay movie, I won’t complain.”

“Exactly, my point. Thank you!” you huffed triumphantly, feeling like you’d scored a win because usually Oscar was always right. And most times, he knew it drove you mad. Satisfied, you looked out the window, now as the car neared onto the main street. “But that’s only because I thought Andie was going to die at the end,” he added. You whipped your head around, his expression deadpan as he shrugged under your stare. “What? Are you serious?”

“That’s what Lando told me.” he said and your stomach twisted at the reminder of Lando’s existence. Which felt wrong considering that was the whole reason you’d spoken to Oscar in the first place after all these years. You felt like you were tripping over your own guilt and selfishness. How could you be claiming you liked Lando when you felt this way about Oscar? What did you feel about Oscar?

“And you believed him?” you asked, an awful feeling sitting in your stomach now as you looked at Oscar. He nodded solemnly, causing you to snort, guilt instantly gone from your mind. “I sure did.”

“In my defense of course, I’d never watched a rom-com before.” he quickly added, eyes on yours. You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Just wait till you watch Me Before You or The Fault in our Stars.” Two films that had ended in you absolutely losing your mind and bawling your eyes out.

“I draw the line at people who end up passing away in the end.” Oscar ruled, “Also where the dog dies in the end.” he added as if that was the most important part. You nodded, understanding his point of view. “That’s valid, but you also give me vibes that you’ve watched all the Disney Princess Movies.”

Oscar blinked, as if he was surprised he was that easy to read. A chuckle escaped his lips, nose scrunching slightly. “In my defense, I grew up with 3 sisters,”

“That’s a green flag if I’ve ever seen one,” you hummed before you could stop yourself. “I’m flattered, please do go on.” he teased as your cheeks flushed red. A smirk pulled on his lips. Heat crawled up your neck as your stomach fluttered. “Okay, pretend I didn’t say that.” you said, rolling your eyes but the butterflies in your stomach were something you couldn’t deny even if you tried.

“No wonder I used to have a crush on you,” Oscar murmured just loud enough that you caught his words. His eyes were focused on the car ahead, refusing to meet your eyes. You froze, stunned by his remark. You felt like your heart had dipped to the bottom of your stomach, Oscar Piastri used to have a crush on you? The kid who had always laughed at your misfortunes, stolen your parking spot without mercy, used to have a crush on you?

“What?” you managed to stammer, cheeks hot as you met his gaze. You felt like you were choking on your words and yet none left your mouth. He chuckled, honey eyes locked on yours, “Is it that surprising?” he asked. You swallowed, “No- I mean, yes?” you stammered, unsure of what you were even saying, words slipping off your lips effortlessly. You winced at your own stammering.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I don’t like you anymore, there’s someone else.” Oscar laughed and it felt like a blow to the face. Why did you feel disappointed out of all things? Why did your heart sink to your stomach as if a part of you wished and yearned for him to still like you?

“Oh, is there now? Care to spill?” you managed to ask, curiosity and jealousy tainting your words. You bit down on your tongue as if to stop yourself from prying too far. “Her name’s Lily. There’s not much to it, I just think she’s cute.” he shrugged, oblivious to your envious heart. “Oh, I know her, yeah she’s nice.”you bit, forcing a smile to your face. This was good, so why did you feel like you’d been punched in the stomach?

Why did you hate that Oscar liked someone else?

"People do fall in love. People do belong to each other, because that's the only chance that anyone's got for true happiness."- Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Saturday, 7:29pm

Oscar: I’m outside

Y/N: What

Oscar: I’m driving you there, hurry up and be out soon

Y/N: Wow, such a gentleman

Oscar: I know

You ran to your bedroom window and sure enough, leaning against his car right outside in your parking spot was Oscar. He was wearing black sweats with a lazy white shirt thrown on and a jumper on top, and of course, his 20 shampoo hair looked perfect under the setting sun. You glanced back at your phone, though you never recalled getting his number though you were almost certain it was once used to prank call Oscar at a sleepover with Chloe. The details were a bit fuzzy. Everything had seemed a bit off since last week, an awful feeling had embedded itself into your mind as if you were no longer sure about something. You really couldn’t believe how long it had been since you’d hung out with Oscar, it seemed like ages ago that you and the kids down the street would play together. Though there was one memory that had imprinted itself in your mind till this day.

It had been an Autumn day, during the end of the holidays when all the fun had begun to come to a finish. You’d been 7 years old, sitting out on your front porch, bored with nothing to do until a young Oscar walked past. He’d paused upon seeing you, a frown making its way onto his face as he saw you sitting alone. “Hey, Y/N?” he’d said, walking up to you, cheeks rosy and eyes twinkling. You’d looked up, taken aback by his sudden appearance, “Yeah?” you’d asked, curiosity sparking in your mind.

“Want to play a game?”

Those golden words had you and Oscar raking up golden leaves in his backyard excitedly until there was nothing but a humongous pile. Standing and admiring your own handy work, you’d both fistbumped each other with a proud grin.

“Are you ready?” Oscar had asked you as he held out his hand for you to take. You’d nodded eagerly, taking his hand in yours. “I’m ready.” you’d confirmed.

“1, 2, 3. . . JUMP!” you’d both yelled in unison, leaping onto the pile of leaves. The pile blew up, scattering golden leaves everywhere as they came raining down as you and Oscar were swallowed in the heap. Laughter and giggles had filled the air that afternoon, causing a curious Hattie and Edie to eventually join in too. You hadn’t thought about that moment in a long time-

A loud beeping of a horn snapped you back from your thoughts, your eyes flickering to where Oscar stood, glaring at you from his car. Your heart jumped in your chest as you threw on a jumper, taking one last glance at your outfit in the mirror before racing downstairs. Chloe had boasted proudly about her plan being a success but it didn’t actually feel like a success. Ever since last week, you hadn’t been able to get Oscar off your mind, what surprised you most was that you’d forgotten how much fun it was spending time with him. Even at school, you’d avoided him, because whatever this feeling that had grown toward Oscar was wrong. You’d made this deal for Lando and afterwards you’d go back to normal, right?

You swallowed, making your way down the stairs, approaching Oscar. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled, his grumpy demeanour back as he opened the car door for you, disappearing to the driver's seat. You blinked, an odd feeling rising in your chest almost like butterflies as you stood stunned by his small gesture.

“Are you going to stand there or get in?” Oscar asked from inside. You nodded, still dazed as you slid into the passenger seat. It felt too weird, like you were somehow playing a calculated game of chess with the enemy. But Oscar wasn’t your enemy, he was helping you, out of all things. You were meant to hate Oscar, right?

The car ride to Lando’s house was nothing short of awkward, only "Knee Socks" by Artic Monkeys filling the car. Oscar drove in silence, neither of you even batting an eye or attempting to make cheap conversation. As Oscar pulled into an all too familiar house he hesitated, “Wait,” he called as you were about to push the car door open. You turned to him expectantly, your heart catching in your throat. “Yeah?”

He swallowed, almost as if he was nervous. “After this, I get the parking spot. . . right?”

You paused, the initial agreement almost slipping from your mind. You nodded, “Yep, that’s the deal. Thanks Osc.”

The name slipped off your tongue carelessly, almost as if it was something you didn’t have to think twice about. But why? Heat flared up to your cheeks in embarrassment as you shook your head quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t-” you began brashly before Oscar interjected. “It’s fine, Lover Girl, don’t worry about it.” he said with a grin.

You both walked up to the door in silence. Heart pounding in your ears both from what had just happened and soon seeing Lando. It felt odd that you had to remind yourself that that’s what you were here for. Shaking your head you knocked on the door confidently. There was a thrumming vibration from music inside, spilling out of the door as it opened, Lando’s face popping out.

“Hey lovebirds, how are you?” he asked teasingly with a grin. Your heart dropped as you feigned amusement, letting out a dry laugh. Oscar doing the same beside you, “Don’t be an ass.” he laughed and your eyes flickered toward him. Your heart thumped in your chest, catching you off guard. You swallowed, gaze drifting back to Lando who held the door open with a grin, “Come in.”

You mindlessly walked inside, brain still scouring for an answer to what just happened. There was no way your heartbeat was quickening at the sight of Oscar when Lando was in front of you. Your eyes landed on him again as he fistbumped a guy in passing, a smile painted on his face. You quickly looked away, as if caught doing something wrong. God, what was happening?

The music was turned on loud, ringing in your ears as you floated around the living room, eyes drawn to Oscar who was chatting to some guy by the kitchen. Loud chatter and people yelling over the music filled the air just as Beyonce and Jay-Z’s “Crazy in Love” came on. You swallowed, chest tight, though you didn’t know why as you walked around aimlessly. Your stomach felt queasy even though you hadn’t had anything to drink yet. As you made your way around the living room, you felt a hand lay on your shoulder, Lando appearing next to you. His brown curls bounced as he moved, seafoam green eyes making their way to yours as you stood stunned before him. “Thanks for coming! Osc just told me you are good friends, so I’ll stop teasing you guys now,” he grinned, yelling over the music. You let out a laugh, but it seemed forced even to you. You nodded, eyes meeting Lando’s, your pulse screaming through your ears, TALK TO HIM!

“Thanks for hosting! I’ll try not to drink too much tonight!” you yelled back over the pulse of the music. Lando smiled one of his charming smiles before nodding, “Well, thankfully you’ve got your designated driver!” Lando laughed, nodding toward Oscar who was standing by the drinks table, pouring himself a glass of water. Your heart sank to your stomach, you’d completely forgotten that he wouldn’t be able to drink because he’d driven you both here. You nodded, “Yeah! I do,” your voice trailing off, eyes still on Oscar.

God, this felt wrong. It was all wrong. You were supposed to like Lando, why weren’t you more excited about this? Why weren’t you jumping out of your shoes doing cartwheels around the living room?

Lando patted you on the back, “Gotta run, Carlos and Charles are throwing around one of my Mother's vases.” he said as he disappeared into a crowd of people. You nodded, dazed as you reached for a shot glass on a platter laying around. The liquid burned your throat as it went down, the sensation awful but addicting. The thrum of the music rang through your ears as you grabbed another glass, cheeks flushing already. Each time, your eyes couldn’t help but find Oscar, even now as he spoke to Lily by the couch. Envy clouded your thoughts as you stared daggers at her. Her perfect face, perfect laugh, there was no questioning why Oscar liked her.

