#better than twilight wc

[takimakiiiii]

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)

[bunnyluvx]

hii could you write castlevania nocturne alucard x fem!reader💗maybe the reader is a vampire or speaker/witch

enchant me, lover. ♡

featuring: adrian fahrenheit ţepeş / alucard x f! vampire, speaker & witch! reader.

summary: you're stargazing with your husband, and he doesn't get the chance to wish on a shooting star. you know just what will cheer him up.

warnings: minors and ageless blog dni regardless of content. i made the line dividers, so please don't use them. | support divider: @cafekitsune | wc: 2.3k | ao3

tags: fluff | hurt/comfort | domestic fluff | one-shot | stargazing | established marriage

a/n: i'll do you one better, friend, and combine ALL OF THEM!! >:D i'm trying to make my way through my requests, so there will be lots of castlevania stuff for awhile! this is set a couple of years before adrian left to track sekhmet. i hope that i did you justice, anon, and please enjoy, dear friends!!

date started: 7:08PM, february 16th, 2025. date finished: 8:45PM, february 25th, 2025.

The moon cloaks itself amidst the twilight to leave room for the stars to illuminate the sky. Thousands gather closely together to observe the night's events, and whisper gossip that the breeze tells them. A castle, tall enough to hold the heavens and older than most museums, resides within the forest. Its worn stone enjoys the scenery's tranquility, and the surrounding wildlife serves as a reminder of its reason for standing.

There are two occupants in this castle; The legendary Alucard, A.K.A Adrian Țepeș, and you, his lovely wife. You have been married for almost two-hundred years, and there is nothing that you would change about the life that you have built together. You both enjoy travel, so the adventures that you go on together are eternally endless. Adrian has solidified himself into your soul, and he is part of you that you never wish to do without. In moments where you felt like you couldn't go on, his face came to mind and you remembered just how strong you are.

Adrian knows that the connection that you share will last far beyond the relevance of your immortal lives. Not even at the chance of death will your love's resilience waver, for it is a force stronger than any enemy that you have vanquished together. If you were not in his life, then he would not laugh, smile, ponder or explore as much as he has in your company. Adrian Țepeș is not a man who fears much, but the idea that plagues his mind into restlessness is how much darker his world would be without you in it. Imagining a reality where he lives without your rants about all of the things that he wouldn't think twice about, paired with its angelic echo chanting off of the walls of your home would send him into madness, if not for the comfort of your body lying asleep by his side in your shared bed.

Every day that you spend together is a day that you both cherish, and today has felt particularly special. From dawn 'til dusk, you walked through the forest and discovered things that you hadn't noticed before; The different flowers blooming within the grass or unfamiliar streams, for instance. You have lived in this area for some time now, yet when journeying with Adrian, all sorts of new encounters appeared. It was very fulfilling to wander out with him to see what awaited you.

Now, your exciting day has come to a close, and both of you agreed that the best way to wind down before bed was to stargaze together. You stand on one of many bridges of the palace, your hands resting on the cold stone railing while your eyes sparkle just as brightly as the stars you stare at. Adrian stands not far behind you, a smile gracing his pale lips as he admires the great darkness above. Every once in awhile, he will look back at you and treasure the warmth that pools within his chest. Your joy while looking up at the stars is more beautiful than any twinkling light in the sky, and if he spent his night watching you like this instead, then he would be just as content.

Occasionally, you'll point out an exceptionally bright star, or a constellation, and Adrian's eyes will follow where you lead them. You'll tell about the story behind how the constellation was named, and anything else that comes to mind in relation. Being born into a group of Speakers has left a lot of room for you to acquire all sorts of knowledge about a variety of different subjects, and at one point in your life, you found yourself very fascinated with everything related to space. As a result, you did a lot of research on the subject so that you could share it with your family, and anyone crossing your path willing to listen.

Both of Adrian's parents were people of science, so he gathered quite the bounty of information himself, but he would always make an effort to listen to you. No matter how many times you repeat the same tales and facts, he will nod along and asks questions as if it's the first time, just to prompt your endless, passionate rambles. Gaining the opportunity to share your wisdom grants you an ethereal, excitable glow that he will gladly blind himself with, if it means that the last thing he ever sees is your smiling face.

A comforting quiet lingers in the air while you both gaze up at the stars, cherishing the night's delightful weather that provides you the freedom to enjoy this moment together. Sky's stillness suddenly dispels when a star swiftly descends from the shadows, and immediately, it catches Adrian's attention. A blissful, child-like smile graces his lips as he takes a step forward, then points above while announcing, "Look, a shooting star!"

Instantly, your head whips into the direction where Adrian's finger follows, and you see it. Fortunately, before it leaves your view, you are able to make a wish. Many would see it as silly for an over three-hundred year-old vampire to believe in wishing on stars, for you have lived long enough to know that not all myths are true. Regardless, you like the hopefulness that the idea brings; That someone, somewhere is listening, with the goal of helping you achieve your dreams.

Wherever this comet is going, it's in a hurry, for it's leaving as quickly as it came. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath, thinking about what you want most in the world. When you open them, you release the wind trapped inside your throat at the realization that the shooting star has disappeared over the horizon. Disappointment dwells in your heart and on your shoulders briefly before you spin around to look at your husband, whose arm has lowered. His face illuminates with a gentle joy as he gazes into the distance, a display that lightens your disheartenment and replaces it with bliss.

Long ago, you swore that you would commit all of Adrian's smiles to memory, so you take this time to do just that. The radiant expression that he wears is one of wonder, faith and longing, as if he wishes to chase that star to the ends of the Earth. You think that he looks so adorable like this, and you would hate for him to stop, but you become curious as to if he made a wish too, so you ask him, "Did you make a wish, Adrian?"

Blinking out of his awestruck state, golden eyes meet yours. You are so glad that during all of this time, the color of Adrian's eyes never changed. You think that it gives him individuality, and they remind you that through every hardship, you will always have someone at your side to endure it with. Sunshine dims into a soft sadness, which rawly clenches at your heart. Adrian's eyes glance to the ground, a frown on his face while he admits, "Oh, no. I didn't get the chance to."

The vessel which keeps you standing feels like it is being brutally mauled through at this response. Now, Adrian gazes out into the sky with furrowed brows, and your own face falls as his does. While he is skeptical about the idea of wishing on stars, he does find it fun to do sometimes. It didn't even come to mind when he saw it passing by, and seeing just how disappointed he is hurts more than any wound you could ever receive.

You use your quick-thinking skills to come up with something to cheer the dhampir up, when it hits you. You have been studying human magics for one-hundred years, and while you are quite skilled, you do not practice enough to fully achieve your true potential. Typically, you only use your magic on occasion when you're bored to make fun shapes, or when you're in combat with no other choice, but this is just as vital- no, even more-so. This is more dire than any foe that you have vanquished, more monstrous than any beast you have slain; Your sweet husband is sad, and as his wife, you want to make him feel better!

So, you cup your palms together and hold them out in front of you. Adrian notices the shift of your body, and turns to watch as you close your eyes. You focus on your desire, and think about the way that a star feels. You feel a tickling sensation spring its way up your back, as if stardust brushes your skin. Slipping into a deep state of concentration, you reflect on your early studies of magic when a yellow spark erupts into your hands. Adrian watches with fascination while the spark begins to brighten; It begins to take shape, until a thin, golden diamond glows in your grasp.

Adrian is completely blown away by your demonstration, his mouth hung open and eyes gawking widely at what you've just created. You open your eyes and smile at the dumbfounded look on your husband's face, giggling. "Make a wish, Adrian."

Realistically, you both know that this isn't what a star looks like, but that doesn't matter to your man. What matters to him is that it's yours, and it's perfect. For a moment, Adrian is silent, too bewildered by your manifestation to summon his voice. He knows that you are a very talented magician, and he has seen your capabilities at their finest. The fact that you have forged something so precious just to make him happy deeply touches Adrian. A smile adorns the man's face once more, eyes holding a love that is reserved only for you. He reaches a hand over to the side of your face to allow gloved fingers to graze your skin while he leans forward, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You watch as he melts before you, your smile growing wider when seeing that he's happy again. Unexpectedly, he gives you a kiss, and this makes you feel even better. Adrian's lips have a very dastardly power to make you weak; One brush of them, and you feel like you could faint on the spot. His lips are soft, and he tastes of the most captivating spell. You would have dropped the illusion and wrapped your arms around him to properly relay your passion, if you didn't know how meaningful this was to him. Heat crawls its way into your cheeks, and your shoulders have hiked up from surprise, but they slowly lower themselves as you allow your body to relax. You return his kiss and tilt your head slightly to enhance the experience for both of you, and you stand like this for a moment to cherish how perfectly your lips mold together.

Albeit regrettably, Adrian is the one to back away. The sun of his eyes shines brightly with admiration, and the smile on his lips is tender. "I don't need to," He murmurs sweetly.

Seeing this look on the dhampir's face is everything that you could want out of tonight. You have shared a wonderful day together, but this has been the best part of it by far. A crooked grin curls its way your lips, and you give him a knowing look when you decide to tease him, "If you say it's because you have everything you could wish for right here, I'm going to hit you."

Adrian's posture straightens as he throws his head back to laugh. Light blooms within your chest at the sound, one that you would listen to every hour for all of your days if given the chance. Tilting his head upright, he meets your eyes and responds, "Alright, I hear you." Then, he leans over to examine the star in your hands more closely, asking, "Could we save it?" Your husband aligns himself upright again, reuniting your gaze to his while adding, "For my next wish."

You smile at the man, head slightly tilted while fondly gazing at him. Any request of his is one you will gladly satisfy, so you tell him, "I think I can do that."

The look on your face causes Adrian to soften, his shoulders noticeably relaxing a bit more at the sight. "Good." He then turns so that his side faces you, and offers an arm for you to take. "Shall we head to bed now?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips together harshly, charging all of your energy into the little splendor in your hands before hopping up. With your little bounce, the star shoots up into the sky, stardust hot on its trail, before it lowers down to settle itself floating slightly above you and Adrian. The dhampir turns around to recognize what you've done, that same stupefied expression on his face. You see it and laugh, an arm coming over your stomach as you take a step back and point at him. You gather yourself shortly after, and brush away any lingering dust on your clothes before you turn to face where Adrian is to take his arm. "Let's go."

It's only when you make contact with him that your husband comes out of his shock, his face relaxing when seeing yours and a smile decorating his lips. "As you wish."

With that, you head into the castle to begin your nightly routine. The star you created twirls around you both the entire way, and you laugh at mystical friend's enthusiasm. Love has brought you two a long way, and you guarantee that it will take you even farther. In every life, you know that Adrian would do anything to make you happy, and he knows that you would do the same.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[theonottsbxtch]

A CROWN LEFT BEHIND | IH6

an: i was feeling nostalgic and was missing home again so i wrote an isack aladdin au! i made this exta special because i used arabic darija in this fic (obvs with translation) i hope you guys enjoy this baby i wrote

wc: 13.5k

summary: a street thief with nothing but a dog and a smile. a princess trapped behind gold and glass, longing for freedom. one quiet escape into the night changes both their fates. secrets whispered in alleyways, promises carried on the wind. in the end, the streets remember what the palace chooses to forget.

ALGIERS NEVER TRULY SLEPT.

Even in the dusk between call to prayer and moonrise, when the shadows stretched long like fingers across whitewashed walls, the medina whispered. The breeze carried the scent of cumin and orange blossom, the air warm like honey clinging to the skin.

Somewhere, the sound of a flute curled upward from a rooftop. Laughter, sharp, drunken, echoed in the alleyways below.

And Isack ran.

Barefoot, nimble, heart thudding like a darbuka drum in his chest, he darted through the tight alleys of the Kasbah. His curls stuck to his brow, a sliver of stolen gold tucked into his sash. He had the grin of someone used to running, used to getting away.

“Waqef! Waqef ya l’kleb!” Stop! Stop, you dog!

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he vaulted over a market cart, snatched a fig from a vendor’s stall mid-air, and winked at the shouting man behind him. It was a dance, the only one he knew. The guards were slow. He was fast. And the streets were his.

By the time he climbed the back wall of a half-collapsed riad and collapsed onto the tiled rooftop, the sky had turned gold. He bit into the fig, sweet and overripe, and let the juice run down his chin.

Below, the city pulsed. Blue doors, stray cats, distant call to prayer. A woman’s laughter from an open window. Laundry snapping in the wind.

He loved this place. It was cruel, yes. Hungry. But it was his.

He leaned back, golden-brown eyes flicking upward toward the first stars emerging in the indigo sky. The city’s noise became a hum, and for a moment, he felt almost like a king.

And elsewhere, behind tall palace walls, she watched the city from her window, veiled and silent.

Below her, chaos, life, fire. A city she was not allowed to touch. A city that belonged to her only in name.

They called her princess, l’amira, daughter of the land, of bloodlines older than the red earth itself. She had her mother’s cheekbones, her father’s eyes. But her soul? That was her own.

She pressed a hand to the cold lattice, eyes following a small boy climbing a wall far in the distance. Free. Barefoot. Laughing.

She envied him.

Her maid’s voice broke the silence.

“L’amira, your father, he says there’s a suitor. Another one.”

Another one. Another man with polished words and ancient rings, sent to ask for a piece of her like she was a jewel in the souk.

She didn’t answer. Only watched the horizon, where the rooftops met the sky. Somewhere beyond it, the stars were starting to blink awake.

She wished one would fall.

The palace walls were smooth sandstone, gold-dusted and cruel.

They caught the sun at every hour, gleaming like something divine, but she knew better. Inside them, everything was hushed and heavy. Voices behind curtains, steps softened on marble. Nothing real ever made it past the gates.

She sat now on a silken cushion, spine straight, wrists wrapped in gauze-thin silk, and tried not to scream.

Across from her, the suitor spoke in a voice as smooth as almond oil, his words polished to a shine. He was a noble from Constantine,  or maybe Tlemcen, she couldn’t remember, and he wore his robes like armor. Perfect posture. Perfect manners. Perfect boredom.

He was talking about the scent of jasmine in his summer home.

She nodded politely.

Her tea had gone cold.

Behind him, just past the carved archway that opened onto the courtyard, the muezzin’s call rose into the air, haunting, beautiful. The day was sinking into twilight, and the world outside was moving.

She turned her head slightly, not enough to be scolded, and looked past him.

The gates beyond the garden had been opened for the breeze, and through them, beyond the veil of palm leaves, she saw the street.

Children ran barefoot toward the mosque, drawn by the call to prayer. She saw a boy with wild black curls tugging his younger sister along, both of them laughing, racing the call. Their djellabas fluttered behind them like wings. One of the guards smiled as they passed.

A knot tightened in her throat.

That life, so ordinary, so loud, so free, would never be hers. She had never run in the street. She had never laughed outside the palace walls. She had never once stood beside strangers and bowed her head in prayer as an equal. Even her worship was private, sterile, behind curtains and gold incense burners.

She looked back at the prince.

He had stopped speaking.

He was watching her with a soft frown, like he’d seen something he wasn’t meant to. “Forgive me,” he said gently, setting his cup down. “I don’t think I interest you.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. There was no real way to explain it.

“You’re not unkind,” she managed, at last. “You’re just not real.”

He blinked. “Not real?”

She offered the smallest of smiles. “Not enough.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

She shed her jewels. Let her hair fall unbound down her back. The moonlight caught the copper strands threaded through it, a family trait, they said. Her birthright. Her burden.

The palace was quiet. Too quiet. Like a tomb that smelled of oud and rosewater.

She walked barefoot through the colonnade, cool tile beneath her feet, heart fluttering like a trapped swallow in her chest.

From her window, the city glowed, a thousand flickering oil lamps, rooftops like mosaic pieces laid out for the stars.

She didn’t know exactly where the thought came from. Only that it arrived fully formed.

She was leaving.

Not tomorrow. Not with guards. Not with permission.

Tonight.

She turned from the window and began to move, silent, deliberate, pulling on a plain linen tunic left behind by one of the maids, wrapping her hair in a faded scarf. She looked nothing like a princess now. And maybe for once, that was the point.

Her pulse sang.

Outside, the world waited. Wild, sharp-edged, and beautiful.

And the palace slept.