With a pang of guilt, you wandered around for who knows how long, grabbing glasses full of things you ought to have looked at first before gulping down. Your stomach flipped uneasily, the alcohol doing its thing as your mind was racing. But you couldn’t place why?

Why did you feel awful like you were somehow betraying yourself?

Lando was right there and yet your eyes were on Oscar, following him around like he was the one you liked.

“Woah there, slow down soldier. How many drinks are you on?” a voice sliced through your thoughts as a hand grasped gently over yours just as you reached out for another glass. Startled, you recoiled, gaze snapping upward to find Oscar standing there. His expression was soft but his eyes clouded with worry as he raised his eyebrows. He looked so clueless, clueless to what he was doing to you, making your brain spin like a carousel.

That was it.

It was all his fault.

“I’m fine, that’s what I came here to do, get wasted, have fun, right?” you shot back, an edge to your voice both brittle and bitter. You saw it hit him, his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed slightly. But he didn’t seem to believe you. You scoffed as you folded your arms across your chest tightly as if it would somehow shield you from him.

“You might want to slow down, Lover Girl.” he said, his words melting into the music, slow and numbing as “Kiss of Life” by Sade hummed in the background.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, turning away sharply. The room tilted with you in a slow, sick twirl. The nausea you’d been trying to keep down, creeping up, thick and threatening. You swallowed hard, trying to ground yourself under his gaze,

Oscar watched you, his eyes full with something more now, hurt. The ground swayed beneath you as you looked downwards. “I’m just trying to look out for you.” he said, confused by the sharpness and sting of your words. Why was this happening? But why was he the one here? Why wasn’t it Lando?

“Well don’t, okay? I don’t need you to look after me, Oscar. We’re barely friends, you’re my neighbour. A deal’s a deal and now we go back to normal where you steal my parking spot and I hate you for it, okay? This entire thing was a mistake.” your voice rose, trembling with emotion you couldn’t name. Guilt? Hatred? Oscar didn’t flinch, but you could see the way he swallowed it, like he was biting back words he knew wouldn’t help.

And then it hit. That awful, churning sickness surged upward with no more warning. You doubled over and retched, everything you’d downed in the last hour splattering across the floor. The burn scorched your throat, your eyes stinging with tears of humiliation.

Someone’s arm was draped over your shoulders as your body shook. You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified, scanning the faces now turned toward you in disgust or pity, or both. Your eyes landed on Lando who stared at you but he didn’t move. Then, gently, Oscar’s hands found your shaking ones. He didn’t say anything. Just guided you away, leading you up the stairs and out of sight, as the party kept on pulsing behind you without a second thought.

“Do you want water?” Oscar asked softly as you sat faced away from him, guilt eating away at you relentlessly. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see him looking at you and you couldn’t help but shake your head under his gentle gaze.

This night that you’d hoped would be amazing went the complete opposite. And so here you sat with your carpark-stealing neighbour, without Lando in sight. You shook your head numbly as you stared at the wall, eyes on anything but his. “No, thanks.”

There was an awful beat of silence as you swallowed.

“Okay, I have spare clothes in the car, I’ll go get them for you.” Oscar told you, getting up from the bed. Your stomach twisted as your eyes followed him until he reached the door. “Why are you being so nice to me, Oscar?” you called out as his hand rested on the handle. He paused and turned back to you, his eyes dark in the warmth of the bedside lamp. You searched his face for an answer, but he just shook his head, “You were right. That was the deal, I mean, it’s not like we’re friends, right? You’re just my neighbour and annoying one at that.” he grinned but he faltered under your gaze, as if he didn’t mean a single word of it. And he didn’t. It’s not like we’re friends, right?

You felt like you’d been sock punched in the stomach. Of course you weren’t friends, you’d been stupid to think that. You were never even friends to begin with. You were just his neighbour. You’d said it yourself. Swallowing hard, you nodded. “Yeah, I know.” you laughed, but felt hollow as if somehow the fake words lived up to the same as what you sat in your heart. Oscar slipped out of the door without another word leaving you sitting alone in the bedroom of a stranger.

Oscar drove you home that night, draped in his clothes that were too big for you he dropped you off at your front door. His eyes lingered on you, him now on the steps of your house. Behind him, his bright yellow car was parked where it rightfully belonged. You muttered him a thank you, promising him you’d return his clothes. He nodded, eyes still on yours, mouth slightly ajar as if he wanted to say something more. The words sitting on the tip of his tongue and you waited hopefully. But he kept quiet, bid you goodnight and disappeared down the darkness of the street.

And that was it.

Just like that.

“I want all of you forever. Me and you, everyday.”- The Notebook

Friday, 3:56

Weeks passed and Oscar still remained the reigning owner of the parking spot, stealing it from you without fail. Except now, you weren’t so sure about anything. Unsure about your feelings toward Lando who’d sent you a text the next day to see how you were and then gone radio silent. He’d barely interacted with you at school and that’s all it took for you to realise you’d been chasing someone who would never bat an eye your way. To think of it, years wasted on a boy who would only ever think of you as a friend, somehow wasn’t as disappointing as you thought. Because unbeknownst to you, your heart hadn’t been set on him anymore, it had been chasing someone else. You wanted Oscar.

Oscar hadn’t spoken to you and often, you’d find yourself glancing at his contact name, wondering if you called would he pick up? But you didn’t because you were scared what would happen if he did. It seemed like a story already written, letters printed on paper that you couldn’t change even if you tried. Oscar would look at you, a girl who was just his neighbour and laugh. Because what sort of idiot would fall for the guy who was supposed to be your neighbour and nothing but that?

So nothing happened, and each time you walked down the street from “The Loser’s Spot.” you’d glance at your neighbours windows but there wasn’t anyone in sight. Disappointment sat in your stomach as you walked down the main street. Cars honked loudly, yells echoing down the tarmac as rain pattered down. Raindrops hit your umbrella as you sighed, eyes falling onto the river that had flooded over the bridge, causing the traffic jam. “Twilight Zone” played softly through your headphones as you bit down through the chattering cold. Fingers pulling at your jacket, you waited amongst the crowd of people. The bridge flooding was something that happened far too often in the season of winter in your small town. There was nothing else to do but to wait for the water levels to go down. Cold and wet you waited as “Friday I’m In Love” by The Cure began to play gently.

“Hey, Lover Girl! Need a ride?”

You whipped your head around, the all too familiar nickname making your heart stop in your chest. Tugging off your headphones, you turned, umbrella pulling against the wind. Through the pouring rain, that annoyingly bright yellow car stood amongst the line of waiting cars. There Oscar was standing, his body half out the open car door as if waiting. You squinted as Oscar and his stupid face you’d missed seeing through the window. The relief of seeing him made you want to choke up. You took a cautious step forward through the rain and he met you halfway without hesitation.

“How could you tell, Piastri?” you asked, as he now stood in front of you. Through the rain, his smile was unmistakable. And you felt like you could drop right there and then.

“Because I know you,” he said and it was true.

“Do you now?” you chuckled, unable to keep a smile from pulling at your lips. He nodded earnestly, as if it was the most confident thing he knew. He took a deep breath,

“I do, and I need to tell you what’s been killing me inside since the moment you knocked on my front door, okay, Lover Girl? So just let me speak.”

Your stomach twisted in your stomach as you nodded.

“You’re not, just my neighbour, or the girl next door, or the girl who likes my best friend, okay? You’re more than that, you’re the girl who I used to let beat me in Mario Kart, you’re the girl who I would willingly sit down and watch rom-coms with because I loved the way your face lit up everytime. So I was wrong, you’re more than just a neighbour to me, you’re the girl I like and the one who I’d let take the parking spot everyday if I wasn’t such an asshole.” he let out a sigh, as if he’d been bottling that in his chest for far too long. Your pulse screamed in your ears, your knees weak underneath you. You stood stunned in front of Oscar as he searched your face for an answer. Speechless, not a word came to your mind as you stared at him. Warmth spreaded through your chest, heart beating rapidly at a million beats per second.

“Maybe I’m too late because of Lando but I just wanted you to know.” he faltered, his face lost from your silence. You swallowed, “Are you kidding me right now, Piastri? Because if I swear if this is one of your jokes I’m legally filing for ownership of that parking spot.”

Oscar burst out laughing, shaking his head before giving you a reasonable nod. “I swear on my pet dog.” Now it was your turn to laugh, “Rosie better not be dropping dead right now then.” you said, wiping the rain away on your face with your sleeve.

“I can assure you, she isn’t, Lover Girl.” he smiled through the rain, and you could barely hold back the urge to run your fingers through his hair. “God, Osc you’re driving me crazy. I thought you liked Lily.” you said, confusion swirling through your mind as you stared at him.

“That was only because I didn’t want to seem like I liked you, I didn’t want to mess everything up with you and Lando,” he admitted, looking away. Your heart leapt in your chest, confused but overjoyed.

You hit him gently on the chest, “Well that was a dick move, okay? Because I like you too, Piastri. And I hate the way you make me smile so easily and the way I don’t even have to try when I’m with you. I hate the way I go batshit crazy when I see you and I hate that you make me feel like I’m not alone. I hate that I like you but above all I hate that I don’t hate you at all, Oscar.” you admitted, looking up at him as he faltered, processing your words.

“Did you just tell me that you hate me?” Oscar teased, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Romantically, of course.” you assured, inching closer, your eyes on his lips. He grinned, making you melt under his touch as his fingers gently caressed your cheek. “Just kiss me already, Lover Girl.” Oscar said, his warm eyes on yours. You swallowed, fireworks exploding in your chest.

The umbrella dropped to your feet as you closed the gap in between you both.

“Make me, Piastri.”

Cue the Bazzi.

a/n: hope you liked it! remember to stay safe and have a great day! (feedback, likes, comments and reblogs are tremendously appreciated)

423 notes · View notes

mingumis · 6 months ago

Text

waves of you | kmg

you're called to the ocean, like a sailor to a siren's song. kim mingyu's soul is made of the same stuff as yours.

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader genres/themes: slow burn, pining, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, eventual fluff (suggestive bonus at the end!) tw: brief mentions of mental health and medication, unhealthy coping mechanisms a/n: my first fic ever posted! pls let me know if this is any good,, wc: 7.4k

You were born on an island, and although growing up, you rarely visited the beach once a year, in adulthood, something about the ocean calls you back to it and eases your nerves. The salt in the air that you taste with each breath, the fine sand hot between your toes, the waves that lap at your ankles, everything is familiar and puts your soul at peace.

It’s what enabled you to become friends with Mingyu, you think, because he’s also inevitably led to the coasts and the sands and the water. Because otherwise, the popular, well-loved sports junkie that he is would never have even looked your way back in freshman year, you tell yourself.

“Oh, how beautiful,” your friend, Yujin, breathes out a gasp as the car rounds the corner and turns onto a road that overlooks the beach that you’re headed towards. Minghao, her boyfriend and the current driver of the car, takes a peek and hums in agreement. It rouses you from your half-asleep daze, and you sit up a little to crane your neck to the side to look out the window.

She’s right. The cabin that your group of friends has rented for the weekend sits cozily along a row of other identical lodgings, dotting a beautiful shoreline that meets the eastern sea. The sunrises are gorgeous, Yujin had insisted, and that had been enough to convince you to come along. Of course, the mention of Kim Mingyu’s presence on the trip hadn’t been omitted either. The view, further solidifying the reality of this upcoming weekend, and the recollection of the conversation sends a flutter of anticipation in your stomach, which you try your best to swallow away.

Once Minghao pulls into the designated parking stalls for the campgrounds, you’re pulling at your belt buckle and all but scrambling out of the backseat. Instantly, you take a lungful of the salty air, feet surging forward and leading you towards the water. You barely hear and acknowledge Yujin’s amused murmur, “There she goes again.”

As you near the beach, you crouch to pull your sneakers and socks off, planting your bare feet into the sand and breathing a quiet sigh of relief. You almost feel instantly healed from the headache of work and life. There’s a few remaining minutes of the sun left, so a few stragglers saunter along the beach still. A family with two squealing children, a couple quietly sharing a blanket around their shoulders, and a singular, tall silhouette that you would recognize anywhere in the world.

Almost as if he’s been expecting you, the man turns his head over his shoulders at the same time that you distinguish him. The grin that splits Mingyu’s face takes your breath away, more than the purple and orange and blue of the twilight sky overhead.

“Hey,” he calls your name with a wave to accompany it, his own shoes dangling from his other hand. “About time you guys showed up!” He’s in a white linen cardigan, sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his jean cuffs are folded up to his ankles neatly. A pair of sunglasses hang from the vee of his collar, and his hair is wind tossed and salt ruffled. He looks every part a resident of this sleepy, seaside town.

You will your racing heart to calm as you take each footstep towards him carefully and intentionally, so as not to rush and trip. Once you get close enough to see the moles on his nose, cheeks, and forehead that you love so much, you return his smile easily.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Mingyu just agrees and laughs.

When the sun finally disappears behind the mountains to the west, the two of you can’t linger any longer, especially as the wind picks up with a bite. Mingyu lets you take the lead as you trudge through the cold sand, barely satisfied with the glimpse of the ocean.

You enter the house first, kicking your shoes clean outside, and immediately, a warm body crashes into you forcefully and nearly knocks you clear off of your feet. Thankfully, you’re held upright by a sturdy surface behind you, as you grasp at your chest, where your heart lurches in surprise.

“Seokmin,” you hiss out, mid-complaint, but the man already apologizes at a million words per minute, arms looped around your shoulders.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Seokmin mumbles sheepishly, hugging you properly, as if it’s consolation for giving you the fright of a lifetime (it is). “I just missed you so much!”

A quiet rumble of a laugh breaks you out of the moment, and it’s with mild horror that you realize that the surface that caught you from crashing to the floor is actually Mingyu’s broad, firm chest. With a jolt, you straighten up under Seokmin’s hold and shuffle farther into the hallway, leaving the two men behind and pretending to huff as you go.

In the kitchen, Yujin and Minghao quietly tuck away the groceries and drinks into the fridge and freezer, and you study them for a moment, watching as they work effortlessly in tandem without saying a single word. Their movements come practiced and easy, through years of patience and work and fighting and loving. Despite the smile that curls onto your lips, you wonder cynically if you’ll ever find that sort of love for yourself.

“Oh!” Yujin has turned to place something onto the kitchen counter and has caught sight of you lingering. “And how’s your estranged lover doing?”

You snort out a laugh, broken from your reverie, just as Mingyu and Seokmin catch up to you and crowd around the counter.

“You have a lover?” Seokmin gapes innocently, eyes bright with confusion. He turns to glance at Mingyu, who responds with a shrug and a nibble along his bottom lip.

“Yeah, and his name is the ocean,” Yujin deadpans with a quick roll of her eyes. “Can’t get enough of him, really. Maybe that’s why she can’t seem to find a guy.” She bites playfully, knowingly shifting her gaze from you to Mingyu and back.

You wince, “Ouch.” Pretend not to notice the way Seokmin offers you a sympathetic smile nor the sag of Mingyu’s shoulders. Instead, you plaster on the brightest grin you can manage and change the subject.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

–

You sit on the deck railing, half-ignoring and half-laughing at Yujin’s shrill warnings for you to be careful because if you fall and break your leg, nobody’s taking you to the ER. Behind you, Mingyu mans the grill, and Minghao sets the table up for dinner. Seokmin, bless his heart, sidles up behind you and mumbles sweetly that he’ll drive you, if it comes to it. You thank him with a grin, popping open your can of seltzer and knocking a mouthful back.

The darkness that you stare into is dizzying, but there’s a certain calm that it brings. You swing your legs back and forth, balancing yourself on the wooden beam carefully, and sip away at the can, listening to the distant waves crash and break.

“Doin’ alright?”

The voice comes without warning, and you jump at its proximity which jostles you an inch forward, teetering a bit off balance. Before you have the chance to right yourself, an arm snakes around your waist, holding you back firmly.

“Mingyu,” you breathe. “You scared me.” The motion has made your drink spill all over your hand and pants, and you pull a face, bringing your arm up to lick away at the stray droplets clinging to your skin.

The man besides you giggles a little sheepishly, “Sorry. Dinner’s ready, but you seemed so peaceful and I didn’t want to bother you.” He pulls away once you twist around to come down from the rail, and you instantly mourn the loss of his warmth.

Nonsense, you quickly admonish yourself. As smitten as you may be with the man, you have to remind yourself constantly that he’s been seeing another girl for almost the better part of a year now. The day that epiphany had come, through a careless slip of Wonwoo’s tongue, had gone over rough. You had spent an entire weekend moping on the couch, as Yujin and Minghao, Seokmin and Soonyoung, and Chan and Seungkwan took rotating shifts to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely and do anything stupid.

You know that you’re pathetic, pining after the only person you know who comes close to being perfect, but you’re anything but weak so you tried to take it in stride, laughing easily at jokes and eating all of the sweet treats that your friends brought you to cheer you up. It was only after you shut the door behind Seungkwan and Chan taking off for the night with lingering hugs and quiet murmurs of comfort that you allowed yourself to unravel, heaving through dry sobs that shook your entire body until the tears followed.

You let yourself cry over Mingyu that one night and never again.

Now, as you trail along back inside to the dinner table, eyes glued to the wide expanse of his back, you wish you could cry. Mingyu’s perfect, you’re realizing all over again, as if the distance and time away from him had made you forget. Perfect, but not meant for you.

You gulp down the rest of your seltzer just as you sink into your designated chair to chase away the bitterness that pools in the back of your throat. Seokmin leans into you, bumping his shoulder against yours with a concerned furrow to his brow, but you wave him away with a smile.

“Eat up,” you urge him, nodding towards the piles of barbequed meats that Mingyu has grilled.

You quickly realize that the dining table, despite being long and wide enough to seat all five comfortably, is still too small because you can hear every word, giggle, grumble coming from Mingyu. It gets to the point where you’re just one more seltzer in, barely having nibbled on a short rib or two, and you’re all but sagging into Seokmin’s side, hanging off of every word that comes from Mingyu’s mouth as he recounts some funny story.

At one of the punchlines, you squeak out a giggle, unable to hold it in, and the whole table turns to glance at you, which then makes the others laugh too.

“Oh, man.” Mingyu grins, visibly pleased by the reaction to his story. “She’s gone.”

You snort a puff of air out, mumbling, “M’right here!” Your friends laugh again, and Seokmin snakes his arm around your back to hold you up in your seat, snickering as he does.

“Don’t remember you being such a lightweight,” he muses, chewing on his lip, before he dips his face close to yours to whisper. “You alright?”

You merely smile, head bobbing once. He’s so warm and gentle besides you, and you’ve been so starved for touch like this that you all but melt into him. “Never been better.”

By now, Minghao and Yujin have started up another one of their stories, and you listen along in a half-daze, eyes shut and cheek against Seokmin’s shoulder.

You don’t see Mingyu’s gaze lingering on where you’re pressed into Seokmin.

–

You wake before the sun, mouth dry as if you’ve eaten sand. Someone has carried you from the table to the room with the giant king-sized bed, tucked you into the sheets next to Yujin. Quietly, you slip out of bed, brush your teeth, and shower, and without even meaning to, your feet lead you out of the house, onto the shore.

It’s still too early for the sunrise, and the sky yawns above you, navy blue and speckled with stars. You crane your neck back, mouthing out the few names that you know. Orion’s Belt, Canis Major, Sirius. Once you’ve exhausted the constellations that you know, you find a dry spot in the sand, sit with your legs folded and knees hugged to your chest.

You finally let your guard down, breathing in through your nose, letting out a shuddering sigh through your teeth. Maybe this was a mistake, you ponder, running your fingers through the sand absently. It really is nice seeing your friends after so long, and the ocean welcomes you back home with open arms, but Mingyu’s presence, his beauty, his easy smiles leave the wound in your heart raw and open. Festering.

Another few moments pass by lost in thought, until you pick up your head and notice that the sky has started to lighten overhead. Just then, a short whistle catches your attention, and when you turn, you suppose you’re not even surprised to find Mingyu crossing over the beach towards you.

Your heart pulses and aches as you take him in. He’s in his checkered pajama pants still, a giant gray hoodie pulled on over his head. In the crook of his elbow are two water bottles, as if he knew you’d be here. Something about that thought unravels you even more.

“You’re up early,” you mumble in greeting, nodding your appreciation when he hands you one of the bottles.

Mingyu clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Wanted to see what the fuss about the sunrise was about. You?” He comes right beside you, planting himself into the sand and taking up the same position as you, elbows perched onto his knees.

“Woke up dehydrated as fuck,” you say around a mouthful of water, grinning when he laughs. The man doesn’t say anything else, tilting his head up to watch as the sun begins its ascent.