She moved like a shadow past the guards, heart hammering in her ribs, the scarf around her head slipping ever so slightly in the breeze. No one looked at her twice, not like this. Not dressed in rough linen, no kohl on her eyes, no scent of amber trailing her steps.

For the first time in her life, she was invisible.

And it thrilled her.

Once beyond the palace gates, the city opened up like a book she’d never been allowed to read.

The air at night was cooler, threaded with the scent of charcoal smoke and distant mint tea. Lanterns swung gently from the iron hooks above doorways, casting dappled patterns across cobbled streets. Stray cats watched her from rooftops. Someone played a flute off-key in the dark. The call to Isha’a had passed, but the buzz of night lingered.

She wandered deeper into the medina, past shuttered stalls and old men playing dominoes beneath a flickering bulb. Nobody recognised her. Nobody bowed. No one whispered l’amira like a ghost.

She felt giddy. Lightheaded with it. Free.

She didn’t even notice the man at first.

He’d been sitting on a step, smoking. When she passed, he straightened. Followed.

It wasn’t until the footsteps quickened behind her that her stomach turned.

She kept walking. Turned into a narrower street.

Too narrow.

She should have gone back. She should have kept to the open, where there were people. But her legs moved faster than her thoughts. And then he was there, in front of her now, as if he’d appeared from the shadows themselves.

He was older. Unshaven. Smelt like cheap wine and sweat. A smirk played at his lips as he stepped into her path.

“Labas ‘lik, zine?” What’s a pretty girl like you doing out alone at this hour?

She tried to step aside, but he mirrored her.

“I don’t— I don’t want trouble.”

“Oh, I’m not trouble,” he said, teeth flashing. “Not unless you make me be.”

He reached for her wrist. She pulled back, fast, panic blooming in her throat. Her breath caught.

And then—

A low growl sliced through the quiet.

The man froze.

From the darkness of the alley, a shape emerged, all silhouette and shadow. First the dog: big, bone-coloured, eyes sharp like molten gold. Then the boy. Barefoot. Loose shirt open at the throat, curls wild, a crooked grin stitched across his face like sin.

He took one look at the man and smiled, slow and lazy.

“Khoya,” Brother he said, voice like honey over blades. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to talk to girls who don’t want to talk to you?”

The man sneered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Isack tilted his head. “Lah ybarek, I think it does.” God Bless

He clicked his tongue once.

The dog lunged.

The man screamed, stumbling back, barely dodging a snap of teeth. “Wah! Get it off—!”

Isack gave a soft whistle. The dog stopped, but only just. Still growling, still close enough to bite.

“Mazal barki,” Too early, Isack said calmly. “He’s just playing. If he were serious, you’d already be on the floor.”

The man spat on the ground. “You’ll regret this.”

Isack took a single step forward. The dog took two.

The man ran.

Silence settled in the alley.

Isack looked at her then, but really looked. His eyes softened slightly, but his smile stayed wicked.

“Bit far from the palace, aren’t you?” he said, almost teasing.

She blinked. “How—?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “You lot smell different. Like roses and gold coins.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.

Isack held out a hand.

“Come on, l’amira. You’re not going to last ten minutes out here without someone like me.”

She hesitated. Looked at the dog, then back at him.

Then she took his hand.

And just like that, the world tilted on its axis.

They walked side by side through the sleeping veins of the city, the dog padding ahead of them like a quiet sentinel. The lanterns were dimmer now, the night heavy with spice and dust, and still, the thrill hadn’t left her chest.

She kept glancing sideways at him, the boy who'd appeared from the shadows like a spirit, all cocky swagger and barefoot confidence. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

Eventually, she spoke.

“Where are you taking me?”

Isack gave a half-shrug, as if that question had no weight.

“I’m assuming you wanted to live a real life. Not many other reasons a girl like you leaves a palace in the middle of the night.” He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re sneaking out to see a lover. That would be scandalous.”

She scowled. “No.”

“Shame.” He grinned. “Would’ve made a good story.”

She stopped walking. “You think this is a joke?”

His grin faltered, not completely, just softened at the edges. “No,” he said, more quietly. “I think it’s a risk. And risks are either foolish or brave.”

They walked in silence after that, her arms folded tightly over her chest, his hands buried in his pockets. The city around them seemed to pulse with a life she’d never noticed before, an old women leaning out of windows to gossip, a boy chasing a chicken down a lane, the rustle of music from a distant courtyard.

At last, they turned into a narrow side street, its end lit by a single flickering bulb above a door.

“Come on,” he said, pushing it open. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had this man’s mint tea.”

The teahouse was small and dimly lit, smelling of cardamom, smoke, and dried orange peel. Rugs layered the floor, and the low wooden tables were uneven. There were no other customers, just an old man behind the counter with a wiry beard and thick glasses, hunched over a chessboard.

He looked up when he saw Isack and groaned.

“Ya weledi, not you again. I’m not running a charity.”

He sighed.

Isack held up a hand, grinning. “Sidi Ahmed, Allah ybarek fik w fi shay bik.” Sidi Ahmed, may God bless you and your tea.

“Rahmt Allah fi sabrek, mashi fiya.” God’s mercy is in His patience, not mine.

He eyed Isack’s companion. “At least this time you bring someone polite.”

Isack gave her a look. “Don’t let the scarf fool you.”

She sat carefully on a cushion by the wall, her spine still too straight, her eyes absorbing everything. The chipped glasses, the way the steam curled from the kettle, the way Ahmed measured sugar like it was gold dust.

He poured two small glasses and set them down with a grumble. “Pay this time, Isack. I’m not running a zawiya.”

Isack patted his pocket, dramatically empty. “We’ve talked about this.”

The old man turned away, muttering, “Sh-shabab li mabghawsh ykhadmou.” The youth who don’t want to work.

She looked between them, and without thinking, slipped one of her bangles off her wrist. It was thin gold, etched with delicate Berber script, a gift from her grandmother.

She stood and offered it gently across the counter. “Please,” she said. “Let this cover both.”

Before Ahmed could take it, Isack’s hand came down over hers.

“La,” he said under his breath. No. “Khalih.” Leave it.

She stared at him. “Why not?”

He leaned closer, voice soft. “You don’t trade gold for tea. Not here. Not tonight.”

Then he turned, all charm again, flashing a grin at the old man. “Tell you what, you still need that window patched? I’ll come tomorrow. Ghadwa, inshallah.” Tomorrow, God willing.

Ahmed narrowed his eyes. “You said that three bukras ago.”

“And now I have an audience to impress. I’ll even sweep the floor, if that helps.”

The old man gave a long sigh, more theatre than protest, and waved them off.

“Yallah, sit before I change my mind.” Come on.

Back at the table, Isack slid her glass toward her. The tea was hot, sweet, filled with bruised mint.

She took a sip.

It was rich and strange and entirely perfect.

“You were going to pay,” he said, watching her. “With something real.”

“I was trying to help.”

“You’re not here to help,” he said, without cruelty. “You’re here to learn.”

She set the glass down carefully. “What makes you think you have anything to teach me?”

Isack’s grin didn’t falter. “Oh, l’amira, I’ve got a whole city to teach you.”

And across from him, for the first time since leaving the palace, she smiled without hesitation.

The tea had cooled by the time their conversation found stillness again.

Outside, the street hummed with distant laughter and the thud of footsteps against stone. But inside the teahouse, everything felt quieter, as though the night had folded itself around the two of them and held its breath.

She sat with her knees drawn in, hands wrapped around the chipped glass. Across from her, Isack leaned back against the cushion, head tipped slightly to the side as he watched her. Not in the way men usually did, not with hunger or calculation, but with curiosity, like she was something rare he hadn’t quite made sense of yet.

“So,” he said, gently, “what were you planning to do?”

She blinked at him.

“What?”

“Out there,” he nodded toward the door. “On your own. No guards, no money, just what? Wander through the city until you found a better life?”

She looked down at the rug beneath them, at the intricate threads that felt far more grounded than she did.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

He gave a soft laugh, not mocking, more surprised than anything.

“You really didn’t have a plan?”

She shook her head. “Only that I couldn’t stay there. That I needed out.”

There was a silence then. Not awkward, thoughtful.

He took another sip of tea and set the glass aside, speaking without looking at her.

“I don’t usually do this. Take people in.”

She turned her head, slightly wary. “Take people in?”

“To where I stay,” he said. “It’s not much. But it’s safe.”

She blinked, startled. “You’re offering?”

He nodded. “For tonight. You can leave in the morning if you want. But the streets, they change after midnight. Not even your silk cloak will keep you safe then.”

She hesitated, lips parting, but no protest came. Just a quiet breath of surrender.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I mean it.”

He looked at her then, really looked. No teasing, no smirk, just something careful in his eyes. A flicker of understanding.

“Come on then, l’amira.”

“Still calling me that?”

“Until you tell me different,” he said over his shoulder. “Or until you learn to walk like someone who doesn’t own the world.”

She rose, following him out into the night, her footsteps softer now.

She had no idea where he was taking her. And for the first time in her life she didn’t mind.

They weaved through the medina like shadows, the narrow alleys stitched with silence and stars. The dog trotted ahead confidently, tail swishing, as if it knew the way by heart.

Eventually, Isack stopped beside a faded wooden door nestled between two closed shops. An old fig tree leaned over it, casting broken leaves across the stoop.

“Here?” she asked, surprised.

He didn’t answer straight away, just offered a hand and gestured upwards. “Not quite.”

He led her down a short passage, then up a creaking set of exterior stairs. They climbed to a flat rooftop covered in laundry lines and rusted water drums, then over a low wall onto another roof just below.

The dog leapt across first, landing clumsily with a thump before padding toward a slanted wooden hatch tucked beneath the shade of some old cloth draped like a makeshift canopy.

“Mind your step,” Isack said, and helped her across with an easy grip. His hands were calloused but warm.

She landed lightly beside him, breath caught more by the moment than the leap.

It was a small space, little more than a cove made from old beams and patched fabric. But inside, it was gently lived in. Worn futons lined the edges. There was a low crate filled with books, a chipped mirror hung on the far wall, and a faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air.

The dog circled twice before flopping onto a blanket with a sigh.

“This is…” she began, then hesitated. “It’s lovely.”

Isack shrugged, already crouching beside the hatch. “It does the job.”

Before she could respond, he swung himself halfway back down through the opening and called softly, “Hadja kayna waḥda mikhadda?” Hadja, do you have a pillow?

A voice snapped back immediately from the flat below.

“A pillow, Isack? At this hour? Wallah, you treat me like a hotel!”

“Just one,” he laughed. “For a guest.”

There was a short pause. Then the shuffle of slippers, the thud of a cupboard.

A plump hand emerged through the gap, clutching a well-worn cushion. “Here, waldi, take it, and no more surprises tonight, tfaddal.”

“N’barek fik, Hadja.” Bless you, Hadja.

He climbed back in with the pillow in hand, a bit of thread clinging to his hair.

She had been watching the exchange silently, eyes wide in quiet mesmerisation.

“She called you waldi,” she said.

He smiled as he tossed the pillow onto one of the futons. “She’s not my mother. But she pretends she is.”

“She gave it to you anyway.”

“She always does. Even when she’s cross.”

He gestured for her to sit, then settled across from her on the floor, back resting against the far wall.

“She took me in when I was ten. Found me trying to steal her olives.” He smirked. “Didn’t succeed, by the way. She hit me with a broom and then fed me loubia anyway.”

She laughed, properly this time, not the polite laughter of courts and expectations, but something warm and unguarded.

He watched her. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good,” she said. “Neither are you.”

They talked until the city slept.

Not just quiet, but truly asleep, the kind of stillness that only arrived deep in the night, when even the stray cats gave up their prowling, and the moon hung low like a watchful eye over the rooftops.

Isack had lit a stub of a candle from a jar tucked in the corner. It flickered beside them, casting shifting shapes across the patched fabric walls.

He told her about growing up with his back against the stone, the days when food came from the hands of strangers or not at all, how Hadja would scold him and feed him in the same breath. He spoke of the souks, the rooftops, the ocean he’d only seen twice, and how sometimes, when the wind came in strong from the coast, he could still taste the salt on the air.

She told him little things. That her mother had died young. That she was educated, but not free. That there was always someone watching, waiting, measuring her every word, her every breath. That she didn’t know what to do with freedom now that she’d found it, or something like it.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Leaving the palace tonight?”

He nodded.

She looked out through the fabric flap where the stars peeked in, and shook her head.

“No. I regret waiting this long.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just offered her a second cushion, and a smile that didn’t need explaining.

Eventually, her eyelids began to lower. The weight of the day, the years, pulling gently at her bones.

“You should sleep,” he said.

“I don’t want to take your bed.”

“You’re not.” He motioned to the futon. “That one’s for guests.”

She arched a brow. “How many guests do you usually have?”

He grinned. “None.”

He laid out a folded blanket, then pulled the cushion from the futon before she could object. Dropped it to the floor and settled beside the wall, arms folded behind his head, long legs crossed at the ankles.

“Isack—”

“Let me,” he said simply, eyes closed now.

She hesitated, but something in his tone made it impossible to argue.

So she lay down, curling onto the futon, fingers brushing the edge of the thin mattress. The dog gave a soft snore from the corner. The candle had gone out, leaving only moonlight, the kind that made everything look a little silver, a little softer.

She stared at the ceiling, expecting her mind to race the way it always did, with lists, and rules, and voices, and what-ifs.

But it didn’t.

For the first time in her life, there was no marble floor beneath her. No silk sheets. No guards. No walls.

Just the scent of sandalwood, and mint tea, and something faintly like hope.

And sleep, when it came, came gently, and held her like it meant to keep her.

She woke to the sound of the adhan, the call to fajr, curling through the air like the voice of the city itself.

It came from somewhere distant but clear, high and smooth and mournful in the way only the earliest hours could carry. The dog shifted but didn’t rise, only thumped its tail gently once and settled again.

She blinked, still tucked into the futon, a thin sheet drawn up around her shoulders. The world around her was a shade of soft blue, the sky just beginning to brighten in the east. It cast everything in hush,the worn crates, the fluttering fabric, the half-drunk tea still resting in its glass.

Isack was still asleep, curled slightly on his side on the floor, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely against his chest. In the half-light, he looked younger or perhaps just less guarded. A small furrow sat between his brows even in sleep, like he’d never quite let go of watchfulness.

She sat up slowly, the futon sighing beneath her.

The call continued, echoing from minaret to minaret across the rooftops. As-salatu khayrun minan-nawm… Prayer is better than sleep.

She knew she had to go.

There was no panic. No urgency. Only a quiet knowing. If she stayed longer, if she let herself fall even a step deeper into this stolen freedom, she wouldn’t return at all. And the world, her world, wasn’t ready for that.

She slipped her feet into her shoes, the silence stretching around her like a shawl.

The dog opened one eye but didn’t move, watching her with the calm understanding of someone who knew better than to bark at goodbyes.

She glanced over at Isack once more.

Then, with a breath, she reached for her wrist.

She slid off two of her bangles, the thinner ones, delicate, etched in the filigree of her mother’s people, and set them quietly on the edge of the futon where she’d slept.

Not payment.

A mark. A memory. A thank you.

She didn’t write a note. He would understand.

Then she pulled the scarf tighter around her face and stepped out into the early light, down through the hatch and over the rooftop. The air was cool and clean, the streets below still drowsy, not yet stirring with market cries or children’s footsteps.

The city hadn’t woken, but she had.

And by the time the sun had fully lifted above the rooftops of Algiers, she was already crossing back through the hidden door in the palace wall, the scent of mint and dust and candle smoke still clinging to her clothes.

Isack woke to the faint chill of dawn slipping through the cracks in the wooden hatch. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and mint, the scent she’d left behind.

He blinked, stretched his hand out instinctively and found the futon beside him empty.

His heart sank a little, slow and steady like the weight of knowing.

She was gone.

On the edge of the futon, catching the soft morning light, were two thin bangles, delicate and filigreed, the ones she had worn when she arrived.

He picked them up carefully, rolling them between his fingers, feeling the cool metal and the slight dents that told stories of a life far from his own.

A soft sigh escaped him. “Mashi moshkil.” It’s okay

He understood. She had her world to return to.