Despite the ache in your chest, it’s so easy to be Mingyu’s friend, to act like you don’t love him so much that you could die. It’s easy to sit here in silence with him, shoulder to shoulder, elbows brushing, pretending that the moment, and the world, belongs to the two of you.

You zone out, concentrating on keeping your breath steady and thoughts reigned in. It isn’t until a tiny gasp catches in Mingyu’s throat that you’re looking away from the waves, first to him and then up above. Overhead, the sun has risen just enough to send a million colors across the sky. It’s a different palette from yesterday’s sunset, as orange and pink and blue swirl around each other. You stare, enraptured by the sight, and for a second, everything is perfect.

“Okay,” Mingyu says softly. “I get the hype now.”

You glance at him, trace your gaze along the cheeky smile, the wonder in his eyes. Your heart squeezes, and you nod in agreement.

Being here in this moment with him alone loosens your tongue, or maybe you’re still not completely sober because the words are escaping before you even have the thought to stop them.

“Why did you come, Mingyu?” Your eyes widen in horror as you hear your own voice above the gentle push and pull of the waves, but it’s too late to take anything back now.

The man blinks in surprise once, twice, leaning his cheek against a knee to fully look at you. “For the sunrise, silly.”

No, you want to exclaim. Why did you come this weekend? Why did you come alone? But you’re a coward, and you always have been, so you swallow away the rest and hum in response.

–

“Hey, Tiny. Come say hi.”

If the rasp of Mingyu’s voice isn’t enough, that dumb, aggravating nickname that he insists on teasing you with sends your stomach tumbling. He peers over at you innocently as he sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, holding his phone in one hand, his chin in the other, elbow propped up. You cut him a glare, peeking at the screen that he turns to you to find Seungkwan and Chan’s faces peering back at you.

“Oh!” You smile, pleasantly surprised. “Hi, Kwannie, Channie.”

“Hi, Tiny,” comes their response in unison, Chan’s mouth quirking up into a smirk and Seungkwan’s eyes widening mockingly. Little shits.

You scowl immediately, turning away with a sigh. “Sorry, I don’t talk to mean people.”

Thankfully, Chan and Seungkwan know exactly when to indulge someone, and they paw at the screen, blasting the speakers out with incoherent shrieks of apology. You chuckle, dipping behind to put your face besides Mingyu’s.

“Much better,” you nod. “Miss you guys.”

Chan’s grin softens, and Seungkwan splutters at the sudden tenderness, lips jutting out into a pout. “Wish we could’ve come too,” he ends up murmuring, gaze swimming with affection. “It’s been a while since we all got together.”

You chat with the two, and Mingyu interjects occasionally with his own quips until a notification drops from the top of his screen. His thumb swipes it away before you can fully make out the contact, but you do catch the purple heart emoji tagged after the end and your heart drops. You must freeze because Chan pauses in the midst of his sentence and his brow creases a little.

Mingyu takes advantage of the lull in conversation to mumble out a quick excuse and apology, “Hey, guys, I gotta go make a call real quick. Can we call back later?”

You both hurriedly say your goodbyes, before Mingyu’s pushing himself up and away from the kitchen counter without another word. Left alone, you hover for a few seconds, disappointed, before shuffling through the house to find your other friends.

You’re not going to let your weekend getaway be ruined by something like this.

And that’s how you find yourself, clinging to Seokmin’s shoulders as he marches deeper and deeper into the water. His arms hold strong, looped under your knees, and he just giggles, skin warm beneath your fingertips. Just ahead, Yujin teeters precariously atop Minghao’s shoulders, teeth flashing as she shrieks giddily.

“You’re quiet,” Seokmin notes, tilting his head back to look at you. “Everything alright?”

You just hold tighter, hiding your face away into his shoulder. It’d be so much easier to love Seokmin. You already do love him, for his infinite joy and compassion for others, for his positive, sunny presence. But it’s not the same, and it never would be the same. You hate yourself for these thoughts.

“Is it Mingyu?”

You frown and mumble his question away, “No, it’s just my dumb head thinking too much.” With a ruffle of his damp hair and a quick kiss to the cheek, you assure, “I’m okay. Thanks for worrying about me.”

Seokmin merely shies away at the touch, cackling bashfully. He drops his voice to a whisper, “Let’s go dunk those two.” Tightening his hold on you, he surges forward to the unsuspecting couple, and you lunge for Yujin, toppling her off of Minghao and into the sea, which sets off a round of screaming and splashing that makes you forget about everything. It’s hard to be lovesick when your friends are around, grabbing you by the waist to throw you into the water.

–

I can see that you’re hurting.

Your thumbs hover over the phone screen, eyes roving everywhere, anywhere, but that particular gray bubble in the message log with Lee Chan. Lee Chan, who’s so perceptive that he can read you like an open book through a fifteen minute video call. Lee Chan, who’s so in tune with his own emotions that he’s not afraid to call you out on your own.

Breathing a defeated sigh, you type out a response.

I’m doing alright, Channie. I’d rather see him and hurt than never see him again.

His message back is instant: You’re torturing yourself.

You dig a knuckle into a temple, easing the sharp jab that arises from the conversation. With another halfhearted attempt of reassuring Chan, you shut your phone off and pocket it, switching it out for the two pill bottles you’ve carried out with you. You continue what you were doing before Chan’s concern interrupted you, reaching for a mug in the cabinets and filling it with water.

In the midst of shaking out a single pill from each bottle, a gentle voice quivers out from the hall, making you jump and tense. As your luck would have it, it’s Mingyu, forehead creasing as he looks from your face to the labeled orange prescription bottles to the tiny pills in your palm. He holds an empty glass, as if he’s also come out for a drink of water. His face, initially cautious and guarded, opens up, confused and worried and devastated.

“Hey, Tiny,” he mumbles, padding closer and closer. “Everything alright?”

No, no, no, no. You had purposefully crept out of bed once the house settled into a prolonged silence, afraid that you'd run into one of the others. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, pinned by Mingyu’s searching gaze on you.

When he gets close enough, you finally force yourself to move, hurriedly pocketing the bottles and tossing the pills into your mouth and swallowing them dry. In your panic, they get stuck halfway down your throat, and you have to gulp desperate mouthfuls of water down to dislodge them. Fuck, you’re making a mess of yourself.

Pull yourself together, you chide before urging a smile onto your face.

“Hey,” you murmur back, careful to keep your voice even. “I’m okay, just getting ready for bed. What are you doing up?”

He mutters a quiet reply, “Was on a call.” Right. He’s been on and off his phone all afternoon and night, ever since he scrambled away from the kitchen counter earlier in the morning. He had missed out on the entire beach session, only joining in with the group briefly for dinner, wearing a permanent furrow to his brow.

Despite your attempt at steering him away, Mingyu’s appraisal of your expression penetrates your soul, gaze slow and intentional. He doesn’t press, he never does, but his presence is firm and it’s clear that he’s not backing down without answers.

You shut your eyes in defeat, breathing through a few moments of working up the courage to vocalize something you haven’t told any of your friends. Not even Seokmin or Chan. Because saying it out loud, telling someone else, means that it’s real, means that you’re acknowledging that you are weak after all, despite all of your bravado.

As a last ditch attempt, you wince, “Do you have to know?”

“Yes,” Mingyu insists.

“Why?”

A long silence stretches between the two of you.

“Because you–” Mingyu cuts his words off abruptly, and when you glance up at him, his eyes widen imperceptibly, surprised. He hesitates, which is weird to see because Mingyu never dithers. He always, always barrels through things, whether he’s prepared for them or not. It’s one of the things you admire most about him, so when he falters, it’s your turn to give him a strange look. “Because I’m your friend,” he finally settles on, which makes your stomach sink in disappointment, “I’m worried about you, but you never let people worry about you, which frustrates me.”

Your chest could have been torn, ribs pulled apart to bare your aching, bleeding heart, and it would probably feel the same as you do now as you speak, throwing the words out into the cold, midnight air hollowly. “I take antidepressants. Helps with my anxiety.”

Mingyu exhales forcefully, as if his breath has been punched out from him. He moves automatically, reaching a hand up to cup your face, palm warm against your cheek. “How long?”

His touch is searing, and you ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from tearing yourself away from him or running or throwing up.

“Almost six months now.”

The day after you cried over Mingyu, you had promptly scheduled yourself a slot into a therapist’s office, who had been recommended to you by Yujin. About four months of therapy alone had proven insufficient, and your therapist had suggested medication, which you had greedily, almost desperately, accepted.

“Nobody else knows,” you start blabbing, stomach suddenly lurching with fear because now that one person knows, it’s only a matter of time before others do. Mingyu’s not a snitch, you know this somewhere deep inside your head, but maybe, just maybe, he’ll think that this is information that needs to be shared.

“Hey,” he rasps, but you barely acknowledge it, thoughts racing and dipping deeper and deeper into the swirl of dread and misery that exists constantly inside your head.

“Tiny.”

Only the slight irritation that spikes at the sound of the nickname rouses you from the spiral, and you return to the moment, frowning. Mingyu smiles, despite it all.

“I won’t tell a soul.”

He stays true to his word and doesn’t even bring it up the following morning, but he may as well be screaming at the top of his lungs that something is wrong, through his newfound devotion to hovering beside you at all times. You’ve been brushing past Yujin’s curious hums and dodging Minghao’s side eyeing all morning, but during lunch out at the beachside town, Mingyu pulls your salad away to manually cut the chicken breast into bite-sized pieces in front of everyone before handing the plate back over to you wordlessly. When Seokmin’s eyes appear to be bugging out of their sockets, you decide to intervene.

You have to catch him by the elbow, pulling him aside momentarily as the others step into a gift shop to hiss, “Okay, you’re freaking everyone out.”

Mingyu merely blinks his huge, guiltless eyes at you. “What do you mean?”

“You’re hovering. Stop that. I’m depressed, not dying.”

The man scratches at his neck sheepishly, swiveling his head from side to side to see if anyone has overheard. “Just trying to take care of you is all,” he shrugs.

You sigh. This is exactly why you’d chosen not to tell your friends anything. “I appreciate it,” you say, poking a fingertip against his chest (pretending that you don’t notice the way his firm skin barely gives way beneath the pressure). “But please, at least try to be subtle about it?”

Mingyu merely lets a grin split his face like an overjoyed puppy, as if he’s just glad you haven’t refused his special treatment.

You turn away and into the gift shop, ignoring the way the tips of your ears burn red-hot.

–

“So…”

You groan loudly, lifting an elbow out of the jacuzzi water to tuck your face into the crook of it.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” Yujin protests as she quietly slips into the tub beside you, knees knocking against yours. She holds out a can of beer to you, which you politely refuse, having already had a moment of weakness on the first night.

“But!” She continues, gaze burning fierce with curiosity. “I think everyone has caught onto you guys, so spill.”

You blink owlishly, wondering what ideas your other friends have come up with. “Sorry to disappoint,” you say mildly, shrugging, “but nothing’s going on.”

Yujin gasps, scandalized. “Then why is Mingyu trailing after you like a lovesick puppy?”

Is that what it looks like? You want to laugh it off, but your friend’s words only lodge a tight knot in your throat that you can barely swallow around.

“He is not.”

“He totally is! Minghao told me that he saw you guys coming in together from the beach yesterday morning, so we assumed something happened then!”

You watch, pained, as Yujin excitedly spins a theory, and you must look pathetic enough because her own expression falls. “What?” Her voice lowers into a concerned whisper, and she reaches for your hand beneath the surface of the water.

“He’s definitely still with that girl.” You try not to sound bitter, squeezing at her fingers. “I saw her texting him, and they were calling the other day.”

“Oh,” she calls your name sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

You merely smile at her, wave away her concern. “Don’t be,” you insist, “It’s about time that I get over it anyway. I can’t keep living my life like this, right?”

“Right,” she affirms. “I’m proud of you.”

The two of you soak in the hot water for a few more minutes, chatting about everything and nothing at all, before Yujin complains about her wriggled fingertips. You’re just about covering up the jacuzzi, having sent your friend back inside the house ahead of you, when a patter of bare footsteps up the stairs to the deck from the beach catches your attention.

Mingyu has just climbed up from a night swim with the boys, hair drenched and tousled, water still clinging to his tan skin, shorts pressed to his strong thighs. His eyes are bright when he catches sight of you, and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of your own stare and quickly cast your gaze away.

“How’s the hot tub?” The man makes easy conversation, bending to pick up a towel from a stack that they’ve left conveniently on the deck. He roughly dries his hair, and you pointedly do not look at him as he does.

“Insanely nice,” you breathe honestly, pulling your own towel tightly around your shoulders to keep yourself concealed. “You and the boys should try it out.”

Mingyu hums in agreement, throwing his head over his shoulder to look towards the beach. Seokmin and Minghao are still chasing each other, kicking up sand as they go, voices pitched up in joy. “They don’t seem like they’ll be heading back anytime soon.” He shakes his head mirthfully.

Your stupid heart betrays you, mere minutes after you just told Yujin that you’d start trying to get over him. Defeated for now, you’re opening your mouth to bid him goodnight, when Mingyu speaks first.

“Listen,” he starts. Hesitates again. He crosses over the deck to tower right above you, standing so close that you can smell the salt on his skin. Mingyu reaches, hand resting heavy on your hip, and you’re beyond glad that your towel is wrapped tightly around your torso because if you felt his palm on your bare skin, you might have lost yourself completely.

Your breath catches, and you don’t take another, afraid that any movement will break the moment.

“I did some research,” Mingyu’s voice dips low, as if he’s sharing a secret with you. “Read somewhere that you shouldn’t mix alcohol and antidepressants, but you drank, didn’t you? The first night? That’s not good for your, Tiny.”

You freeze. This is the type of person that Mingyu is, you remind yourself. Someone whose physical touch comes as a natural instinct. Someone who notices and remembers things. Someone who looks things up out of concern.

The weight of his hand on your waist, the scent of his skin and the salt on it, the cloying uncertainty in his voice is all so dizzying that you might as well have been five drinks in now. He is your ruin, your undoing. So long as you are friends with him, you’ll never heal, you realize with dread.

Frightened, you take a few steps back, unable to look at him anymore. You manage a strangled squeak to wish him good night, before you’re all but running away.

When the next morning comes, you feign being sick, which isn’t completely a lie, since the incessant throb in your head is enough to keep you in bed. Yujin fusses over you, suggesting to call Minghao in and make him drive the three of you back to the city to take you home.

“No, no,” you insist, waving your hands up frantically. “It’s the last day that we’re here! Just enjoy yourselves without me. I think I just need to sleep in a little longer.” You even crack open your eyes to smile at her.

Yujin, thankfully, tucks you beneath the comforter tightly, leaving you with a soft kiss on the forehead and a promise that she’ll bring you back something to eat.

–

Mingyu’s very confused, and a little nervous, as his friends give him varying expressions of frustration and disbelief when he tells them that he broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago. Minghao holds his face in his hands, as if he doesn’t even want to look at him when he asks why.

He twists his lips from left to right as he ponders the question. What he told his ex were assorted excuses of “I just don’t see us being a long term thing” or “I think I just have too much on my plate right now”, but after this weekend, he’s not so sure anymore. Mingyu cautiously offers, “I don’t think she was the one. She keeps texting and calling me, though. I shouldn’t respond, but I feel so bad.”

Yujin cuts a glare at him, looking like she’s all but ready to kill him with nothing but the spoon clutched in her hand. She’s evidently a few mimosas in, and she hisses, “Kim Mingyu, you dumb, idiotic moron!”

He blinks in surprise. “Okay, you just called me stupid three different ways in one sentence.”

Seokmin sighs from beside him, poking his fork into the puddle of yolk leftover from his eggs benedict. “Well, you are pretty dumb,” is what his best friend tells him.

Mingyu pouts, a little hurt by the way his friends are treating him, especially when he just told them that he’s going through a breakup. “You guys are being mean,” he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tiny wouldn’t treat me like this.”

At the sound of his nickname for you, everyone at the table looks at him, and now they’re all glaring at him. His poor little heart shrivels up in his chest, and Mingyu finally lets out a cry, “Can you guys just tell me what’s going on?”

“You have no right.” Yujin slurs angrily, jabbing her spoon in his direction. “No right to treat my girl like that!” Her voice pitches up a bit too loudly at the end, which causes patrons at the surrounding tables to turn and look. Minghao reaches to clap a palm over her mouth, using his other hand to pull her into his side and calm her down.

Seokmin, gentle soul that he is, softly mutters, “Have you ever considered that you might mean more than just a friend to her?”

Mingyu’s mind goes blank, as he falters. A million thoughts run through his head at a million miles per hour.

You’re the only one in the world who understands what it’s like to be led to the water by the ocean’s siren song. He doesn’t have to use words to explain what he feels to you, when he lets himself wander and finds himself skirting the edge of the beach, where the waves lap at his feet and pull away, leaving nothing but foam and bubbles. You’re the one who confided in him first, all those years ago, that you found the city too suffocating and heavy, that you were considering moving back to the island you were born on, despite your entire life being on the mainland. He had smiled and murmured that he wished he could do the same, and would want nothing more in life than to do that.

You, who he can always count on finding at the beach, as if magnetized to one another because your souls are made of the same stuff.

Mingyu’s breathless because his friends are right. He is a dumb, idiotic moron.

He runs back to the campgrounds ahead of his friends, all the way from town. He doesn’t bother checking your room or even going into the cabin because in his heart of hearts, he knows exactly where you are. Sure enough, he’s just coming up the small dune towards the shore when he catches sight of you, sitting with your knees tucked to your chest, head lolled to the side as you watch the water.

He can only see your back from where you are, and you look so tiny. That’s why he had started calling you it in the first place, so fond of how little you are compared to him, how your nose would inevitably scrunch up in objection whenever you heard the name.

Mingyu cannot believe how stupidly blind he’s been.

–

You hear your name being called, but your heart limps along, immune to the sudden appearance of his voice. Tightening your arms around your bent legs, you wait until Mingyu comes by to sit beside you, just like that morning you watched the sunrise together. His back rises and falls rapidly, huffing as if he’s run all the way back from town. Even when his breath settles, he doesn’t say a word, as if waiting for you to speak first.

You inhale shakily and then unload everything before you have the chance to doubt yourself.

“I can’t be friends with you anymore, Mingyu.”

The man soaks in the words, before he says plainly, “Okay. Because I can’t either.” He then leans forward, to crane his head and peer right into your face. Mingyu grins, bright as the sun. Your heart cleaves in two and you’re grasping at the remnants of your sanity to hold it together, and he’s smiling.

“–The fuck?!”

You bite your tongue to prevent hurling more expletives because this is certainly not the Kim Mingyu that you know and love.

His smile only widens, and he’s suddenly talking, words spilling from his mouth and stumbling over his lisp, “I know, by the way. I know that you love me. I know that you’re trying hard to pretend that you’re fine, when you’re not. I know I’ve been so, so stupid, and I’m sorry for that.”

Mingyu reaches across the space that he’s politely left between the two of you, one hand coming to cup your cheek, the other sweeping your hair back from your face gently. He holds and looks at you so tenderly, as if he’s scared of shattering you, and for the first time ever, you feel seen.

“What’s going on?” You manage to work out, but your voice comes out very small.

“I broke up with her months ago,” Mingyu says, as if that explains everything. “She didn’t understand who I was. But you…” A thumb delicately brushes over your cheekbone to catch a tear, and only then do you realize that you’re crying. The man’s smile crumples, and he dips to press his lips onto the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You gasp for a breath, forcefully trying to swallow away the sobs. All day, as you tossed and turned in bed alone, you had been working yourself up towards ending your friendship with Mingyu once and for all, to protect whatever pieces of your heart were left.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you warble, finally holding onto him, fingers tightening around his shirt like it’s a lifeline.

Mingyu chortles, and it rumbles throughout his entire body.

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

–

“Um. What is that?”

Chan’s voice comes through, shrill and scandalized, from the other end of the line, and you can see the cogs turning in his head, as you quickly move to turn the collar of your shirt up and cover the burgeoning mark that Mingyu’s teeth have left on your skin. When Chan leaves the screen momentarily to frantically call Seungkwan over, you whip your head around to glare at Mingyu, who lounges in the armchair beside you lazily, a pleased grin curling onto his lips.

“I’m never hearing the end of this,” you mutter, just as Seungkwan enters the frame.

“What’s this about a hickey I’m hearing?” Seungkwan clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “What kind of low-grade, classless loser did you bring home with you?”