He slipped on the bangles and let his shirt cover the gold from the sunlight.

Downstairs, the old wooden door creaked open and the smell of strong tea and cooking filled the air.

“Sbāḥ l-khīr, Hadja.” Good morning, Hadja

“Sbāḥ l-nūr, waldi. Katḥess b’raḥtek lyom?” Good morning, my boy. Feeling alright today?

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kān bghī nsaʿdek shwiya f’dar.” I wanted to help you around the house a bit.

Hadja smiled, hands busy folding fresh flatbread. “Daima mzyan, waldi. Ma tkhafsh, ghadi nkhdem mʿak.” Always good, my boy. Don’t worry, I’ll work with you.

As he handed her a kettle, she caught sight of the bangles peeking from beneath his sleeve.

“Shno had lḥwayej?” What are these things?

He hesitated, then showed them to her.

“Tqdr tsawb bihom flus bzzaf,” You could make a lot of money with these she murmured, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. 

Isack shook his head, a faint smile tugging his lips.

“Hadi, mashī ghir ljawhra.” They’re more than just jewellery.

He grabbed a length of string from the counter and carefully threaded the bangles onto it, pulling the makeshift necklace over his head.

Hadja watched, then chuckled softly.

“Mashi mzyan, waldi. La tkoun ḥmar w mat'ttīsh rasek.” Not smart, my boy. Don’t be stupid and don’t get caught.

He grinned wider, a spark in his golden-brown eyes.

“Ana mabghītsh nshouf hadchi,” I never get caught, Hadja he said, voice low and certain.

She shook her head, but there was no real scolding in her voice, just the warmth of someone who’d seen too much but still hoped.

He tucked the string beneath his shirt and turned back to the rising sun outside.

His thoughts drifted, to the girl who had left the bangles, to the quiet promise of a night that had felt, somehow, like home.

By mid-morning, the streets were wide awake, sun burning the rooftops, voices rising from alleyways, children darting between market stalls like fish in water.

Isack moved through it all like he belonged there, because he did. The city knew him, and he knew it back. The dog loped along beside him, tongue out, tail wagging every time someone threw them a passing “salam” or scrap of bread.

He reached Sidi Ahmed’s place just as the old man was dragging out a broken wooden cart wheel, grumbling under his breath.

“Sbāḥ l-khīr, Sidi,” Good morning, Sidi. Isack called, crouching beside the wheel.

The old man grunted. “Mzyan jeeti. Rah kayna chghol bzzaf.” Good you came. There’s a lot of work.

Isack smiled and set to it, sleeves rolled, sweat already gathering at the back of his neck. The wheel was splintered, but nothing beyond saving, a couple of new dowels, some sanding, a bit of patience.

Sidi Ahmed’s son, Youssef, lingered nearby, watching with a lazy sort of interest, chewing on a stem of wild mint.

“Chouf,” Isack said after a while, glancing over at him, “tqder tsaʿdni f waḥed lsu2al?” Can you help me with something?

Youssef raised a brow. “Dirti chi musiba khra?” Have you done something stupid again?

“La, la, had mara....” No, no, this time…

Youssef understood the unspoken words and spat out the stem. “Go on.”

Isack wiped his brow with his sleeve and leaned back slightly against the wall, gaze fixed on the wheel but mind clearly elsewhere.

“Say you meet someone,” he began, slow. “Someone who’s not from your world. Proper different. But you get on, like, really get on. And then they vanish.”

Youssef squinted at him. “She run off with your shoes?”

Isack huffed a quiet laugh. “Not quite. Just left. No goodbye. But left something behind.”

Youssef’s face softened slightly, as if he’d caught the edge of what Isack wasn’t saying.

“What did she leave?”

Isack hesitated, then tugged the string out slightly from beneath his shirt, just enough to let the bangles glint in the sunlight.

Youssef whistled under his breath.

“Hadchi mn lkasr?” This from the palace?

“Ma-gult walou.” Isack shrugged. I didn’t say anything

Youssef leaned in slightly. “You want advice?”

He nodded.

“Nsuḥk. Khalli l’aql qbl lqlb.” My advice. Keep your head before your heart.

Isack looked down at the bangles, his thumb tracing the edge.

“W ila ma bghītsh ndīr haka?” And what if I don’t want to do that?

Youssef laughed. “Then may God help you, Isack. Because no one else will.”

They both chuckled, the tension breaking for a moment.

Isack stood, stretching, wiping dust from his palms. “Come on then, help me lift this wheel. Unless you just came to offer useless wisdom.”

Youssef grinned and bent down beside him. “Ana daba fassḥab raḥna f chi hikayat dyal Alf Layla w Layla.” I feel like we’re in some story out of One Thousand and One Nights.

Isack didn’t reply straight away, just smiled faintly, eyes catching the sunlight, the bangles warm against his chest.

The palace was quiet in the way that only vast, marbled halls could be, a kind of elegant, echoing silence that never let you forget how alone you really were.

She sat in the morning sunroom, half-curled on one of the velvet chaise lounges, fingers absently twisting the end of her braid. A tray of untouched figs and almonds lay on the table beside her, along with a fresh pot of tea that had already grown cold.

Her father entered without knocking, as he always did. The sharp scent of musk and cedar preceded him, the trailing end of his white robe brushing softly against the mosaic tiles.

“You’re off,” he said without greeting, eyes narrowing as he took her in, from the slight slump in her shoulders to the vague shadows under her eyes.

She didn’t look up. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Clearly.” He stepped closer. “What kept you up?”

She shrugged, keeping her tone light. “The usual. Thoughts. Expectations. Century-old ceilings.”

“Don’t get clever.”

That earned him a glance. “Don’t ask stupid questions, then.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, brief, but visible. He came to stand beside her, hands clasped neatly behind his back.

“You never speak to me like that.”

“I suppose I’m tired of speaking like I’m being examined.”

He studied her for a long moment. “You used to confide in me.”

“When I was ten, and thought you ruled the sun,” she muttered.

There was a pause. He let it hang in the air just long enough to shift the mood.

Then, with the same cold precision she knew too well, he dropped a rolled scroll onto the table beside the figs.

“What’s this?” she asked, already knowing.

“A list.”

“Of?”

“Potential suitors. From respectable bloodlines. Royal, military, or diplomatic, no lesser. And no more poets.”

She stared at the scroll. Didn’t touch it.

“You’re serious.”

“Entirely.”

“And if I don’t?” Her voice was tight now, clipped at the edges.

“If you don’t choose one by July,” he said calmly, “then we’ll have an issue.”

She stood suddenly, pushing the chair back with more force than she meant to. “An issue.”

“Yes.”

“Like a diplomatic incident, or just another daughter buried in silk and obedience?”

His jaw tightened. “Watch your tongue.”

She met his gaze, hers unflinching, gold-flecked and defiant. “Or what?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was a wall, and she’d lived behind it all her life.

He gestured to the scroll.

“Make a decision. You’re not a child anymore.”

Then he turned, and just like that, he was gone, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the hush of a palace built more for power than people.

She sat slowly, eyes still fixed on the scroll. Somewhere far beyond the stone walls and manicured gardens, the city lived and breathed without her.

She reached for a fig. Bit into it absentmindedly.

It tasted like nothing.

She let it roll on her tongue, slowly chewing, but it crumbled like ash. Sweet and hollow. Like the walls of this palace. Like her life.

With a quiet breath, she set the fruit back onto the tray and rose, silk skirts whispering against the marble as she slipped through the archway and into the palace gardens.

The air outside was cooler, fragrant with orange blossom and rosemary, soft earth beneath the soles of her slippers. Here, the palace forgot itself. Here, at least, the stone gave way to soil, and life.

She walked past the cypress trees, fingers grazing their rough trunks, until she reached the familiar little corner where the rose bushes curled like old memories around a simple stone marker.

Her mother’s grave.

The marble was smooth, the engraved words worn by years of wind and rain.

She knelt, brushing away a few stray petals from the base, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Salam, Mama,” Peace (Hello), Mama she murmured softly. 

The wind stirred the roses gently, as if in answer.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispered, voice barely carrying. “I don’t know what I want or who I am supposed to be.”

Her fingers tightened in the folds of her gown.

“I met someone,” she went on, casting her eyes down. “A boy. A boy with dirt beneath his nails and laughter in his eyes. With his feet on the ground and his heart open. Full. More than he has. More than he can give.”

She closed her eyes.

“Bzaf ʿlih... bzzaf ʿlia.” Too much for him... too much for me

She exhaled, slow and long.

“I wanted to be free, Mama. I wanted to run and see and breathe. But now I’ve tasted it, I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t know if I can fit in this life any longer.”

Footsteps crunched lightly on the gravel behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Lalla,” Little girl, came the familiar soft voice, her mother’s old maid, gentle and lined with age. “You sit here like your mother did. All these years, nothing changes.”

She felt the old woman settle beside her with a quiet sigh.

“What would you do?” she asked softly. “You knew my mother better than she knew herself. What would you tell her, if she stood where I am now?”

The maid smiled faintly, folding her wrinkled hands in her lap.

“Tāmen b’Allah... w tmshi b’qlbek. Huwa li ghadi yurik triq.” Believe in Allah... and follow your heart. He will show you the way

The girl swallowed, throat tight. “And if my heart leads me away from here?”

The old woman touched her hand, warm and steady.

“Then you were never meant to stay, bnti.” my daughter

For a long moment, they sat in the quiet, the scent of roses thick in the air, the world turning softly beyond the palace walls.

Later that night, she sat alone on the terrace, the one on the farthest wing of the palace, furthest from her father’s private quarters and the endless eyes of the guards.

The marble beneath her legs was cool, her bare feet curling against the stone edge as the evening wind lifted strands of her hair. Above her, the sky stretched wide and endless, scattered with stars, silver threads sewn across velvet black. The moon hung low and full, casting the palace rooftops in gentle light.

She breathed in the air, the scent of distant jasmine and city dust, the distant echo of life beyond the walls. It felt like sitting between two worlds. On one side, the endless gardens, the sharp spires, the cold, polished perfection of the palace. On the other, the old city, asleep and breathing, warm and rough-edged, untamed.

Her gaze lingered there, past the battlements, past the dividing walls, past the courtyards where only soldiers and servants tread. She tilted her head, lost in thought, wondering if the boy with the sun-darkened curls and the restless smile was asleep somewhere beneath that same sky.

A soft sound pulled her from her reverie.

She stiffened.

There it was again, a scrape, gentle but clear. A footfall against stone.

Her heart quickened. She glanced back towards the archway, towards the shadowed corridor behind her, empty. Still.

Then from the wall that marked the boundary between palace and city, the high old wall she’d once scaled as a child before she’d been caught and forbidden to try again came a quiet voice, low and teasing.

“L’amira...” Princess

Her breath caught. Familiar. Impossible.

She turned sharply and there he was.

Perched like a cat upon the wall, crouched comfortably as if he belonged there, was Isack. His hair caught the moonlight in soft curls, his eyes glinting with quiet mischief, his grin wide and unrepentant. 

She gaped, mouth slightly open. “You—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, holding a finger to his lips. “Do you want half the guard waking up?”

“How—how did you get up here?” she hissed, eyes darting nervously to the shadows behind her. “You’ll be killed if they see you.”

He swung his leg over the wall, now sitting casually, unbothered by the drop beneath him. “I’ve been climbing these streets my whole life, l’amira. Walls don’t frighten me. Neither do guards.” His grin widened. “Nor kings.”

She stood, her silk robe slipping from one shoulder as she stared at him in disbelief, hands curling into the stone balustrade.

“You’re mad,” she breathed. “Completely mad.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, easy as rain. “But you left before I could say goodbye. Before you could say anything at all. That’s rude, you know.”

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. “I had to go.”

“I know.” His gaze softened, the teasing edge fading, something quieter behind his eyes now. “But I couldn’t let it end like that. Not without seeing you again.”

For a moment, they simply looked at each other across the terrace, palace silk against street dust, gold against leather, two pieces of a story that shouldn’t have touched.

She swallowed hard, voice low. “What are you doing here, Isack?”

He grinned again, but this time it was softer. Less bravado. More truth.

“Kan-fakker fik.” I was thinking of you

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, gathering breath, steadying her racing heart.

“And what do you plan to do now that you’re here?”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes dancing in the moonlight.

“Depends. Do you want to see the city from the rooftops? Like a real life? Or are you going to stay here, on this cold stone, and dream of it forever?”

For a long moment, the world was silent, save for the wind in the olive trees and the distant call of a night bird.

Then she smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Help me over,” she said softly. “Before someone sees you and you lose that charming head of yours.”

His grin lit up his whole face.

“Mzyana bzaaf,” Very good he murmured. 

His hand was rough when she took it, warm and steady, calloused from years of work and climbing and living. Not like the soft, perfumed hands of the princes she’d been paraded before.

“Careful, l’amira,” he murmured with a crooked smile, steadying her as she clambered up onto the wall beside him. “Palace girls aren’t used to balancing this high.”

“I’m not palace born,” she whispered back, grinning despite herself. “My mother birthed me out of the palace, something the Sultan would not want anyone to know.”

Isack chuckled softly. “So you do have secrets.”

She glanced at him sideways. “More than you’d guess.”

“Good.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Hold on.”

And then, like two shadows slipping from their chains, they swung down onto the flat rooftops of the old city, his dog jumping up at the sight of them with a soft whine of excitement. The stones beneath their feet were warm from the day’s heat, glowing faintly under the moon. The air smelled of spice and dust and distant sea wind.

They ran.

Across roof tiles and crumbling plaster, over narrow alleyways and sleeping courtyards. The city stretched wide beneath the sky, full of twisting streets and secrets. She laughed, sudden, wild, unguarded, the sound breaking free from her chest like a bird uncaged.

It startled her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. Like a girl, not a daughter of kings.

Isack grinned at her, breathless, pulling her forward. “Raki mzyana…” You’re beautiful His voice was low, teasing, but something in it was true and soft.

She ignored the heat in her cheeks and ran faster.

They went down twisting iron staircases into a courtyard where a fountain murmured in the dark. Past shuttered shops and quiet mosques, their tall silhouettes cutting sharp lines against the stars. The old souk lay deserted at this hour, only the scent of cinnamon and leather lingering in the air, and they wove through its maze, her slippers scattering sand and dust behind them.

They paused near a quiet square, where an old fig tree grew beside a shuttered bakery. Isack caught her hand, pulling her into the shadow of the branches.

“Look,” he whispered, nodding upwards.

There, the sky above the rooftops opened wide, and the stars poured down like light on water. The moon hung low and close, so bright it painted silver across his face, across the soft dark curls of his hair.

She leaned against the tree, breathless. Smiling.

“I haven’t seen the city like this since I was a child,” she murmured. “I’d almost forgotten what it smelled like. The dust, the baking bread, the night air...”

“Machi nshan, l’amira,” It’s not forgotten, princess he said softly.

He crouched by the base of the tree, resting a hand on the warm stone. “It’s in you still. The city. Like breath. Like blood.”

His dog sniffed the cobblestones, tail wagging slowly.

She crouched beside him, tucking her silk robe beneath her knees. “And this is your life. Dust and stone and sky.”

“And tea,” he grinned, pulling a tiny wrapped sweet from his pocket. “Never forget tea.” He unwrapped it, split the piece and offered her half. “You eat like the street folk tonight.”

She laughed softly, taking the sweet from his hand, their fingers brushing. “I think I prefer it.”

For a while they sat like that, sharing the sweet, listening to the quiet city breathe.

Then he stood, holding out a hand again. “Come. There’s more to see before the sun comes.”

And she went.

He led her down the back alleys where old women hung strings of chillies to dry; past the little mosque where boys gathered before dawn; over the market square where, tomorrow, the traders would shout for customers. She touched the walls, the stalls, the rough stones worn smooth by centuries of feet. She smelled mint and old wood, old iron and salt from the far-off sea.

When they reached the sea wall, they sat, side by side, legs swinging high above the water. Below them, the waves lapped gently against the old harbour.

“Tell me,” she said softly. “Tell me why you live like this. So free. So careless.”

He smiled faintly, gazing at the dark water.

“Because no one expects anything from me, l’amira. No crown. No bloodline. I wake. I eat. I live. That’s enough.”