At that, Mingyu jolts up, straight as an arrow, brows furrowing. He starts whining his complaints as he comes over to your side.

You watch with amusement as the recognition of the voice registers in Seungkwan’s eyes first, then Chan’s. Then, Mingyu peeps his face into the camera. It’s actually quite comical, the way Chan and Seungkwan both slap their hands over their mouths, eyes stretching wide.

“What the–”

“–actual fuck?!”

You snicker a little, cheeks flushing as you catch sight of the little window on the phone screen that mirrors back your face pressed against Mingyu’s. He must notice it too because he catches your eye through the screen and leans in to smile against your mouth. A cacophony of groans and gags come from Chan and Seungkwan, but your heart swells, tight with love and affection.

bonus:

“Can’t believe I got called a ‘low-grade, classless loser’,” Mingyu mutters, laving his tongue over the mark on your throat. “Could a loser do this?” His voice drops low and raspy, deep inside of his chest, as his hands dip beneath your shirt and his fingers leave sinful trails along your stomach. As soon as Seungkwan and Chan had hung up the call, Mingyu had immediately pulled you onto the armchair, pinning you into the seat with his weight, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of your thighs.

You squirm, throwing your head back against the armchair in an attempt to create some space, but Mingyu just follows. His hooded gaze burns bright with affection, with desire, as he peers up at you.

Good lord, those eyes of his.

“H-Hey,” you stutter out when you feel the drag of his teeth against your clavicle, the sharp bite of his pointy canines. “Hey,” you repeat, pressing your hands firmly against his shoulders to push him back. “We never talked about the emoji.”

Mingyu’s half-listening, you can tell. He pretends that he’s looking at you, but he can barely meet your eyes, gaze dipping lower to your lips and then your throat. A tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth, just before he’s trying to lean back in.

You scowl, threading your fingers through the soft hair at the back of his skull and tugging to pin him in place. Head forced back, Mingyu finally focuses, chest heaving. A soft whine catches in his throat and the tips of his ears flare bright red, and you would find it endearing if you weren’t trying to get answers.

“Baby,” he purrs. “That was so hot.”

“Down, boy.” You roll your eyes, loosening your grip on his hair. “The emoji. Explain it.”

“What emoji?”

“The heart emoji, next to your ex’s name in your phone.”

Mingyu pulls his brows together in thought, before he nibbles at his bottom lip sheepishly. “Okay, you’re not gonna like the answer.”

Your stomach turns uneasily, but you shrug anyway. “Tell me.”

The man sighs. “She’s the one who put it there in the first place, and I honestly, swear on my life, forgot that it was there. But she’s since been blocked and deleted!”

You narrow your eyes, contemplating his words. “Hm,” you say, watching Mingyu squirm under your scrutiny.

“Can I show you what you’re saved as in my contacts? Maybe it’ll make up for it.”

You nod, waiting as he taps at his phone to pull it up. When he turns the screen around to show you, and your gaze focuses on “the littlest tiny” with five blue hearts next to it, you can’t decide if you should kick him or kiss him.

Balking at your silence and lack of reaction, Mingyu pushes himself off of the chair to fall to his knees at your feet. He clasps his hands together and places them in your lap, eyes wide and shining with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he whines pitifully. “It was a joke, I promise!”

You regard him coolly, thoroughly enjoying the way his bottom lip quivers into a pout. Before you can stop yourself, you’re pressing a thumb against the seam of his mouth, watching with acute interest as it parts and his tongue, warm and soft, peeks out to meet the pad of your finger. The image sends your stomach tumbling.

“I love you,” Mingyu mumbles, extending an olive branch. “Only you, baby.”

You bite. “Prove it.”

You barely catch the glimpse of the smirk curling across Mingyu’s lips, before his strong arms lift you up and out of the armchair, into his chest, and towards your bedroom.

#seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu fluff #mingyu angst #mingyu fic #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt x you #mingumis #fic: waves of you #heunie writes

709 notes · View notes

demilypyro · 1 year ago

Text

i love how all the main characters of mlp are adults with jobs. It's possibly my favorite thing about friendship is magic. There's some child characters too but the main characters all being adults with responsibilities is so much more interesting than most kids' shows that are just about children in school.

Twilight being a grad student who runs the local library. Applejack and Rarity straight-up running actual businesses in town. Fluttershy runs an animal shelter? Rainbow Dash has a dead-end job and dreams of becoming a stunt flier like her heroes. Pinkie Pie's talent doesn't even relate to her job: she's the local entertainer but she also just happens to work in a bakery, where she rents the top floor. It's so fun and realistic? So many different plotlines came from their wide variety of jobs. Lauren Faust cooked so hard.

2K notes · View notes

orphicsun · 5 months ago

Note

need cowgirl vi so bad it’s insane

cowgirl vi headcannons (slightly suggestive!)

-general headcannons

℧ Sports a pair of Lucchese boots and off-brand boot-cut jeans that are snug around her thighs. Of course she wears a belt with an impressive buckle sat snug on the center of her body. MANY worn-looking flannel button-ups, especially when it’s too chilly to just wear a tank top and she needs to layer up.

℧ Her back looks sculpted from hard labor, but her thighs? They're firm with muscle, littered with some stretch marks from growth during her teen years.

℧ Has freckles on her tanned shoulders, which are usually faded during the summer when breaks in horses for extra cash in her white wife-pleaser.

℧ Very extensive vocabulary! Her most used word is "y'all" and "hell", but it's pronounced more like "hail."

℧ Very well-read. Favorite novel that you'd find a typical cowboy reading is Lonesome Dove. She loves The Outsiders, even if it's on the mainstream side of literature. Secretly loves herself some Shakespeare. Much like me, spends hours awake at night trying to find the hidden meanings behind the playwright's words.

"She oinked poison in your ears, and you just ate it!" hamlet reference?

℧ Has a farmdog! A border collie she named Roxie. She spend a few weeks building a nice doghouse beside her own farmhouse for the pup, but is too soft-hearted to make Roxie sleep outside half the time.

℧ More of a southern cowboy than a western. You may wonder the difference, but the accent she has is mostly a cushy drawl than something smooth and slurring.

℧ Has a taste for old black and white shows, like The Twilight Zone and Gunsmoke. You find it boring, but there is a strange comfort in watching your favorite cowgirl doze off in her recliner, boots still adorned with the usual western accent audible in the background, much like white noise in the womb.

℧ Was a horse girl in middle school. Not the type that pretended to be a horse and neigh (though she had a small phase, much to her denial), but rather begged Vander to buy her a horse so she could learn to ride.

"Vi, horses are expensive. Plus, if I let you have a horse, then Powder's gonna want a pony." Vander reminds her for the thousandth time, the conversation a day-to-day routine at this point.

"I know, I know! But I just want one. I don't want a whole ranch, just one." She pleads, already prepared to drop to her knees and beg or do a marathon of chores if Vander so asks.

He sighs, and she holds her breath. Is that a sign of relent...? "Fine. One horse."

And so, Vi was given her very first horse at 11. Vi named her Butterscotch. It took a while to get used to riding, and she even fell off once.

℧ Ended up owning at ranch and her own farmhouse at the age of 23 with the help of funding from her town. Farms do good in southern economies. She was rather well-known around the area for her help with training horses and ponies, as well as being a bullrider at the local rodeos.

℧ Got into plenty of barfights, most she won. Most honorable mention is the time she knocked a 6’5” man out for accusing her of cheating at the bull-riding competitions.

-cowgirl vi x fem! reader headcannons

℧ Really domestic. Loves the idea of having you live with her at her farmhouse, folding laundry together, and stealing kisses from you while you work.

℧ Favorite types of physical touch are having you on her lap and playing with your hair. She'll laugh at the way you call it impractical, but she needs you sitting on her thighs any chance she gets. You can't seriously oppose, though. Not when it feels nice to put on a pair of shorts and feel her bare, warm thighs on the backs of yours. She loves to comb through your hair also, kissing the top of your head as she coos words in that thick accent of hers.

"Had a long day, baby?" She asks, voice thick and dripping like honey. Not seductive or sensual (unless she's in that particular mood), but rather low with the moon in the sky.

You nod, letting out a yawn as you rest your head on her shoulder. The domesticity always feels nice.

℧ Watching her move on a mechanic bull is the worst and best thing that could ever happen to you. You can only watch, very much impressed, as her hips jump to keep up with the movements. Her hair is all messy, stray reddish-pink strands nearly sticking upward. Some of her hair hangs down her tattooed back, and you have to stop yourself from simply screaming at the sight. When she eventually falls off, she comes rushing back to you with a smile that reminds you of a golden retriever's. Like a dog bringing you a bone, it's adorable.

"Did ya see that? A whole two minutes!" She exclaims, laughing nearly hysterically. She abruptly pulls you in for a kiss which you eagerly open up for. This is the best part, when your cowgirl riles herself up on the bull and has what seems to be unlimited energy. And trust me, she gets affectionate with energy.

℧ Taught you how to play pool before you started dating, during that weird limbo of flirting but not official.. Her hand resting on your arm, guiding you. Her voice very audible, as her mouth stays close to your ear.

"Not too fast, just hit it with the stick. Pay attention to where the ball goes." She guides. Your hands are shaking with nerves, and you miss the pocket. She doesn't laugh, though. Instead, she gives your waist a squeeze with her free hand, planting a kiss on your cheek. "That's okay. You still did good for your first time."

℧ Big hickey enthusiast. She loves leaving little love-bites on you, and sucks a few marks on your stomach and thighs.

℧ Uses her winnings from the rodeos to spoil you. She tries to be the gentlemen type, so often she will take you on dates to the diner in town or even drive a few towns over into the city to see a movie in a theater.

℧ Likes when you wear her cowboy hat to go out, it makes her feel oddly possessive. Anytime you need to run an errand, she’ll take off her hat and basically crown you with it. It’s like she’s giving you her hoodie or a t-shirt of hers to wear, except it’s her expensive hat that had a feather on the side of it.

#dividers by v6que #requests #vi arcane #arcane #vi x fem reader #vi x you #vi headcanons #cowboy au #arcane au #arcane x reader #wlw

509 notes · View notes

hedwig221b · 2 months ago

Note

Hii, odd ask but do you know of any Sterek fics where it has Stiles and Jackson friendship? Or just anyone else that isn’t Scott or Lydia 😭 I love their friendship with them but I just love to see him having like a special bond as well with like Jackson, Erica, Cora or even Peter lol I feel like I don’t see it enough.

thank you!!