She watched his profile in the moonlight, the ease in his shoulders, the quiet certainty in his voice.

“I don’t know what that feels like,” she whispered.

He turned to her, gently.

“Maybe tonight you do.”

For a while they sat in silence, and it was enough.

When the sky began to pale towards dawn, he stood and dusted off his hands.

“Come. One more place.”

He took her up a steep stairway to the rooftops again, to a flat-topped house where the whole city spread beneath them, rooftops and minarets, domes and arches, all touched with silver light.

She turned slowly, breath caught in her throat.

“I’ve never seen it like this.”

“It’s yours,” he murmured beside her. “All this. Yours to hold or let go.”

She looked at him, at the dog sitting quietly at his side, and something old and tight in her chest eased.

“I don’t want to go back.”

He smiled sadly. “But you will.”

She touched his arm gently. “For now let’s stay until the sun rises.”

And they did.

Until the first light touched the city’s edges, soft and golden, and the distant call to Fajr prayer rose into the waking sky.

For one night, she had lived.

For one night, she had been free.

The first light of dawn crept over the sleeping city, turning the edges of the old stone buildings to gentle gold. The minarets stood like watchful sentinels against the softening sky, and far in the distance, the call to Fajr rose, a quiet, melodic thread carried on the morning breeze.

She stood atop the rooftop, her silk robe stirring gently against her ankles, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders. The night’s freedom clung to her skin like perfume, warm and giddy. A soft yawn escaped her lips, unwilling, but honest, and when she rubbed her eyes like a child, Isack laughed quietly beside her.

“Let’s get you home, l’amira,” he murmured, gentle and amused, the corners of his mouth lifting.

She turned her gaze to him, eyes still bright with the thrill of the night. “No,” she said softly, firmly. “Not home. Just the palace. These streets...” She let her gaze sweep across the waking rooftops, the winding alleys below, the scent of baked earth and mint and dawn filling her senses. “These streets are home.”

He looked at her, properly looked, as if seeing something new unfold, and smiled. A real smile. Quiet. Fond. As if he understood without needing any more words.

Together they made their way back to the high wall separating her world from his, the wall that divided gold from dust, silk from leather, crown from calloused hand. His dog padded silently behind them, yawning as it trotted.

At the wall, he crouched first, bracing his hands, offering her a boost.

“Up you go, l’amira,” he whispered with mock ceremony.

She grinned and took the step, his strong hands steady at her waist as he lifted her. Her slippers found the old stones with ease, and she pulled herself over, turning back just as she perched atop the crumbling edge.

Isack swung up lightly beside her, half his body leaning over the top, one leg still hooked to the city’s side.

He rested his forearms on the cold stone, his face close to hers in the pale light of dawn. His voice dropped low, gentle as the breeze that stirred her loose hair.

“You know where to find me,” he said softly. “Just call my name, l’amira, and I’ll hear you. It’ll carry through the winds and I’ll come for you.”

Her heart gave a quiet, aching twist.

She reached out, without fear, without hesitation, and brushed the dark curls back from his forehead. Her fingertips lingered a moment longer than they should.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “My Isack.”

And then, daring, bold, the way she had not been for all her carefully caged years, she leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his cheek.

A kiss, warm and fleeting, left just beneath the edge of his eye.

For a heartbeat, he stilled, surprise flickering in his golden-brown gaze, before the familiar, crooked smile curved his mouth once more.

“Tsbah bel khir, l’amira,” Sleep well, princess he murmured. 

She smiled back, heart thudding against her ribs.

And then she dropped silently to the palace side of the wall, back into the world of marble and duty, secrets and silk.

Isack stayed a moment longer, watching, his dog seated patiently at his feet, and then, like a breath on the wind, he was gone.

But her heart stayed wild in her chest, like the streets. Like him.

For the first time in her life, the palace felt far less like home.

Since that night, the months slipped by like sand through his fingers.

First April, when the city blossomed with the scent of oranges and the sea air grew soft and warm. Then May, hot and golden, when the sun lingered late into the evening and the alley cats grew lazy in the shade. June followed, dry and sharp, with the dust rising in thin curls from the streets. And now July was beginning to creep in, slow and heavy with its heat, the sky pale and cloudless as far as the eye could see.

And she had not called his name. Not once.

Hadja had warned him, wagging a crooked finger in his face as she stirred her pot of lentils. “Ma tderhach, waldi. Don’t go waiting for her. Girls like that, palace girls, they fly high and they never look down.” Don’t do this my boy

But his heart, that foolish, disobedient thing, still yearned.

Every evening he’d find himself drifting along the edge of the palace wall, pretending he was walking the dog, pretending he wasn’t hoping to hear her voice on the wind. But nothing came. Only the distant murmurs of the guards. Only the scent of jasmine and stone.

When the morning rose he wandered to Sidi Ahmed’s little shop near the mosque, the dog padding along beside him, tongue lolling. The old man sat outside, grumbling over a chipped tea glass, puffing on his thin roll of tobacco as he squinted at the quiet street.

“Sbah el kheir, Sidi,” Good morning Sidi Isack greeted, swinging down onto the low wall beside him. 

“Sbah en-nour,” the old man grunted back, eyeing him sideways. “Mafi shghal? You’ve time to waste this morning?” No work today?

“Waiting on wood delivery for you,” Isack shrugged, scratching the dog behind the ears. “And tea. You promised tea, old man.”

Sidi grunted and waved a hand. “Go make it yourself, I’m too angry for tea.”

Isack smirked. “What now? Someone insult your prices again?”

“La, worse,” Sidi huffed, dragging deeply on his cigarette. “The streets are closing for two days. Two whole days. For that cursed royal wedding.” He spat into the dust. “Two days no trade, no customers, no deliveries, no work. All because of that stupid fuss.”

Isack frowned, stirring the tea leaves lazily in the pot. “Wedding? Which wedding?”

Sidi gave him a look of disbelief, squinting one eye. “Yal himar” You donkey “You live under the sky and you know nothing, boy? The princess. The l’amira. She’s to marry that fool from Tizi Ouzou. Some prince’s son. Their tents are already pitched outside the palace walls. The wedding’s at the week’s end.”

Isack’s hand stilled on the teapot.

“Shkun...” His throat tightened. “Shkun bnat l’malik?” Which princess?

Sidi snorted. “As if there are many. The king’s only daughter, of course. The pretty one with the Berber cheekbones, the one who never smiles. But she will soon, I suppose. Once she’s properly wed, hm?”

Isack felt the breath leave his chest as if someone had punched him. The dog whined softly at his feet, sensing the sudden change in him.

“She never said...” he murmured under his breath, staring blankly at the steam curling from the teapot. “She never said anything.”

Sidi leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “Wach bik? What’s this face, boy? You look like you’ve swallowed a bad date.” What’s wrong with you?

“Nothing,” Isack said quickly, shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”

But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Two days the streets would close. Two days of silk and gold and music. Two days and she would belong to another man, some polished stranger from the mountains who smelled of mint and power, who had never run the streets with dust in his hair or tea stolen in the market, who had never touched the old fig tree under the stars.

His hand drifted to the string around his neck, fingers brushing the hidden bracelets tied close to his skin. Cold now. Silent.

Hadja’s words whispered in the back of his mind.

“Palace girls never look down, waldi...”

But she had looked down once. And smiled. And kissed his cheek.

And now she was to be caged again, gilded and perfumed, behind marble walls.

“La tkoon hmaq,” Sidi muttered, grumbling as he refilled his glass. “Don’t be stupid, boy. This is their world. Not ours.”

But Isack said nothing.

He only sat in silence, the tea cooling between his hands, staring at the city that no longer felt like home.

She was to be wed.

To another man.

In three days.

And then she would vanish behind those marble walls forever, a shadow behind silken curtains, a memory pressed flat like petals between the pages of an old book.

Unless...

He set the glass down with a quiet clink.

There was no time to waste.

That night he paced the narrow cove above Hadja’s house, the bracelets heavy against his chest, as the old woman snored softly below. The dog lay awake by the door, tail thumping once when Isack knelt beside him.

“N’har el Khmis,”  Thursday Isack whispered, running a hand through the thick fur. “You and me, boy. One last foolish thing.”

He sketched the plan in his mind as clearly as a carpenter laying out his wood. Simple. Sharp. No room for mistakes.

Early in the morning on the wedding day, the streets lay quiet, stripped of their usual noise. Banners of white and crimson fluttered from the palace walls. The gates stood heavy and closed, but not for him.

He slipped along the shadowed alleys, the dog at his heel. When they reached the outer court, he knelt low, cupping the hound’s face in his hands.

“Sma’ni, a sahbi.” Listen to me, my friend

He tugged gently at the dog’s ear. “Run to the court. Bark. Chase. Bite the silk if you must. Make every guard chase you. And don’t stop until you hear my whistle.”

The dog wagged its tail, tongue lolling, clever dark eyes bright.

“Go.”

He bounded away, streaking through the open side gate just as the servants brought out wedding garlands. With a sudden wild barking and a flurry of paws, chaos broke like a summer storm. Men shouted, cloth ripped, baskets fell; the dog danced circles round them all, scattering petals and kicking over vases.

And while the front court swarmed in shouting confusion, Isack slipped silent as breath to the side wall.

He pulled himself up, grunting softly, legs swinging over the stone as he dropped to the inner courtyard where the date palms whispered. His heart thudded loud in his ears, not with fear. With something far more dangerous.

Hope.

Up the servant stairs, fast and quiet, barefoot. Past the scent of rose oil and incense. He knew the way; he’d listened to Hadja’s stories of the palace, of secret paths and quiet doors. Now they led him straight to her chambers.

He heard her voice from within, soft, distracted.

“You aren’t allowed to see me until after the wedding,” she called, assuming it was her betrothed, come foolishly to break the old tradition.

A grin touched Isack’s mouth as he leaned on the doorframe, careless and sure.

“Well, l’amira, lucky for you, I never cared much for rules.”

The room fell silent.

The curtain stirred, and she stepped out.

And for the first time in his life, Isack forgot every clever word he had ever known.

She stood there in her wedding kaftan, ivory silk, embroidered with gold threads that caught the light like dawn’s first glow. Her hair was plaited with fine jewels, little silver charms from the old mountains woven between the strands. Kohl lined her eyes, making them deep and dark and filled with too many feelings at once.

“Isack...?” Her voice was a whisper, barely breathing.

He swallowed hard, staring, utterly and beautifully lost.

“Ya lahbibti,” he managed, a soft smile curling at the edge of his lips. “You’re something the poets forgot to write about.”

Her gaze flickered to the door, to the chaos far below, then back to him, wild and bright, like the girl who had run laughing through the streets with him under the stars.

And in that quiet moment, caught between the palace and the world beyond, the air hummed with something ancient and fierce.

A promise.

A choice.

A beginning.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The soft scent of jasmine oil hung heavy in the air, mingling with the crisp tang of fresh silk. Somewhere below, the shouting and chaos of the courtyard still stirred, muffled by distance, but here, in this quiet chamber high above the world, time itself seemed to have stopped.

Isack swallowed, his gaze steady on her, his chest tight with something raw and reckless.

“Come with me,” he said softly. His voice was not a command, nor a plea, but something gentle, a thread stretched between hope and fear.

Her hand gripped the carved edge of the dressing table; her knuckles pale against the dark wood.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, eyes dark and steady. “Can’t or won’t?”

She said nothing.

The silence between them grew thick, not of anger or doubt, but fear. Old fear. Palace fear. The kind spun into your bones from birth, as heavy and clinging as the scent of burning myrrh in the halls.

Isack smiled sadly, tilting his head as if listening to the wind through the date palms.

“It’s fear, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “Not the walls, not your father, not even this ridiculous silk cage they’ve put you in. Just fear. Like a thread round your throat. It’s the oldest prison of all, l’amira.” His voice dropped low, rough as dusk on old stone. “Fear of wanting more than they told you you deserved. Of flying too far from the cage door. Of hearing your own name echo back from the wind and realising you were always meant for the sky.”

She closed her eyes, a shiver racing down her spine.

He stepped close enough to reach her wrist where it rested by her side, the silk of her kaftan soft beneath his fingers. Gently, reverently, he touched the thin golden bracelet there, the one she always wore, with its old engraving worn soft by time.

His thumb brushed across the script, his mouth quietly shaping the words in Arabic:

"Ul-iwazzan ur ttur, ul-iwazzan ur ikkes; ul-iwazzan ur ifus, zriɣ deg ul-iwazzan." The heart that is given is never lost; the hand that offers is never empty; the soul that dares is never broken.

Berber words. Mountain words. Old as the wind.

He smiled faintly.

“Your mother’s?” he asked softly.

She gave the smallest nod, her throat tight.

He traced the bracelet once more, his fingers lingering on the warmth of her skin. Then he raised his gaze to hers, dark eyes bright with something fierce and unspoken.

“Give me a chance,” he murmured. “I’ve nothing but a cove above Hadja’s roof and a dog that’s tearing up the palace court as we speak but if you’ll have me—” he breathed, the smile touching the edge of his mouth, soft and sure, “—I’ll make every breath of this life worth it. Every step. Every dawn. Until you forget what fear ever tasted like.”

The silence quivered between them.

And for the first time in her life, she wondered what it would feel like to be free.

To fly.

To fall.

And never break.

She stood frozen. A breath caught at the edge of her lips, the weight of centuries resting on her shoulders.

For a heartbeat Isack feared she would say no, that the palace would win, that the fear woven into the very stones of this place would tighten its grip and pull her back to the life she hated. Her eyes dropped to the floor; her hand trembled faintly against the silk folds of her wedding kaftan.

Then, a sound.

Her father’s voice, low and steady, carried down the corridor with the heavy certainty of all things expected.

“Binti” My daughter “It’s time. Come. We must go to the mosque.”

The words hung like iron in the air.

Her gaze flickered to the door, to the weight of her father’s voice, and then back to Isack, standing there in his worn shirt, dust on his skin, light in his eyes.

She lifted her chin, something fierce sparking in the dark pools of her eyes. Her fingers reached for the bracelet he had touched, her mother’s words warm against her wrist.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice suddenly clear and strong, like water breaking stone. “Take me from here. Take me to the mosque, but only if you promise one thing, ya Isack.”

He stilled, breath caught.

“Promise me that you will wed me yourself. With no lords, no gold, no court. No lies. In the mosque, in the sight of Allah, with nothing but the truth between us. And let me be free of this life. Forever.”

His heart clenched. He reached out, gently cupping her face as he smiled, a slow, soft smile that held the sky itself.

“I swear on my life,” he said. “On my breath, on my dog, on the roof that shelters me and the streets that made me, I swear, l’amira. I’ll take you to the mosque with my own hand and you will be free. No walls. No cages. No fear.”

For the first time, she smiled, real and unguarded, bright as the morning sun cracking over the sea.

“Then let’s go.”

Without another word, he took her hand rough against the silk, and led her to the window. Below, the court was still in chaos, guards chasing the barking hound who darted between their legs like a spirit from the stories.

With a quiet laugh, Isack helped her swing over the terrace ledge, steadying her as her golden slippers met the stone. She glanced once over her shoulder, at the life she’d lived, the father who called for her, the walls that had held her since birth.

And then she leapt.

Into the dawn.

Into the world.

Into freedom.

Isack grinned, pulling her close as they dashed for the stairs, the wind rushing warm and alive against their faces.

“Come, l’amira,” he breathed as they ran, hearts pounding like drums. “Let’s get you wed, properly.”

And hand in hand, they fled into the waking streets of Algiers, where the call to prayer rose soft and silver into the sky, and the city opened before them, endless and wild as the sea.

They ran through the streets like the children she’d once watched with longing eyes, but now she was part of that world, part of the dawn, part of life.

Her slippers barely touched the cobbles, her golden bangles chiming softly with each hurried step, her silken wedding kaftan billowing like a cloud behind her. Jewels still clung to her neck and wrists, shimmering under the dim light of the waking city. Beside her, Isack ran barefoot in his worn scraps and dust-stained linen, his laughter breathless, his grin as bright as the sun rising behind them.

And together, like foolish lovers from some old street tale, they dashed towards the mosque.

The great white walls rose before them, calm and still against the blue-tinged sky, the call to prayer fading softly into the air. The old wooden doors stood half open, light from within spilling golden onto the stone.

Isack pushed through first, his dog waiting outside, tail wagging fiercely at the steps.

Inside, the familiar scent of oud and old prayer rugs filled the air. And there, bending to arrange the worn books of scripture, stood the imam, a stout man with a silver beard and thick brows, muttering to himself as he worked.

“Ya khoya!” Brother Isack called, grinning as he hurried forward. “Remember when I caught your runaway rooster last winter and you promised me a favour?”

The imam straightened slowly, squinting at him.

“Ya waldi, I’ve no dinar to pay you for that rooster,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I told you already, that bird brought me nothing but bad luck.”

Isack only laughed, glancing at her, breathless, radiant in her silks and gold.

“I’m not here for money, imam Saïdi,” he said softly, the grin fading into something almost shy, almost sacred. “I’ve come for my payment. Please, wed me to the woman who holds my heart. Now. Quickly. We’re in a rush.”

The imam stared, from Isack’s rough clothes to her shining wedding jewels, then back again.

“Are you sure, boy?” the old man asked, voice low with the weight of tradition. “This is no small thing, not a game to win and laugh over. Marriage is binding before Allah, here, and in the next life.”

Isack turned to her, his hand reaching for hers, fingers twining tight. She met his gaze, her heart thudding hard and wild.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice steady. “We are sure.”

The imam sighed, but the faintest smile curved his lips beneath his beard.

“Very well, waladi. Come here. Both of you.”

And so, beneath the carved wooden beams of the mosque, before the worn prayer rugs and the quiet dawn, the old man began the nikah.

Isack spoke first, his voice clear: his ijab, his offer to take her as his wife. Her heart jumped as she gave her quiet qabul, accepting him, her breath soft and warm in the hushed air.

Witnessed by Allah. No gold. No courts. No walls.

Only truth.

Only choice.

Only freedom.

The imam prayed over them, his hands lifted gently, invoking peace, blessing, mercy. The words of the Qur’an wrapped around them like light, weaving them into something whole and sacred.

“Baraka Allahu lakuma,” May Allah bless you both he said softly at last. 

But before the final words could fall, the heavy crash of iron-shod boots broke the quiet, and the wide doors of the mosque burst open.

Palace guards.

Dozens of them.

Their dark leather armour gleamed, swords glinting under the oil lamps. The captain stepped forward, gaze sharp and cruel.

“There they are!” he barked. “Seize them, by order of the Sultan himself!”

The peace of the mosque shattered, but Isack only smiled, fingers tightening around his new wife’s hand.

“Ya Allah...” the imam muttered, clutching his beads.

Steel-clad hands grabbed Isack roughly by the arms, wrenching him backwards with such force his shoulder jarred painfully. The dog growled low and deep from outside but dared not move as three more guards kept their blades close.

At the far end of the prayer hall, she stood, now alone, radiant in her wedding silk, defiant as the sunrise behind her. Her dark eyes flashed as the heavy tread of boots approached.

The Sultan himself entered the mosque, flanked by advisors and more guards, the weight of his presence sinking into the air like stone into water. His robe of deep emerald trailed behind him.

He halted in the centre of the prayer hall, eyes flicking from the bound street boy to his daughter, who was supposed to be waiting at the palace gates for her grand procession.

His face darkened.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice cut sharp through the silence, hard as steel drawn from its sheath. “What foolishness is this? Binti, explain yourself. Now.”

She lifted her chin, her heart pounding against her ribs. “I have nothing to explain to you, Father,” she said, her voice low, steady. “I have done what you never let me do, I chose.”

His gaze narrowed, dark with warning. “Chose?” he spat. “Chose what? This—” he flung a hand towards the struggling Isack, “this gutter rat? This thief from the streets? You throw away a kingdom for him?”

He strode towards her, his robe whispering against the tiles. His hand shot out, catching her chin hard, lifting her face so her eyes were forced to meet his.

“You shame me,” he hissed. “You shame your mother’s name. Your country. What have you done?”

Before she could speak, Isack's voice cracked the air, hoarse but fierce, his whole body straining against the guards’ grip.

“Don’t touch my wife!”

The words hung like thunder in the mosque.

The Sultan froze.

So did every guard.

Even the imam, who stood quietly by the prayer books, bowed his head and folded his hands before him.

“She speaks the truth, sidi,” the old imam said softly, his voice carrying clear and unafraid through the vast chamber. “By Allah’s law and witness, they are wed. Just now. With her qabul and his ijab. With me as their witness. The nikah is done.”

The Sultan’s hand dropped slowly from her face.

His breath hissed between his teeth as he stared at his daughter, who stood unflinching, her chin high, her eyes clear and bright.

“You married him,” he said, voice low with disbelief. “You married this... street boy. Without my blessing. Without the court. Without—” His hand trembled. “You dare defy me, your father, the Sultan?”

“I dared, Father,” she said softly, “because you left me no choice. You caged me all my life. This is my freedom. My will. My faith.” Her voice hardened. “And he is my husband.”

Silence fell like a heavy cloth over the mosque, save for the dog’s soft, warning growl and the faint creak of armour.

The Sultan stared at them, the gilded princess and the dusty street boy, joined in defiance and faith.

His jaw tightened.

And the air held still, waiting for his judgement.

The Sultan’s face darkened, rage twisting the lines of his mouth as the weight of his shame settled upon him. In front of his men. In the house of God. His pride, his own blood, choosing a street rat over the throne.

His hand shot out.

A sharp crack split the air as his palm struck her cheek, sending her head whipping to the side.

A breathless hush swept the mosque.

Isack roared.

With a violent wrench, he tore free from the guards' grip, their surprise too slow, their hands grasping at empty air as the boy, lean and lithe from a lifetime of running and scrapping, lunged across the space between them.

He grabbed the Sultan by the front of his robes, strong, hands knotting into the silken lapels and hauled him forward until their faces were but inches apart. His chest heaved; his golden-brown eyes burned bright as fire.

“The only thing holding me back from sending you to your death for laying a hand on my wife,” he growled, voice low and shaking with fury, “is that we stand in the house of Allah. But God is my witness, Sultan, if I see you again, and you dare try one more thing against her, against us, you shan’t live to say the word ‘La’.” No

A gasp rippled through the guards.

Even the dog bared its teeth, hackles raised, a low rumble thrumming in its throat.

The Sultan’s eyes, wide with shock, stared into Isack’s face, the breath stolen from his chest. No man, no beggar, no prince had ever dared grip him so. His guards hovered, hesitating, unsure whether to drag Isack down and risk defiling the mosque further.

Isack shook him once, hard, before shoving him back, hard enough that the Sultan staggered on his feet, his robes twisting about him like wounded pride.

She gasped softly, her fingers brushing her stinging cheek, but her heart swelled with something wild and bright. Isack, this boy from the streets, stood tall before a king without fear.

The Imam stepped forward quietly, his old hands raised.

“Enough. Baraka min hadshi.” Enough of this

His voice cut the tension like a blade, heavy with the quiet authority of one who spoke for God.

“All of you, this is sacred ground. No more violence beneath Allah’s roof. Leave your wrath outside.”

Isack stood firm, breathing hard, the fire still in his eyes.

The Sultan straightened his robe, hand trembling slightly as he brushed the silk smooth, his gaze burning into the boy before him.

“You have shamed me,” the Sultan hissed. “Both of you. This is not over.”

Isack smiled, slow, dangerous, wolfish.

“No,” he murmured. “It’s only just begun.”

Her hand slipped into his, fingers tightening around his as the guards shifted uneasily, no man daring to break the Imam’s peace, no sword daring to fall where Allah’s name was spoken.

And in that quiet moment, beneath the great dome of the mosque and the morning light streaming in, they stood, husband and wife, defiant and unbroken.

And free.

The weight of the morning’s confrontation still clung to them as she and Isack made their way through the narrow, twisting streets, fingers intertwined. They arrived at Hadja’s humble home.

Hadja greeted them with a knowing smile, her eyes sharp beneath heavy brows that had witnessed decades of stories. “Ah, waldi,” she said softly, her voice thick with affection. “And l’amira, the princess with the heart of a rebel.” She welcomed them inside, where the scent of mint tea and spices wove through the air like a familiar song.

Once seated, tea poured and steam swirling upwards, they looked to her for guidance. Hadja’s gaze softened as she began, her voice falling into a quiet rhythm, the past and present folding together.

“Love,” she murmured, she smiled faintly, “is a wild flame. I was once foolishly in love, too.”

Her eyes drifted to a faraway place, as though seeing a younger version of herself beneath a fading lantern’s light.

“There was a boy from a far village, kan zwin, he was handsome, kind, but life had other plans. Tqadit I was deceived. I thought love alone would be enough, but it was not.”

“Knt bghit nhss b huriya I wanted to feel free. But freedom, l’amira, isn’t given; it’s taken. And love is the courage to take it.”

When she finished, silence settled, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

Hadja’s hand reached out, worn and steady, resting on Isack’s.

“My son Isack, listen carefully. Take passage from here to Ghazaouet. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

Isack’s brow furrowed, surprise flickering across his face.

Hadja turned to l’amira, eyes shimmering with a secret long kept.

“l’amira, your mother was from Ghazaouet. I took passage with her to Algiers long ago. She was brave, she’d be proud of you.”

Her breath caught, fingers tightening around Isack’s hand.

“My sister works in the palace, she was your mother’s maid. You were closer than you ever knew.”

A tear traced a line down Hadja’s cheek, touched by both sorrow and hope.

“You’ll find fertile land there, and people who will welcome you. Seek out the trader named Rashid, he will guide you.”

The room felt alive with possibility, the past and future intertwining in Hadja’s words.

Isack nodded, determination hardening in his gaze.

She felt a quiet hope bloom inside her, fragile but fierce.

Together, they would chase the horizon.

Together, they would find freedom.

That night, they found passage to Ghazaouet, with nothing but a dog, a cloth bundling their meagre belongings, and their hearts. The road was long and winding, carving through desert and coast, dust clinging to their clothes and salt from the sea staining their hair. But they carried no burden heavier than the lives they had shed behind them.

It took five days. Five days of quiet prayers, whispered plans, shared bread, and watching the dog run wild through the hills as though he had always known freedom. On the evening of the fifth day, with the sun resting low like a gold coin on the edge of the horizon, they arrived.

They found Rashid just as Hadja had said. A man with lines on his face from years of salt and sand, eyes that knew the weight of secrets, and a heart that softened the moment he saw her face.

“Bint Laila” he whispered, as if he were seeing a ghost. “Your mother would be at peace now.”

He led them to the land her mother had left behind, acres upon acres of olive trees and wild thyme, crowned by a single stone house, worn by time but strong, built upon a rise that overlooked the endless sea. It had a stah, a courtyard with faded tiles and jasmine climbing along the old walls. Her mother had kept it all untouched, in case she too bore a restless heart, as she once had.

They did not return to Algiers. The city forgot them, as all cities forget their rebels and dreamers.

Isack worked with Rashid, hands calloused by honest labour, skin browned by the coastal sun. He returned home each day to a house alive with laughter and the scent of mint and coriander. His wife was no longer a princess. She was something far freer, a woman of her own making. She walked barefoot in the morning dew, learned the names of herbs, stitched cushions for the stah, and left her hair uncovered to dance with the wind.

They lived slowly. They lived wholly. And in quiet moments beneath the olive trees, Isack would take her hand and kiss her wrist where the bangle once sat and say, “You, l’amira, are the only kingdom I’ll ever kneel for.”

Years passed like the tide, soft but certain. No one remembered the boy from the streets of Algiers who stole the heart of a princess. No one spoke of the princess at all. The crown she once wore died with her old name, and she never mourned it.

In the spring of their third year by the sea, they welcomed a son. Isack held him with trembling arms and named him Nur el-Din, the light of faith, for he came into their lives as proof that their love had been blessed.

Years later, a daughter followed, born beneath a full moon. She named her Amal Layali, the hope of nights, for she had once looked to the stars and prayed for freedom, and the stars had listened.

They raised their children on stories and soil, on faith and fire, and on the unshakable truth that love, when pure, needs no crown to be sacred.

And in time, no one remembered the palace or the boy who walked its shadows.

But on the cliffs of Ghazaouet, where jasmine grows wild and the sea sings to the shore, you can still find the house with the stah, where a dog once slept in the sun, and where two hearts, once lost, found their way home.

And if you listen closely to the wind, you might still hear her whisper his name.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine @rayaskoalaland @amyelevenn @obxstiles @jaxtellerverstappen

[hxney-lemcn]

Affection-Starved — The Chain x gn! reader

summary: poor reader isn't used to the casual affection the group offers, but their favorite Link finds himself indulging in giving them some extra love.

a/n: Wind's is obvi platonic, some of these got more out of hands than others...oops. Not 100% romantic but like...lowkey is who am I trying to fool LMAO

wc: 3.1k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Legend

As much as Legend liked to pretend he didn’t care, he was probably the one who knew the most about each member of the chain. He found himself watching the others, taking in each member’s small quirks. The way Twilight’s nose would twitch at a smell no one else could perceive, how Hyrule seemed entranced with shiny objects, how you always seem entranced with any form of affection. You were pretty good at hiding it, if not for the way your shoulders would tense or the way your lips twitched to keep your natural expression as Twilight ruffled your hair or Wars bumped your shoulders. 

It honestly ate at Legend. You clearly liked the affection, your smile becoming a bit warmer and your eyes hopeful. For someone who was trying to push others away (you especially since you were particularly dangerous), he was doing a terrible job. Once again, Legend found himself watching the others, most chatting happily or playing a game, Time was out patrolling the parameter, and you…you looked…sad. Did the others really not notice? Your eyes looked so crestfallen, even if your usual neutral expression rested on your face. You had isolated yourself from the others, that itch eating away at Legend. You had grown on him, a dangerous prospect to the hero of legend, but he’d be damned if he just let you mope alone. 

So, putting his sewing kit away, Legend found himself sitting beside you. His stiffness melted as seconds passed without a word, the fire crackling a few meters away. With a sigh, he finally gained the confidence to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He could feel your muscles tense under him, the way you hesitated in his hold. ‘Is this okay?’ he whispered so only you could hear, and the small nod you gave made him relax. Slowly you relaxed with him, putting more of your weight into his side. Legend could feel the stare of the others burn into you both, but he ignored them in favor of feeling your warmth surrounding him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Twilight

Twi was naturally more affectionate than he realized. Growing up and taking care of the village children, he didn’t notice when he ruffled someone's hair or pulled them into a side hug. That was until he found your startled expression, which you had quickly tried to fix. He tried to apologize, but you cut him off stating that you just weren’t used to…well affection in general. Poor boy's heart split in two at that. Now he had a new mission to accomplish. Getting you used to affection. Hugs, patting your back, holding your wrist, hip checking you…okay so some forms were more teasing than others, and he may have found himself smug everytime he managed to make you crack your cool facade, but he also enjoyed the soft smiles that inevitably spread across your lips.

Twi would be lying if he said he didn’t shower you with more affection than the others. He loved your reactions, the way you shied away, even better when you slowly started embracing it. The first time you had initiated affection had him smiling widely and blushing profusely. It wasn’t much. An uncertain, shy expression rested on your features, you were clearly nervous. Twi found himself anticipating what could possibly make you feel this way, his imagination getting the best of him. Your hand raised up as you patted his mousy hair gently. He felt his cheeks warm at how cute you were, a giant smile overtaking him. He had refrained from teasing you too much, not wanting to scare you off.

This man is so, so smug no matter what, feeling proud that you felt comfortable enough with him. It’s strange how you could make something he didn’t think twice about become something all he could think about. He didn’t mind though, he liked the way you managed to make his heart flutter with every little touch.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Sky

He didn’t really notice at first. In fact, he was dead asleep the first time he pulled you into his impromptu cuddle pile. When he awoke, your form snug into his side, he didn’t think much of it. Sure it was nice, you were warm and he felt sleep call for him once more, but it was normal to find himself wrapped around the other heroes, it was bound to happen with you. With a sleep smile, he found himself nuzzling back into your hair…until he felt how fast your heart was beating…how were you not dead? Sky unwillingly pulled away, you were in fact awake and it looked like you were in pain. Quickly, Sky scrambled back, sleepiness long forgotten in his worry of your comfort. 