Okay, but isthatbloodonhisshirt got me addicted to Stiles & Jackson dynamic, I actually adore it when they're besties. They have a lot of stackson brotp featuring fics, so check them out

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This by isthatbloodonhisshirt

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise. Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve. Or- The a/b/o bakery au with feelings

Turn the lights (turn the lights down low) by whentheywrite

"I’m not jealous.” “You are so totally jealous!” Once more, the red eyes were snapping up and Stiles’s breaths stalled in his throat. Carefully, he stepped forward, uncrossing Derek’s arms, and the man whined again. “Derek, what do I smell like?” “Wrong.” “Yes, but what do I smell like?” “Not… mine.”

Everyone Needs a Little Mischief in Their Life by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Finally, against his better judgement, and having gone in circles for much too long, he blurted out, “Who is my soulmate?” The Witch looked disappointed, like he’d fucked up. Like he’d fucked up bad. But she answered anyway. “Mischief.” Derek stared at her, not understanding, because what? “That’s not a name,” he insisted. “Not exactly, no.” She offered him a small smile. “I don’t understand.” “You will.”

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.” That was a bad word. Not found. Have. Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment. One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark by Nerdy_fangirl_57

After the whole ordeal with the nogitsune Stiles struggles with proving to himself that he can be good again. He starts learning to control his spark in hopes that he could be helpful to the pack once he manages to channel it's power. Everyone thinks it's a great idea and are willing to help him anyway they can, but Scott, Scott doesn't see the point in it. It's not like Stiles' tiny spark could ever be powerful enough to be an actual asset to the pack. Stiles just wants a chance to prove himself.

Small Town Logic by Renmackree

Derek Hale is the new Deputy of Beacon Hills, hoping to have a fresh start for himself and his son Eli. What he didn't expect was the owner of the coffee shop to turn his existence upside down. Or The one where Derek's new to town and thinks that Stiles is in a relationship with Jackson and pines for him.

[masterlist link]

252 notes · View notes

putalabelonit · 10 days ago

Text

Fics Based on a Trope:

Soulmates / Soulbonds

••••••

Derek/Stiles

"The Chasms Between" (E) by alexenglish | 15,124 | Stiles has come to the terms with the fact that him and Derek are never going to be together in this life.They have way too many unresolved issues. Besides, Derek doesn't want him, he knows that much.

"I can smell it on your skin (I bet I can taste it in your blood)" 🔒 (E) by brokentoy | 10,792 | Stiles’ cover is blown the day Derek gets hit by Allison’s arrow.

"Lest the Fire Consume" (E) by the_ragnarok | 10,653 | Five times Derek recognized his mate, and the time Stiles recognized him in return.

"Mix and Match" 🔒 (E) by Jerakeen | 6,141 | Stiles walks into the Beacon Hills alpha-omega mixer with a smile on his face and three condoms in his wallet.

"Now Until the End" (M) by Dira Sudis | 17,737 | "Why the hell did you do that?" Derek demanded. "Why would you bond with me? You were going to leave me for dead, you didn't want anything to do with helping me." "Okay, first of all, that was like two hours ago and I've grown a lot as a person since then," Stiles said.

"Nothing Short Of Perfect" (E) by GotTheSilver | 27,019 | “Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?” Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

"What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This?" (E) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 196,137 | A shadow appeared above him at the passenger side door and he winced at the sound of tearing metal before the door was ripped clean off. He stared up dizzily at the man bearing down on him from the other side of the car, looking terrified and reaching in to rip through the seatbelt. It was him. His stalker. The guy following him around town and sneaking into his bedroom at night.

"Like a Melody (it won't leave my head)" (T) by Jerakeen | 7,991 | Stiles doesn't notice the constant buzzing in his head until it's gone.

"In Which Laura Is Never Going To Let Derek Live This Down" (T) by Omimouse | 1,587 | A soulmate fic where you’ve got “Help! Save me!” on your wrist. So you do the martial arts classes, and ROTC, and get a concealed carry permit, you are READY, you are SO up for this… and then one day you’re at a friend’s house, and someone comes pounding down the stairs laughing and ducks behind you and goes “Help! Save me!” and that’s how you find out your soulmate was escaping a tickle fight.

"Unmapped" 🔒 (E) by Jerakeen | 11,357 | "I don't think anyone would choose not having a Guide," Scott reasons calmly. Stiles knows that. Of course he does. His mother was a Guide. His father's a Sentinel. His best friend is a Sentinel. It's just that this guy coming into their town like he's somehow better than the whole department all by himself... it rubs him the wrong way. Stiles is protective of the people he loves, and the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department is like the headquarters for Stiles' Favorite People Ever. "I'm just saying," Stiles says. "You guys could've handled this without whatshisface and his tight pants."

"You Fit Me Better" 🔒 (NR) by Jerakeen | 5,149 | It's only been eight months since he started having the dreams, but he's already cracking. He's heard of people living thirty, forty years with them, unable to find the one, complete the bond.... He doesn't know if he could do it. The euphoric, in-love feeling that used to carry into his day now hurts. It feels like someone's ripping it out of his chest every morning and he's bleeding, all day, until he's asleep again and he is there.

"Cloaked in Gold" (E) by kaistrex | 57,859 | When son of the Alpha, Derek Hale, ends up in his bed in heat, Stiles decides to use it to his advantage and secure the Bite for his sick stepbrother. As he and his family are welcomed into the Hale pack, Stiles grows closer to Derek than he'd ever dreamed he'd get, but with the fanged Soulbite of a born wolf on Derek's neck, he knows he's just setting himself up for heartbreak. Derek has a Soulmate out there, and it definitely isn't Stiles.

"Everything's Made to be Broken" (M) by weathervaanes | 7,228 | Everybody gets a name, inscribed in a color over the left side of their chest. It seems like a good system, guaranteeing that there will be someone who loves you, who you will get to love in return for years to come. The only problem is that that's not actually how it always works out.

"Worth Waiting For" 🔒 (T) by yodasyoyo | 3,878 | Stiles slumps further in his desk chair, and stares disconsolately out of his bedroom window. Perhaps he should be celebrating. After all, this afternoon a soulmark appeared on his wrist revealing the name of his soulmate. He has a soulmate. Fuck. He scrubs one hand across his face. This is a disaster.

"love is war, but sometimes you win" (T) by Jmeelee | 5,903 | Stiles spares Derek a glance, pitying smile falling short of shrewd, contemplative eyes that sparkle when they catch the dappled sunlight. “The universe engraves a name on our skin, my friend. If it was meant to be private, we’d have the name on our ass.” Derek bristles. They are not friends—at least, not yet. At the rate they’re going, probably never. “I’m trying to protect my best friend, dude. Questions aren’t illegal.”

"Maybe" 🔒 (E) by loserchildhotpants | 11,513 | Then Professor Hagen partnered them for some sort of comparative discussion, and when they ran out of things to say, and Stiles was quite sure this was the only circumstance in which Derek would even acknowledge his existence, he awkwardly asked, “Hey, so… uhm… could I… go down on you after class?”

"third time's the charm" 🔒 (T) by stilinski | 4,900 | Stiles stares at the marks, twisting his arm to look at Lydia's rose, faded but still there in the same way as Scott's wolf is. He'd wondered for the longest time if there was something wrong with him, if there was a reason he collected marks when the people they belonged to didn't.

"I Could Find My Way Back" (M) by entanglednow | 6,250 | Stiles grits his teeth. "Dude, I don't want to be bound to Derek," he says flatly. "You be bound to Derek."

"spice up your life!" 🔒 (T) by callunavulgari | 1,890 | “I said,” the girl drawls, setting her elbow down in a saucer of ketchup and grimacing. “That this whole soulmate thing is fucking stupid. You’re supposed to find someone based off of the music they’re listening to? How would you even know what was really stuck in your head and what was in theirs? It’s complete shit.” Derek, who has had everything from Dancing Queen to the Barney theme song stuck in his head all night, winces, and says abruptly, “I think my soulmate is in middle school.”

"Oh my (let me look at those eyes)" (E) by Gorgeousgreymatter | 41,359 | A few months ago, he might’ve been able to solve this with some force—a little man-handling, a snarl, a glimpse of teeth. But he looks at Stiles’s broken face, knows he’s seen too much horror and blood and evil, the whole Big Bad Wolf routine is just going to fall flat. Because Derek looks at Stiles and he doesn’t carry himself like a teenager anymore. He carries himself like a soldier.

"Ssshhh! (or the voice in my head will have to shout)" (E) by mirrorkill | 20,288 | Things in Beacon Hills are always weird, but Deputy Derek Hale is pretty damn sure he's getting the brunt of this week's insanity. There's a serial killer in town getting their kicks by posing people weirdly and maybe the local coven is to blame. His mom's setting up his sister with his new boss's cute son. There's some guy talking in his head.

"Bite Down Hard" (E) by kurikuri | 25,730 | Secret Service Agent Derek Hale accidentally gets bonded to First Son Stiles Stilinski. Oops.

"Strip Poker" (T) by kaistrex | 4,267 | When Stiles’ Soulbite manifests on his neck and makes it look like he’s been mauled by an animal, he takes to spending most of his time hiding it in the preserve. It would be the perfect haven if it wasn’t for Derek Hale being such a creeper.

"The Life Expectancy of a Fluorescent Bulb" 🔒 (M) by suburbanmotel | 10,492 | Long before the boy knew, the wolf knew. The wolf knew what he wanted because it was bred in his bones. He knew the boy was his but the boy didn’t know it yet, because the boy was injured and sleeping.

"Something With Explosions" 🔒 (T) by suburbanmotel | 5,027 | Derek has become, for lack of a better word, untethered. Unmoored in time and space, flitting here and there and back again. It’s unnerving, disorienting, terrifying, educational. Apparently he missed a lot of things the first time around.

"Happily Ever After" (G) by all-or-nothing-baby | 1,852 | He'd recognise that voice anywhere; would know it in a sea of a thousand others. Derek slowly turned on his heel to find its owner sitting in his favourite tree.

"Through Myself and Back Again" 🔒 (G) by Green | 2,808 | Stiles knows he needs a ground ('an anchor', he hears an old memory whisper), help to pull the thing back so he doesn't destroy… well, everything. If Derek hadn't reached out, Stiles probably would have burned and burned until nothing was left.