You apologized, much to his confusion, shyly mumbling about how you didn’t mind, you just weren’t used to such affections. Shaking his head, he sent you a beaming smile, mentioning that if he or anyone else ever made you uncomfortable to let them know. Yet that didn’t seem to be the problem at all. In fact it seemed like you yearned for the intimate acts, always placing yourself beside Sky as he slowly nodded off. You had become his pillow more likely than not, and it almost seemed like you were anticipating it. The thought made his stomach fill with butterflies and a blush coat his cheeks. 

It was when your hand had found its way into his hair one night that he knew he was a goner. Your touches were gentle and hesitant, fingers softly carding through his hair making both his eyes droop and heart accelerate. His arms found purchase around your torso, head nuzzling into your shoulder. It had become very clear to everyone just who his favorite cuddling buddy was, and he’s not sure if he’d cuddle with anyone else ever again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hyrule

The boy wasn’t as confident as the others, finding himself in awe of their everything. That seemed to be something the two of you could relate to. The other heroes made everything look easy, from swinging a sword showing their care. Hyrule always wanted to join in when Warriors would hug your shoulders when you managed to improve your fighting technique, or when Wind would drag you around by your hand so effortlessly. Little did you know that Hyrule admired you as well, watching in awe as you managed to keep up with seasoned fighters despite being a civilian yourself. 

It wasn’t until you found yourself hurt that he finally managed to initiate any contact between you both. It was a small scrape, barely there on your palm and a small frown on your lips. Hyrule didn’t hesitate to heal the wound, finger tips glowing as your skin mended back together. Your eyes widened, cheeks warming at the feeling of his fingers barely touching your palm. You must’ve gotten too used to being with the others as your fingers twitched, intertwining your fingers. Hyrule felt his face burn as you whispered a small thanks, your smile was so warm and you were looking at him so softly…

You were internally going crazy. You had never initiated something like this before, it felt so intimate, but the way Rulie couldn’t meet your eyes but continued to hold your hand confirmed your hypothesis. He was just like you all those months ago when you first joined the rag tag group, and they had helped bring you out of your shell, so you would help Rulie break out of his. It was still hard for you to reach out first, but you made yourself try, starting out small until Hyrule found himself reaching for you first, meeting each other halfway. You never thought you’d be the one to help break someone out of their shell, but you didn’t mind if it meant you had a cute traveller glued to your side. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Time

Time himself was more closed off, with arms crossed and always slightly outside of the group. It was clear to anyone with eyes that even if he was an integral part of the group, he did not see himself fully a part of it. Time noticed that you seemed to feel the same way, watching longingly as the others rough-housed like you wanted to join, or how your face lit up when they’d mess up your hair (no matter how much you grumbled and pouted). Time found himself endeared by you, it was clear you were not used to such affections, but made every effort to act like it didn’t affect you as much as it did. He couldn’t help the mischievous part of him that would reach out for your hand or brush your hair away from your face, soaking up your flustered reactions. 

Time was much more subtle with his affections towards you than the others, which only seemed to make his actions all the more special. He wouldn’t admit that the way your stunning eyes searched for him made him feel more smug, or the way you’d walk by his side during your treks warmed him. You were just the sweetest thing, and he found himself having a sweet tooth more often than not. Oh, and when you had jumped one night, the sound of a twig breaking in the forest startled you, causing you to cling to his arm…he was basically putty. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of a monster as you pushed further into his side. Time decided not to tease you too much, as your world didn’t have monsters like theirs did, and he took his arm out of your hold only to wrap it around your waist. 

You tensed in his hold, this was the most affection Time had ever shown you, but when his hand found your hair, gently soothing you that it was mostly likely some sort of animal, you ended up melting in his hold. You could feel the others watching, snickers sounded just over the crackling of the fire, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at the moment, lost in the comfort that was known as Time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Four

Another one that isn’t super affectionate, more likely to smack someone’s head than hug them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. Four noticed that you seemed uncomfortable with touch. Maybe uncomfortable wasn’t the best word, more like tense. He also didn’t miss the way you would lean into it, trying to act nonchalant. It made him smile, you were sweet if not a bit awkward. When he found himself holding your hand while leading you through a dark cave, he couldn’t help the bright red blush that coated his cheeks, grateful that he was in front of you so you couldn’t see. Four may not be as affectionate as the others, but he didn’t react like this either. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about it. 

And when you started to slowly interact with him like the others, patting his shoulder, tugging on his sleeve or hell, even just sitting closer to him than normal, he felt like his heart was going to give out on him. Why were you so cute? Always so hesitant like you were afraid of making him upset, eyes watching him expectantly like you wanted him to hold you as well. Was that what you wanted? Goddesses the thought made his blood boil with how flustered he was. Oh and it was even worse when he woke up to the sound of chuckling snorts, opening his eyes and being met with your chest. He nearly screamed, jumping out of your hold and effectively waking you up. Damn Sky, who had his arm wrapped around the both of you before Four made his escape. 

After that you had stopped, taking his reaction as how uncomfortable you had been making him feel, which was not true whatsoever. And so, he found he had to rectify his mistake, trying his hardest to hold your hand without it becoming a death grip or burying his face in your neck every time you hugged. Yet it was worth it with the way your eyes lit up with every touch.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Wind

Wind, as much as he’d like to boast, did not have such a keen eye when it came to someone’s emotions. Not that he was oblivious, but with childlike glee, he found himself more entranced with the thrill of a fight or adventure more than anything. And, as children are known for, he did not have a sense of boundaries whatsoever. Never hesitating to grab your hand and drag you towards danger, or jumping on your back to get your attention. Of course, if you got hurt because of something he did he’d feel guilty, latching onto you until you managed to quell his fears. 

He huffed and puffed when the others told him to dial it back around you. Why would he do that? You deserved to be bothered as much as the rest of them! From poking your cheek when he’s bored to cackling when you did something embarrassing, he refused to treat you any differently than the others. The thought was just absurd! You had even shaken your head with a fond smile, muttering that you didn’t mind all that much, leaving the young hero to puff his chest and stick his tongue out at the others. ‘That’s right, losers, you heard them, I’m their favorite!’ Wind cheered. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ One of them murmured, but left it at that. 

The best moments were when he’d tuck into your lap, listening to you ramble about your own world and how different it was from theirs. It made him feel so warm and safe, you made him feel protected, even if you sucked at fighting. You were like an older sibling he never had, something he didn’t even know he wanted until you pulled him close to you protectively once as some rude adult tried swatting at him. He had never seen you so angry, nor heard you say such angry words towards anyone before. He was a giggly mess by the end, telling the others with an exaggerated story about the events that transpired earlier, leaning into your side with a hug. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Warriors

As much as the flirt liked to make everyone believe he was knowledgeable with love in any form it came in…he very much was not. In fact, it was kind of the opposite. Warriors found your shy reactions to be like those who only cared about his pretty face. He knew you weren’t like that, but something in his gut didn’t feel right, and so he found himself distancing himself from you physically…until he saw you have the same reaction to almost every single one of them. Your eyes darting away when Twi’s hand brushed against yours, how your shoulders tensed when Time patted them, or how you stood stock still when Wind hugged you. It wasn’t because you saw them all romantically…so why were you so shy when it came to even the smallest touch?

Wars got his answer one day while you both were in a small town. You had been walking down a semi busy street when someone brushes past you, causing you to squeeze as close to Warriors side, an uncomfortable look on your face. Due to his confused expression, you explained how you don’t like being touched by people you don’t know, mainly because you’re not used to being touched period. It was then when everything clicked in his head, and guilt for his first assumption slowly consumed him. Biting his lip, Wars threw an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to his side until your shopping was done. 

From then on Warriors found himself more affectionate around you. Everyone noticed the change, you included, but you refused to bring it up, not wanting him to stop. Not only had his actions become warmer towards you, but he found himself complimenting you more as well. Even he wasn’t fully sure where this was coming from. Relief that you weren’t another person swooning over his good looks, trying to make up for the guilt that had filled his gut, or perhaps maybe…just maybe he found himself enjoying the way you reciprocated his touches, something you didn’t do for many others, and the thought of being special to you made his heart flip.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Wild

With Wild’s attention being dragged from something or another, whether it be a crazy idea to what may test the best in a dish, he’s too unfocused to even realize you tense posture when he places a hand on your arm as he slides past or how you refuse to meet his eyes when he feeds you a small spoon of the food to taste test. That’s not to say he doesn’t notice at all, just that it takes him so long that you’re already comfortable with his unconscious touches. He has to bite his lip from grinning too much when you nuzzle into his touch unknowingly, or to stop himself from squeezing the daylights out of you when you hug him so firmly. 

Don’t get him started with the way you fret over him. Wild’s always getting himself in danger even when he’s not trying, and you’re always the first one to run over and check to make sure he’s okay. The way your hands hesitate for a split second before gently grabbing whatever you deem was most possible to be injured, how your touch is so gentle when you inspect his skin, or how your eyes melt from concern to fond frustration as you lightly scold him for scaring you. The way you care is so sweet, so scared, like you’re afraid he’ll push you away if you get too close, but Wild would never do such a thing. In fact, he finds himself meeting you halfway, grasping your hand firmly as to quell any insecurity or fear from your mind. 

The one time you not only find yourself hurt, but because of Wild’s reckless actions guilt consumes him entirely. He had not only put your safety at risk, but you had gotten seriously hurt, something Wild vowed to protect you from. He tried pulling away, feeling it would be better if you weren’t so close, but you had stopped him in his tracks when you held onto his wrist tightly, eyes silently pleading for him to stay. It was the first time he had ever seen you touch someone without even an ounce of worry, clearly desperate for some comfort, and Wild was at your side in an instant. How could he ever take that comfort away from you?

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Don't Mess With The Doctor's Wife 💘 | Carlisle Cullen Snippet

Twilight Masterlist Part 1

Characters & Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x female!vampire!reader (romantic), Bella Swan x Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen x reader (platonic)

Content warnings: fluff, light angst, suggestive themes right at the end | female reader (she/her) | wc: 1.4k

Premise: Just some good ole fluff of a married vampire couple of a few dumbass teen immortals.

Note: So many people loved 'The Doctor's Wife' and asked if I could continue it! not sure if I'll make it long imagines but I definitely plan on making small snippets like this that is good ole fluff of the golden couple of the Cullens dealing with their chaotic teenage immortal children. Enjoy and thank you so much for the positive reception on my work!

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

“Honey….,” Carlisle leaned against the door of their bedroom, treading carefully on water he knew better than to cross. But their whole family dynamic was at stake and as the patriarch--and coven leader--he needed to fix it. 

Without any bloodshed.

Her glare, however, spoke against his hopes for peace. “Don’t honey me, Carlisle Cullen.” Clothes flung everywhere, the room in utter disarray contrary to its usually unkempt nature. “He is being ridiculous and you know it.” Tossing a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps into the suitcase she gave him another look, “And yes, I know he can hear me.” Carlisle had opened his mouth, but closed it, his wife not having to the mind reader in the family to know what he was about to say. 

“You have every right to be upset. I’m not happy about the situation either, but we have to do what’s best for our family.”

Carlisle came over to where she was, beginning to pack his clothes into his own suitcase. Brushing away the stray hairs that fell from her hair scarf, Y/n’s eyes turned serious, “What happened was unfortunate--and it is a shame Bella got hurt. He’s been beating himself over it the entire weekend and I understand that, Carlisle. But what I don’t appreciate is him uprooting us and using you as the excuse.”

Following Bella’s birthday party gone wrong, Edward didn’t waste a second in making the executive decision to the family that they had to leave Forks. Saying they were a danger to Bella and to ensure her safety and no more harm comes to her as a result of his doing, they needed to remove themselves from the picture. And Edward’s genius move was to tell Bella it was because the staff at the hospital were starting to notice Carlisle’s lack of aging. 

“His concern is valid. We’ve been here four years now. It was bound to happen.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve heard people talk at the hospital?” She challenged.

“I don’t need to hear them say it aloud, Y/n,” he tells her with a knowing look. “Their stares are enough confirmation. I had one nurse ask me last week if I had a skincare routine.” His attempt at a joke doesn't work. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile, but he tries again. “Soon they’ll be asking what botox doctor I go to.”

Y/n knew Carlisle had a point. It always happened wherever they moved. They settled down, spent maybe five or six years until all the kids graduated from high school for the hundredth time, then did it all over again. If it wasn’t nosy hospital workers, it was teachers. If it wasn’t the bakery owner she frequented asking how she managed to look 27 after seven years, then it was the engineer she was collaborating with on a project. 

“It’s not fair,” she goes on, carefully folding her dress shirts, skirts, and pants. Not looking forward to having to pack up her art studio. All the supplies, artwork, and projects she was working on. “And I feel so awful for her,” her frown made his own appear, “You see the way she looks at him. It’s utter devotion, as though he was a sentient being sent from the heavens. And Edward,” her voice drops to a whisper, “he worships the ground she walks on. And this decision not only punishes her, it punishes him.”

The pair fall into a silence when the front door opens and slams shut. Edward’s lingering scent disapparating, causing Y/n to groan and place her head in her hands. The anger and not caring if her adoptive son heard her rant suddenly vanished. Replaced with shame. 

Carlisle sighs, setting down the pile of towels he folded to walk over to her. Gently grabbing her shoulders, he brings Y/n into a comforting embrace, letting his hands fall to her waist, allowing her to sink into his arms with a content hum. 

“Listen to me,” she closes her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze where she’ll find judgement. “I sound ridiculous--and I’m being unfair to him and his feelings on the matter.”

“You care for him dearly,” Carlisle strokes her hair, “he understands that. And I think deep down he knows you’re right, but won’t admit to it because he believes he’s doing the right thing for Bella.” Carlisle leans back to look into her eyes, “Remember, he was turned at a young age--and has never experienced this type of love before. He’s learning all this for the first time.”

“I know,” she mumbles, deflated but understanding. They stayed in their embrace for a few minutes before separating to continue packing up. Edward returned later that night with brighter eyes, indicating he had fed to which resolved some of the tension between the two when they finally sat down to have the conversion they’d been dreading. Him apologizing for uprooting the family suddenly, and for the harm he was to cause Bella. And Y/n apologizing for the words she spoke before he left. They hugged it out, neither able to stay mad at the other, and Edward helped her pack the art room throughout the remainder of the night. 

The time away from Forks was odd but somewhat comforting. Carlisle and Y/n decided to spend their time on the island they owned just off the coast of Brazil. Rosalie and Emmett traveled to New York, Alice and Jasper in Mississippi and Edward in Rio de Janeiro. They spoke on the phone frequently, sent letters and postcards, or emailed. Edward would spend a night or two on the island to hunt, Y/n painted canvas after canvas, and Carlisle worked on a medical textbook he was in the process of writing.

“You hear that?” She asked one night when they were cuddling on the couch. A random movie playing on the TV.

“What?”

“It’s quiet,” she whispered, a grin spreading on her lips. “No kids. No animals. No workers. Absolute silence.” Carlisle mirrored her smile. 

“You’re right. We haven’t had complete silence in ages.”

“More like eighty years--give or take,” she snorted. 

When the shit hit the fan in Italy, Y/n nearly killed Edward herself. Not just for the danger he put himself in but for the whole family. Alice and Rosalie also met her wrath--Rosalie for not explaining clearly to Edward the vision, and Alice for dragging Bella to Italy. 

Yeah, none of them wanted the smoke. 

The sight of the three siblings sitting on the couch with their heads down and twiddling their thumbs while Y/n paced in front of them while shouting a motherly tangent had Emmett straining to hold back his laughter. Carlisle didn’t dare intervene. 

Back in Forks the family settled back into their routines. Carlisle in the hospital and Y/n working on projects. The kids in school and planning for the summer. 

Then shit hit the fan again.

This time in the form of a newborn vampire army created by the red-headed lover of the tracker they disposed of the year prior. Victoria. And she was out for revenge against Edward and Bella. 

Y/n was not the fighting type, but that didn’t mean she did not know how to throw down. She could get her hands dirty if she desired. Emmett and Jasper taught her the ropes, Edward taught her how to anticipate opponents moves. 

“C’mon old man!” she dodged Carlisle’s attack, giggling as she pivoted to kick lightly at his chest. “Don’t be getting sleepy on me now. That’s not like you.” Carlisle smirked, catching her off guard by grabbing her waist and flipping her onto the ground.

“I’d watch who you call old, sweetheart,” he mocked right as Jasper yelled, “Never turn your back on your enemy!” 

Let’s just say…they did more than spar that night once the sun went down. 

[baronessvonglitter]

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader | wc: 2.8K

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[catiuskaa]

horny kitchen [not hell's this time].

SUMMARY: whenever you were home, he wasn’t. it wasn’t totally your fault if that had made you believe he was never home in the first place, but it sure had lead into an interesting meeting.

WC: 1.7k

CW: crack! felix and olivia as cupids (i love them), mentions of alcohol, mentions of the movie After: Ever Happy, slight Changlix showing up, drunken courage, nsfw! marking, dry humping.

REQUESTED! by annonie right here. i had fun, tysm, pookie!

[☆🔹🛋️🔹☆]

“Tell me you were kidding.”

You stared at Felix’s puzzled face, his hands on your shoulders, and Olivia passed her hands through her hair as she leaned against your room’s door, shutting it close.

“What— why would I lie?” You frowned, smiling in confussion. “I wasn’t kidding. We’ve just never really talked, and I only know one or two things about him.” You repeated, and watched as your friends both made the same exhasperated grin, and then shared a look that only them, brother and sister, were able to decipher.

“Your roomate, who’s basically famous in our college, who looks like— like that,” Olivia stated, stumbling on her words. “And you haven’t had a normal chat? Not even about the weather?”

You shrugged. “Not that I remember, no. He doesn’t look like he’s a fan of small talk.”

They had both stared at you with wide eyes when you opened the door and the figure of a tall man with short hair surprised you at the other side.

“Oh, right,” you had smiled, turning to introduce him to your friends. “He’s my roomate, Hyunjin. I texted you a while back to check if they could come over, remember?” You said softly at him, and he smiled, nodding.

“Right, yeah. Sorry that I can’t stay, I have someone waiting for me downstairs. It was nice to meet you.” He had greeted, as politely as he had smiled, and rushed to catch the elevator again.

And that had been it.

“God, he looks like a model.” Felix sighed as he took his jacket off, blinking slowly, as if trying to comprehend what he had seen. “He looks like he travels to Italy and France during fashion week. What the fuck, he looks like he knows when fashion week is.”

“He’s like a hundred times better than the last guy you dated,” Olivia chimed back, and you frowned at the mention of your ex. “Don’t look at me like that. Babe, tell me that at least you find him attractive.”

“Sure. He’s good looking.” Felix deadpanned at you, and you huffed. “Okay, fine! He’s really hot, yeah, I have eyes, you know?”

Olivia and Felix snickered, and you pouted, snickering too, grabbing a pillow from your bed and yeeting it at him.

“I didn’t come here to see you drool over Hyunjin, guys. It’s bad movie Sunday, and we have to watch After 4. I need this to finish soon.” You giggled cheekily.

“I’ll go get the shots!” Olivia smiled with enthusiasm as she went to grab three shot glasses and a bottle of cheap wine you kept.

“I thought we were gonna watch Twilight?” You saw Felix smile, taking his shoes of as he sat on the bed.

He rolled his eyes in amusment, faking pettiness while you turned on the computer and looked for the movie.

“Liv likes the saga, we can’t.” You chuckled. “Maybe she starts crying when Cedric Diggory starts pouring glitter over his face or something.”

“Have I heard disrespect against Robbert Pattinson?!” She yelled from the kitchen, and you two cackled loudly.

You settled your laptop on your desk and used your chair as a table to keep the glasses and wine on.

“Shot rules?” Olivia pondered, taking her shoes off and getting comfortable, much like Felix, who was stealing all the pillows and cushions and settling them behind his back.

“Seungmin said that a shot for every red flag was fine.” You shrugged.

“Seungmin watched After?” Olivia wondered in slight shock.

“Of course, he loves to complain about anything.” You mocked slyly. “But you guys aren’t driving back, right?”

Felix handled the movie blanket, hiding everything except his eyes and his nose under it.

“Bin has to drive this way to get home from the studio. He said he could take us.”

You smiled.

“Let’s get this over with,” Olivia chimed with a snicker.

[☆🔹🛋️🔹☆]

Tipsy could be an understatement. That, you had to admit. But only to yourself, because to your drunk mind, getting to that level of drunkness —just because of the walking red flag the love interest in the movie was— seemed a little lame on your side.

“‘m ok, livvie,” you smiled at Olivia and her skeptical look. “I won’t even drive.”

Changbin huffed in amusement, passing one of Felix’s arms over his shoulders as the very much freckled very much drunk man started pouting his lips.

“i wan’ kis, binn…” he blabbered messily.

“Why did we do a drinking game,” his sister mumbled, rubbing her eyes, clearly showing much more control on downing wine shots.

“Harvey burned his mom’s house! I mean, we clearly had to drink twice because of that.” Felix said in a hiccup, then clung back to Changbin.

You messily bid goodbye to the Lee brothers and the poor designated driver that carried Felix with Lix’s arm over his shoulder, closed the door and waddled back to your room.

The main issue movies like After had —aside from its preposterous attempt at trying to take itself seriously— was the copious amount of long and dull sex scenes.

Well. They seemed “dull” when you were sober.

But the thought of them brought naughty ideas to your just-a-bit-willy-nilly-tipsy body.

As if someone had been there staring at you, sitting in a dim-lit corner of your room, not bothering if it was late at night or if your door was wide open, your hands trailed down to the zip of your jeans, and you bit your lip, drunkily teasing yourself, lowering the fabric slowly down your hips, and letting it plop down on the floor with a soft thud.

The idea had been to take a step back and kick the clothing away, but you accidentally hit one of your bed’s legs, and cursed loudly, half because of the weirded out drunkness who had forgot that was there in the first place, but you shook it off, not actually in pain.

You shook your head, and continued with the frenzy, enticingly tickling your sides when reaching for your shirt and slowly took it off, letting it down next to your pants, as if leaving a happy trail that headed to your closet, one you opened and took an oversized shirt you usually wore to bed.

But sleeping with a bra on was not the smartest move. The clip started stining and the tag on its side started itching, so with a quick snap and a perky throw, you giggled, still a bit drunk, but starting to turn sober enough to start craving water.

You passed your oversized shirt over your head, turning to face your door when the long fabric covered your body.

Covered from a surprised and flustered pair of dark brown eyes, iris so dark that his pupils, blown out and enticing, almost devoured it whole.

“Hyun…jin?”

His hair was the messiest you had ever seen from him, dressed in his pj’s, some old blue squared-pattered pants that he got gifted a couple of Christmas ago. Solely the pants.

The waistband of his underwear, brand name staring at you like a deer in headlights. And even so, it wasn’t as intense as how that teasing little mole on his tummy.

Mmh. You wanted to kiss it.

“Ah… I uh…” he mumbled, messily so, enough for you to notice.

“Oh. Y’re drunk too.”

He smiled wryly, nodding.

It was a bit blank, how you two ended up in the kitchen. Your brain fuzzy, enjoying the alcohol that lingered in your system. Dazed, you feel two warm hands on your waist, and how they turn you around and sit you on the counter.

“Y’know?” Hyunjin smirks, and you notice you could almost taste the drinks he had taken from how close he was. “It’s s’weird how we never… uh… talk, mmh.”

Your breath hitches, his hands not leaving your waist, stroking and teasingly caressing underneath your shirt, that had ridden up from when you sat.

“Talk?” You mumble giddily.

“Yeah. It’s stupid. How can I live with someone so hot and barely say good morning?”

The way he states the sentence, as if it was something as factual and axiomatical as one plus one, baffles you almost as fast as the speed your cheeks turn red.

He snickers, watching you turn to putty in his hands. “I heard moans when I arrived.” The stupid movie. “For a moment, I thought it was you and it made me wild.”

Hyunjin leans his forehead against yours, his lips barely an inch away from temptation. You.

Cheekily, he moves even closer to the counter, until he’s slotted between your legs. He slides you over the counter, pressing you against him.

“Hyune…”

It’s a mumble, its slurred, and he drinks it up like he’s been thirsty for days. Neither of you are too sure of what’s happening, but it’s easy to say neither of you care enough about that now when his lips find yours.

Like he said, wild. You can’t be sure if it’s the moonlight that hits him from the kitchen’s window of the alcohol that gives him such freedom to kiss you in a way that, for a second, you feel like he’s going to eat you alive.

But he’s got it clear. He needs you, he’s been waiting for the moment you two would finally speak like human beings and stop behaving like robots who share comparments, barely addressing the other. He’s sick and tired of it, tired of waiting, and sick, because he’s been craving you for what seems like weeks, even months, and Hyunjin knows he can’t hold back any longer.

You’re both drunk, and maybe you shouldn’t, but how could he stop when you drop from the counter and his thigh fits perfectly between your legs? How could he stop, when he wants nothing but to tore your shirt to shreds and mark as much skin as he can see? How could he stop, when he’s been waiting for so long to let go?

“A-ah, Hyun…”

And he’s gone. One little whimper from you, and he knows that one thing’s for sure.

He’s not stopping until you come for him for the night.

Besides. There’s plenty other nights to keep having more fun.

[☆🔹🛋️🔹☆]

~kats, who in reality should be tiding up her room, but will most definetely keep reading the pjo pdf she found.

catiuskaa, september 2024

PERMANENT TAGLIST! @stayconnecteed @lyramundana

[yasministration]

All I ask of you - Remus Lupin

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Phantom of the Opera

summary: When you step foot into the Lupin Manor for the very first time as newly weds, Remus can't help but show his new wife just how grateful he is for her. wc: 2.7k+ cw: smut, brief exhibitionism but not really, flashbacks in italics

Remus knew you belonged to him from the moment you uttered the words “I’d marry him” to your older brother in a flurry of emotions, barely even glancing at Remus at all. But still, you were his if it meant getting the finest sliver of free will, your parents’ ultimatum echoing in your mind day by day.

“Do you really mean it?” Sirius asked, grasping Remus’s bicep tightly, eyes scouring his in search of any doubt, any lies. Your footsteps got quieter as you disappeared down the hall, returning to the party your parents had so proudly thrown you. “Of course I mean it, Sirius.” Remus said, his voice firm.

He’d do anything for Sirius — for the man who shared his blood, sweat and tears. For his brother. “I know it’s a lot,” Sirius scrambled to find an explanation, both hands smoothing down his curly hair, “Sirius it’s alright.” The taller boy reassured, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s all I ask of you. It’s all I’ll ever ask of you. I owe you for life.”

But now Remus believes he’s the one to owe Sirius, watching as you giggled softly, angelic in your white gown, the promises you had vowed each other now engraved in stone. Just a couple hours ago, you had stood at the altar, reciting your heart-felt words to an entire community of purebloods you didn’t care for, having eyes only for each other. Remus had cupped your cheeks softly when it was time to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours with a satisfied hum that carved itself into your memory forever.

Now, you struggled to fit the house key into place, hands shaky with excitement. Remus placed a soothing hand on your back, but it only seemed to arouse you more, huffing with mock annoyance. Finally, the key eased into place and the lock came undone with a soft click, unlocking the doors to the Lupin Manor for the very first time.

You didn’t have time to absorb the captivating beauty of the entrance hall of your house before Remus was pushing you against the door, his lips melding against yours again with inexplicable passion. For this being your wedding day, Remus had barely seen you, and he planned to spend all night making it up to you.

Remus watched with loving eyes as you forced Sirius to come dance with you, your two brothers making a third of the people you actually knew and loved at the reception. Regulus, now sat next to Remus, scoffed in amusement. “I can’t believe how this all came along.”

“Me neither.” Regulus glanced up at your husband, holding his glass of whiskey up to him with a smile. He was glad you married someone who actually made you happy, despite the short time frame you’d known him for. Better Remus than the man over a decade your senior.

Regulus almost didn’t believe it when you told him the story. Both of you were sat on your bed, the twilight glimmering against your tall windows, only having met Remus a few hours prior.

You had agreed to marry a stranger, he thought at first. But then he remembered that Sirius Black wasn’t only your brother, but your best friend, and a friend of Sirius was automatically a friend of yours.

Remus smiled against your lips when he pulled out a moan from you, fingers tight on the dip of your waist as he pulled you off the door’s smooth oak. “Should we go find our bedroom?” Your husband suggested, lips pulled into a smirk, and you nodded eagerly, watching him lock the double doors, tossing the key to the side. It clattered loudly on the ground, but you paid it no attention as Remus gripped your hand, tugging you along with him into the house.

The train of your gown flowed behind you as you rushed to keep up with your husband's pace, the unknown manor a maze to you. “The blueprints showed that it was…” Remus frowned as he opened another door, only to find a bathroom. “I thought our bedroom was upstairs.” Remus went silent at your words, face flushing with embarrassment before nodding, immediately guiding you in the other direction to find the large staircase.

“Hold on Rem!” You cried, unable to keep up with your tall heels. He huffed, stopping in front of the stairs before wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you up. You squeaked as he ran up the stairs, tackling them two at a time. But he didn’t put you down when he reached the top of the staircase, continuing straight down the hallway to find your bedroom. He made a noise of accomplishment as he opened a door, grinning widely as he recognised it to be your bedroom.

Connecting your feet to the ground, you didn’t give Remus a chance before you were pouncing on him, lips slamming against his. Remus groaned, hands immediately trailing up your back to find a way to undo your dress. He sighed in relief at the feeling of a zipper climbing up your spine, and eagerly, he pulled the slider down your back, exposing your skin to the air, thick with sexual tension.

You slid the dress off your body, leaving it on the floor in a pile of fabric whilst you climbed onto the bed, only wearing panties and heels. Spinning around to face Remus, you settled your back onto the bed’s headboard, grinning as he ripped the tie over his head, tripping as he fought the blazer off his shoulders whilst rushing over to you.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You told him, watching as he crawled over to you on the bed, kissing you once more. Hands settled onto Remus’s shoulders, trailing down his chest. “Easy.” You whispered, kissing him slowly. “Where’s the rush?”

“Need you so bad.” He muttered, biting down on your bottom lip and tugging it. You slowly unbuttoned Remus’s waistcoat, and he sat back on his heels, taking deep breaths as he let you strip him of his clothes. The waistcoat came off, and before you could begin undoing his shirt, he untucked it from his trousers, gripping its collar behind his head and pulling it off. Swallowing thickly, you admired the way his muscles rippled across his body at the effort, hands dropping to quickly unzip his slacks.

“Who’s in a rush now?” Remus teased, placing his hands on the headboard and caging you with his body as he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your neck. “Just take them off, baby.”

“Anything for you, Mrs. Lupin.” A shiver ran down your body, goosebumps standing on your skin at the name. You whined, back arching, and Remus made a guttural sound at your reaction, kicking the shoes off his feet before getting rid of his trousers. He was on you in an instant, shuffling down the bed and wrapping a big hand around your ankle to pull you down with him, back sliding off the headboard as your head landed on the fluffy pillows below you.

Remus climbed back on top of you, only briefly kissing your lips so he could set an assault of lips and teeth on the rest of your body. You moaned loudly as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, and he toyed with the other between his thumb and pointer finger, only wanting to increase the pleasure noises you made. It wasn’t like there was anyone to hear.

No, unlike back at the Black Manor, where your mother had nearly caught you in the act.

Remus had an arm wrapped around your shoulders as you both cuddled underneath the thick duvet, exchanging kisses whilst he touched you under the blankets. He was preparing you for the main event, his fingers slowly dragging through your walls, the rough pads of his fingers sending waves of pleasure through your body. You were breathing heavily into Remus’s kiss, tightly gripping onto the material of his shirt as his tongue glided across your parted lips.

He deepened the kiss just as you moaned, thighs clamping shut around his wrist as your orgasm approached. Remus pulled away from the kiss just enough for you to be able to speak against his lips, mumbling “Please, sweetheart.” He groaned at the nickname, pressing his lips against yours, just about to increase the pace of his hand on you when the door slammed open. You tore apart from the kiss, eyes going wide as they fell on your mother’s figure in the doorway.