"Red, Red, Red" 🔒 (E) by loserchildhotpants | 9,460 | “What?” “Your tattoo.” “What about it?” “Just… it’s weird, I’ve been - uh. You ever, like, dream of something? Something you’ve never seen before, but then you see it out in the world?”

"The Nose Knows" 🔒 (E) by WhoopsOK | 5,454 | “I’m not watching Stilinski have this crisis,” Jackson exclaims suddenly, standing to brush past him, the others turning to follow in spite of Derek shooting them panicked looks. “This smell is gonna make me puke.” “What smell? Wait, what crisis?” Stiles says, but actually he sort of does want Jackson to leave, he wants to be alone with Derek. He still hasn’t adjusted to his senses being so… well, sensitive, and everyone’s scent is competing with the one he really wants. He’d have to get close enough to touch him, to bury his face in his throat to block out all other scents, and that’s really all he wants right now.

"All My Kingdoms Turn to Sand" 🔒 (E) by elisera | 6,477 | The real question is what Stiles wants. If he’s looking forward to seeing Derek again because they’ll complete what they started a long time ago or if Stiles is nervous because he’s feeling apprehensive. There’s a real possibility that he told the pack to finally send Derek up in order to tell him thanks, but no thanks. A lot can happen in six years; people change and grow apart and it isn’t like they were allowed to talk.

"One Thread" 🔒 (M) by RurouniHime | 11,599 | In the middle of the night, his dad comes into the room and crawls onto the bed behind him, easing Stiles into the vee of his legs. He settles back against the headboard with a groan and doesn’t say anything for a long time. Stiles wraps his arms around one of his dad’s legs, presses his cheek to warm flannel, and tries to be still. “Oh, kid,” his dad exhales. His hand comes down on the side of Stiles’ neck and his fingers press gently. “I never wanted you to know this pain.”

"And I Never Thought I'd Ever Say Forever" (M) by suchfun | 31,844 | "The TiMER is a gift." He says it automatically, because that's what his mom says. That's how he was brought up. That's what he's supposed to think. He used to believe it, back when he was sixteen and idealistic, before he actually got his TiMER, back when he was so sure that his soulmate would be Paige.

"An Unpredictable Amount of Turtles" (T) by skoosiepants | 5,942 | Stiles says, “I have a five year plan. A five year plan to popularity that will tank the minute I meet this guy.” “I feel like you’re exaggerating,” Scott says, but Scott has a katana-wielding badass waiting for him at the other end of the rainbow, and Stiles has terrariums.

"When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door)" (M) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 135,402 | It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?! Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school. The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.

"This Ship Will Carry Our Bodies Safe to Shore" (G) by notevenwriting | 6,350 | Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. When those words appeared scrawled against the soft inside of his wrist, Derek’s first thought was that his mate and him would be involved in some kind of accident and they’d died in front of him. The thought used to scare him when he was a kid, the thought of being responsible for someone’s last minutes, of holding someone’s hand, brushing soft strands of hair out of their eyes and assuring them everything would be just fine made his heart race and forced his wolf into the surface.

"marked" (G) by elisela | 2,742 | “I don’t have a name,” was one of the first things Stiles ever said to him, somewhere in between “do your eyebrows always do that?” and “come on, one coffee can’t hurt.” And now the memory of it is all Derek can hear over the pounding of his own heart in his head, a drumbeat that sounds like he’s being marched to his own execution.

"Look The Other Way" (T) by anonymous | 3,692 | Becoming Derek’s emissary came with a heavy price; victories always do.

"Three Marks" (M) by sanam | 113,736 | And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt.

"not what you can predict" 🔒 (T) by theyhadcookies | 3,901 | Some time between Peter biting Scott, the Kanima, Gerard Argent, and Deucalion and Jennifer almost tearing the town apart, getting kidnapped and seeing his mother again for the first time, Derek met his soul mate. He has absolutely no idea who it could be.

"Safety in Silence" (M) by Survivah | 66,901 | It's perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn't want to be Derek's soulmate.

"Safe at Anchor" 🔒 (T) by Jerakeen | 11,371 | "He needs... grounding," Deaton explains, which helps Stiles not at all. "Grounding? Like electricity?" He tries to take a step back instinctively, but Derek wobbles on his feet and Stiles ends up steadying him with an arm around his waist, pulling them even closer together. "What's happening? Deaton? What am I doing?"

"Wayward and Down" (E) by amberography | 32,331 | That time it took not one, but two separate troll attacks and a malevolent coven of witches for Stiles to figure out how he felt about Derek.

"An (im)Perfect System" (T) by theroguesgambit | 7,903 | Stiles has always felt pretty lucky about his soul mark. After all, how many conversations tend to start with “This is private property”? (Apparently more than you'd think.)

"Second Chances" (G) by rootbeer | 2,624 | A lot of times the ‘markings’ were common, simple things you said to strangers all the time. 'Excuse me'; 'thank you'; 'hello'. Some got extremely romantic things like 'it’s you isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for you' or 'Wow you’re really pretty'. And they were always the first words their soulmate would ever say to them. Of course, having 'You are the fucking worst kind of person in the world' tattooed down your side, didn’t bode well. How fucked up was Stiles Stilinski that even his fucking Soulmate hated him? High School had been a special kind of hell when all the kids learned what his tattoo said—despite his best efforts to keep it a secret.

••••••

"To Be Worthy Of Hope" (T) by alocalband | 7,482 | In which Derek is secretly pining, Stiles is oblivious to both Derek’s feelings as well as his own, and any personal growth that happens in the meantime is completely reluctant.

"Your Pain is My Pain (So Stop Being So F#@$ing Clumsy!)" (T) by isthatbloodonhisshirt | 7,878 | “Derek is not my soulmate,” Stiles insisted. “I mean, look at him!” He motioned Derek. “He’s all grumpy and sourwolfish, and I mean, yeah, he’s great to look at, with the stubble and the working out, and face of a God sculpted out of stone and all that, and arms that could definitely carry me damsel-in-distress style whenever he wanted and what was I talking about again?” He turned back to Talia. “I think I lost my train of thought.”

"this plan will work" (T) by unavee | 5,573 | Getting rid of a soulbond is more difficult than Derek expected.

Peter/Stiles

"our hungers appeased (our heartbeats becoming slow)" (T) by willowcrowned | 6,155 | It had been Stiles who’d suggested it, offhand, while sitting on the steps of the Hale house, watching Derek try to wrangle his pups into something closer to controlled. He hadn’t been looking at Peter, but he’d been watching him anyways, and he’d seen—something in Peter that had made him recommend Peter get out of Beacon Hills with only half the malice that Peter had been expecting from him.

"put your mark on my soul, show me you need me" 🔒 (NR) by Areiton | 2,941 | Soulmarks appear in time of need. Not yours--your soulmate’s. When they needed you, the mark would bloom on your skin in inky black, a puzzle piece that left tiny clues to the person fate chose for you.

"Isn't This A Little Soulless?" (E) by anonymous | 6,714 | Peter is twenty-eight years old and content in never finding his soul mate. He has only recently broken something off with a partner, and is once again enjoying the opportunity to be single. A lot of people got… Strange, when they were with someone with a soul mark. They either felt like you were going to leave them at any moment for your soul mate, or that you must be the Settle Down type. They hadn’t proved to be a good match in the end. Peter had dated a few people with marks of their own. It took the pressure off, when you both knew that really they didn’t mean anything.

"Our Imperfect World" 🔒 (E) by taylorpotato | 11,524 | Not long after his eighteenth birthday, Peter wakes up with a small, white scar on his finger. Most people are born with scars that match their soulmate's, or get one in their early childhood. Peter thought he just wasn't meant to have anybody. The sudden arrival of his soulmate (in Beacon Hills, no less) is just the beginning of his life's complications.

"Not Stella" 🔒 (T) by Fidelius | 2,596 | Stiles isn't Stella. He never was. Not even when people thought he was. He's Stiles. His biggest hope is that his soul mate's wrist says his name. His biggest fear is that his soul mate's wrist says her name.

••••••

Chris/Peter

"La Bête du Argent" (E) by Whreflections | 38k+ WIP | When Chris is a boy, it becomes very clear that the prominent soulmate tattoo on his arm depicts an alpha werewolf. If he'd come from a pack, or even a family with no knowledge of the supernatural, it wouldn't have mattered, not really, but that wasn't his fate. He's an Argent, and a werewolf's mate, and those contradictions have no place in the same body, not in his father's opinion.

"You Are Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant" (E) by lavenderlotion | 3,447 | Peter was quiet for a moment, caught up in staring at Christopher's beard and the way it was shot with the grey. The lines around his eyes seemed to be etched deeper than they ever had been before, and his eyes were dark, empty in a way Peter had never seen on him. He took a breath and told himself that it wasn't weakness if it was only them. “You're my mate, Christopher.”

“Our Other Lives” (M) by TriDom | 1,881 | Everyone is born with their soulmate’s last words to them tattooed on their skin. It was the first sentence Chris learned to read, the first words he learned to write. He would never call himself a romantic, but through everything, those black letters kept him grounded and gave him hope.

“Your Scars are Mine” (M) by TriDom | 6,454 | When the youngest of a pair of soulmates turns 21, their scars appear on each other’s bodies. When Peter turns 21, his previously flawless hide is suddenly covered in scars.

••••••

Derek/Stiles & Peter/Stiles

"Whatever Works" (E) by KouriArashi | 61,929 | The problem with having your soulmate's first words to you tattooed on your arm is knowing your whole life that you're fated to be with a jerk. It's enough to make Stiles want to date other people ... which is how he winds up dating his soulmate's nephew.

••••••

Stiles/Jackson

"Link Share, Mark As Complete" (T) by red_crate | 914 | He can't believe this is how he ends up meeting his soul mate.

"I'll Dissolve When The Rain Pours In, When The Nightmares Take Me" (T) by clotpolesonly | 38,749 | When Stiles finally managed to contort himself the right way without causing injury, he stared at the words on his inner thigh. And then he stared some more, long enough for the water to grow cold around him, wondering if this was part of the dream. Finally he decided that it had to be real only because his subconscious was not creative enough to come up with this. There, in freckle-brown letters stark against pale skin, was the name Jackson Whittemore.

••••••

I keep my lists updated, which doesn't affect reblogs, so if you want the most recent list, see my pinned post.

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fic recs #teen wolf #teen wolf fics #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x stiles #sterek fics #sterek recs #sterek #steter #stetopher

347 notes · View notes