Remus froze, fingers stilling inside you. Walburga stared at the two of you with a frown, crossing her arms over her chest. He had never had this experience as a teenager; being caught making out by his partner's parents. But somehow, he already knew this was so much worse. You swallowed thickly, painfully aware of the throbbing between your legs. “Mother. Can I help you?” You finally said. Walburga’s eyes trailed down to where Remus’s hand disappeared beneath the duvet, but she didn’t say anything. Remus prayed she just thought he was groping your ass.

“I was here to discuss dresses, but it seems you’re preoccupied.” Clearly, your mother expected you to invite her in, and shoo Remus outside, but you just stared back at her, face hot with humiliation. “It’s alright, we can discuss it later.” You told her, praying she wouldn’t hex you for your words.

You gasped as Remus’s mouth tore away from your breast with a lewd noise, kissing down your stomach as his fingers toyed with the lacy white fabric of your panties. He parted from you to watch himself peel the flimsy material off your body, mouth watering as the lace clung to your cunt.

“God, I’m gonna have to frame this.” Remus mumbled to himself, laying the undergarment next to him on the bed, completely ignoring your leaking centre as he moved his lips down your legs. Carefully taking your foot in his hand, he eased the elegant shoe off, tossing it on the floor before moving onto the next, causing you to giggle.

“Remus.” You said his name so lovingly, so gently, as though it would break. It had Remus instant glancing back at your face. You outstretched an arm, making a ‘come here’ motion with your hand. Remus crawled back up on the bed, letting you snake a hand into his hair and guide him into a kiss. Though the kiss was short, he was panting when he pulled away.

“My sweet, sweet boy.”

Remus dropped himself onto his forearms, lowering his body onto yours as he dug his face into the crook of your neck, hiding his face from you. Your breath hitched as you felt his erection on your stomach through the fabric of his boxers, the outline so prominent against your skin. “I love you.” He mumbled, voice muffled.

“Yeah? Show me how much you love me.”

It took everything for you not to giggle at the way Remus’s hips jerked up, but the man was instantly scrambling to straighten up, shoving his boxers down his hips, exposing the last bit of his body to you. You gulped thickly at the sight of him, more worked up than you’d ever seen him before. He was already coated with pre cum, his tip looking uncomfortably red.

Remus eased his hands underneath your thighs, pulling them up so your feet rested flat on the mattress. He eased himself onto you, a furrow in his brow as the tip of his cock caught onto your clit before sliding down to your entrance.

The room filled with sounds of immediate pleasure, and you could only think of how you were going spend the next month begging Remus to take you on every surface of the house. Remus sighed loudly, his breath shaky, pushing himself flat onto you when you dragged your nails down his back. He pulled his hips out, and you keened as his cock dragged across your pulsing walls. Then, with a forceful thrust, he filled you up to the brim, causing you to arch your back into him, clawing into him skin as you cried out.

“God, Remus!”

“Fuck, can’t say my name like that or I’ll cum.” He panted in your ear, repeating the movement. His chest was already growing wet with sweat, but it was nothing compared to the slick between your thighs, coating Remus’s pelvis and the sheets below you as he ground himself against you.

“Remus.” You repeated, softer now; breathlessly as he pushed himself back up on his hands, a smile gracing his lips as he watched you and the way your body moved in response to his movements. You brought both hands up to wrap around Remus’s wrists, head thrown to the side as you stared at your grip on him, trying to ground yourself.

Leaning closer, you pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Remus balanced himself on one hand as he continued thrusting into you, bringing his free hand up to softly cup your cheek, encouraging your face back upwards so you could look at him. “Want you to look at me when you cum.” Your mouth dropped open to form a circle at his words, struggling to keep your eyes open as per his request.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband.” You whispered, voice breaking as your eyes suddenly glazed with tears — a mix of pleasure and overwhelming joy. Remus made a primal sound in his throat, hips thrusting uncontrollably inside you as you muttered the words. He was panting when he regained control, his movements considerably more sluggish.

Lowering himself back to his forearms, Remus leaned onto one arm as he brought his second hand down to touch you. Collecting your slick on two fingers, he guided them to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it as he captured your lips with his into a desperate kiss.

“Say it again, please?” Your mind went blank, not knowing what Remus was talking about for a second. Your lips curled upwards, smiling despite yourself as you moaned loudly, hips jerking upwards to meet Remus’s touch before you repeated “You’re my husband,” Remus groaned, his eyes glued to your face as you breathlessly added “And - fuck - I’m your wife.”

Remus swore loudly, gasping as spurts of cum shot into you. His head dropped onto your shoulder as his movements slowed, fingers becoming more desperate on your clit. “Cum for me baby.” He begged, kissing down your chest until his teeth clamped down on your breast, around your nipple. You shrieked at the feeling, eyes shutting, but Remus’s hand was immediately pressing your cheeks together, encouraging you to open your eyes as you came.

You did, eyes flying open as your cunt squeezed his softening cock, muscles spasming as you orgasmed. “Fuck. Fuck, Remus.”

“Yeah, that’s a good girl.” You whimpered at the praise, feeling your thighs begin to shake as he finally pulled out of you, landing half on top of you as he rolled onto the bed next to you. You jokingly shoved him aside, legs unsteady as you turned over to crawl over your husband, pressing kisses all over his neck as you straddled him.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll get it back up.” You giggled at his words, shaking your head “That’s not what I was - Remus.” Remus huffed, accepting the kiss you pressed against his lips gratefully. “I’m just loving you.” You explained, curling your arms around his neck in a hug.

“Shit, well you can’t just love me like this and not expect me to get it up again.” And his words were true; he was already sporting a half-hard erection underneath you. “I mean, your tits are in my face. You’re - you’re literally sitting on me naked.”

“Fine. I guess I don’t mind going for another round.” You playfully rolled your eyes, reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking him gently. Remus gasped, hips bucking upwards. You began giggling, but Remus only raised his eyebrows at you, as though all his blood wasn’t rushing back to his cock in that instant.

“You’re not going to be laughing when I make you cum a hundred different ways tonight.”

“You have forever to do that Rem.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t make it happen by the time the sun comes up.”

Taglist: @rory-cakes, @stta-princess, @arielthee-potterhead, @lettertovera, @bininisiwi, @superlegend216, @abhootghiihii, @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes, @juliet-f017, @fl0weryannie, @tiaajosephin, @why-am-i-like-this18, @theoraekenslover, @animalcrossingshameless, @azure-drag0ness, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @girlontheblock

[kingtomura]

From Water to Wine

summary: It’s so obvious — so glaringly obvious and you can’t believe the realization hit you right here, right now as Tomura makes you come undone on his tongue in the warmth of the morning twilight.

You love him. 

You love him.

Fuck.

Cw: Tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless AU, established relationship, smut with plot, lots of plot, jealousy, insecurity, hurt/comfort, oral (f! receiving), make up sx, confessions, a ton of kissing, not sorry, toxic environments, piv, overstim, creampie, begging, bad parental figures, toxic parenting, mdni

wc: 9.4k | crossposted to ao3 | part 4 of the strict parents au (one, two, three)

If someone had asked you a year ago where you saw yourself right now, you would have given them a million different answers. 

None of them involved your current reality. 

You would have never thought you would be right here, right now — in your boyfriend’s shabby basement drinking with his friends while they smoked and argued about the latest game releases.

And they were an interesting set of friends. 

“Bullshit, what the hell do you even know about games?” Tomura spat, pointing a finger and splashing a bit of beer from the bottle he held in his hand. 

The one you’ve come to know as Dabi just smiles that same grin that makes Tomura’s eye twitch in irritation and shrugs his shoulders. “Hey, not my fault some of us prefer first person shooters.” 

The conversation between them carries on and you find your mind drifting away — way too focused on the way Tomura has his arm wrapped around you with his free hand pressed against your hip, pulling you closer and making your cheeks flush deeper than what the alcohol already has. 

You like when he gets this way — a little louder and a little looser with his words. It's all a precursor to what will happen tonight, when he’s a little rougher and presses into you so much deeper. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you find yourself lost in the thought, biting your lip and watching the way Tomura’s heavy lidded eyes narrow as he focuses on his argument with Dabi. 

You can’t help but stare when he gets like this, the gleam of fire in his eye when he argues, never backing down when he knows he’s right. 

It’s alluring.

The giddy feeling you have only grows and you know its because tonight Tomura will fuck you in a way he only does when his grin is a little too wide and his eyes are a little too low. 

You feel more emboldened and your words are looser when it’s like this. Eager to speak up in the argument, defending Tomura against Dabi’s quips and its fun. 

It’s different to be able to speak so freely around people who would never judge you like your old stuck up friends would have. They all came from good families who have high expectations. Anything outside of the normal would be mocked and expelled. 

You feel so free here. 

With Tomura — with all of them. 

“Whatever you say, freak.”

“I'm sure it takes one to know one.” You shoot back and the room breaks out in laughter, even Dabi holds up his hands in surrender. 

The smug grin you wore only widened as Tomura leaned in and kissed your temple, proud that you can hold your own against the biggest smartass in the room. 

Himiko stands from her place on the couch with Spinner, laugh dying down, but smile remaining on her face. “Wow, Tomura, I like her way better than your other girl.”

You feel your grin slide off of your face as fast as it had arrived.

Other girl?

Tomura has never mentioned another girl besides you. 

The concerning comment makes your mind race with endless possibilities, the cycle only being broken as Himiko announces her departure, unaware of the inner turmoil she’s just thrown upon you.

“Jin doesn't like when I stay out too late so I’ll see you all later!” Her voice is high and chipper as she bounces towards the door.

“Hey, tell your brother don’t forget what he owes me, crazy girl!” Dabi yells after her, Himiko only returning a small wave and exiting the room. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, only being broken as Spinner dies in his game of Mario Kart, too drunk to focus, but all the more determined to win. 

“Damn it!” His frustration breaks through as he stands to his feet, “I almost had it!”

Dabi nods, clearly unbothered by the outburst and walking over to him, “work on it next time. It's getting late and I'm tired.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Spinner asks a little too loud, his intoxicated state more obvious as the minutes went on.

Dabi only shrugs, throwing an arm around his shoulder and leading him to the door. “Can’t let you walk home like this and risk getting snatched up now can I, princess?” 

You vaguely register Spinner’s retort as Dabi throws a hand up in a wave and leaves as well, leaving only you and Tomura in the room. 

What would have been exciting has become a weight in your stomach, leaving a pit of dread as your mind raced with Himiko’s words. 

Some other girl. Someone before you. A girl who’s already met his friends, who has already been in your place. It brings a different kind of feeling to your mind that you’ve never really experienced. 

The only thing that grounds you is Tomura’s shuffling as he stands and kisses your forehead. 

It’s as if that one kiss dispelled the thoughts poisoning your mind and replaced them with the warm feeling you usually have when it comes to Tomura. The feeling that is only heightened by the strong sensation of alcohol. 

You unsteadily trail behind him as he laces his fingers in yours and leads you out of the room and towards his. 

The path is a familiar one and the giddy feeling returns as you race through the familiar corridors with him. 

His home feels like a maze and the alcohol makes everything feel so much more fun. Your giggles and hurried footsteps are the only thing echoing throughout the halls as you chase behind him, eager to reach his room and come undone under his familiar touch.

Tomura has a habit of surprising you, though. 

You blame the alcohol for your dulled senses as you don’t expect him to stop before his bedroom, turning to press you into the corridor wall. A small gasp leaves you at the impact and you don’t have time to react before Tomura is gripping your thighs, hiking you up against the wall and pressing you so much closer.

The whimper that escapes your lips would embarrass you any other day, but today you can’t bring yourself to care. It only spurs Tomura on as he presses forward, kissing you with a fever you hadn’t expected him to be withholding. The urgency of the kiss only shows you how much he may have been holding back during the get together. 

You let out a soft moan as Tomura bites your lower lip, only to soothe it with his slick tongue in the next moment. Your arms wrap around his neck as you tilt your head, desperately seeking more of him as this heated endeavor grows with every passing moment. 

His hands travel up your thighs and along your sides, gripping anything and everything he could, pressing his clothed erection closer to your core and giving you more needed friction as he grinds against you. 

The way his hands slip under your shirt and massage your breasts makes you gasp again and Tomura takes this opportunity to press kisses along the column of your neck, loving the way he can finally leave as many marks as he wants. 

You’re in his home — there were no rules against marks. There were no rules at all. 

You close your eyes, getting lost in the feeling as Tomura licks and kisses along your neck, burying your hand in his ashen locks and weakly rutting your hips against his, craving more of him in any way possible. 

“So needy,” he breathes against you and you have to bite back a whine at his low tone. 

Tomura has you right where he wants you and it’s obvious. The more you ached for it, the more he would drag it out to tease you. There was nothing you wanted more than for him to rip the shorts off of you and take you right here, but you know it’s not that easy. 

“T-Tomura…” you try to keep it together, show him that you can be coherent even with the fuzz of alcohol muddling your mind. 

He pinches a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, this time drawing a yelp that you just couldn’t contain. 

His low chuckle reverberates against your neck, sending shivers all the way to your spine as slick between your thighs is beginning to soak through the material of your panties. 

“So sensitive, baby… you’d think I've been denying you.”

But you can’t help it. You wish you could cry out to him that your body just reacts like that for him, but you didn’t trust anything to fall from your lips besides a moan, so instead you keep quiet and hope he would give in to you sooner rather than later. 

Tomura trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, and then ultimately back to your soft lips, enjoying the feel of them against his. You knew this was always his favorite part. 

It was soft, it was intimate, and it was yours. 

Yours…

Your brows furrow at an unwanted thought, but you press on — pulling Tomura closer and flicking your tongue against his lips, knowing he would pull closer and deepen the kiss. 

He does and you’re grateful. 

The way his tongue dominates your mouth makes you mewl into the kiss. A welcome distraction from your increasingly loud thoughts. 

Tomura groans, bringing a hand down lower and lower until he reaches your clothed cunt. His finger presses against the thin fabric of the shorts, testing the waters of your sensitivity and loving the reaction he received in return. 

His touch makes your breath hitch, the feeling alleviating a bit of pressure that's been building up deep within you. 

You need more of it.

He pulls away again, trailing those soft kisses along your jaw and down your neck once more. It’s something that would usually make your heart flutter, but right now your mind is beginning to trail off, again. 

It’s the idea of your boyfriend with some other girl that haunts you. Someone before you. Her hands on his, doing the things you’ve grown to love with the boy you—

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You don’t want to think right now. You just want to feel. You just want Tomura to take you and make you feel good so you can stop fucking thinking—

“Hey.” 

Tomura’s sharp tone snaps you from your spiraling thoughts, bringing you back to reality. 

“What’s going on?” His voice is rough, as it usually is, but he is not frustrated. The narrowed glare in his eyes would make anyone else believe he was irritated, but not you. 

You know Tomura’s expressions like the back of your hand. He’s worried.

“I..” you pause, words lost on your tongue. What could you say? Jealousy is an ugly trait to have. “What do you mean?”

Tomura doesn’t buy your feigned ignorance. 

He pulls away further to get a better look at you, his hands resting on your thighs, the soothing motion of them tenderly rubbing up and down the exposed area makes you want to relax under his touch. 

“Why are you distracted?”

Your eyes cut to the side and you turn your head, unable to meet his ruby red gaze. The fear of admitting something as petty as jealousy eats at you. 

“I’m not.” You mutter, the lie not fooling your own ears. You’d be naive to think it would work on the one who taught you how to lie in the first place. 

It's clear he could see right through you and your eyes close at the soft touch of his hand along your chin, turning your head back to face him.

His eyes soften when they finally meet yours — the action is so slight you almost miss it. 

“You’re upset.” It’s a statement of the obvious, but you still bring yourself to nod, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth and hoping you could bite it hard enough to taste the iron of blood. Anything to distract you from the white hot humiliation that this conversation will bring to you. “Why?”

You inhale, knowing Tomura is not the type to let it go. Knowing he would keep you here all night if he had to so that you would speak your mind. 

“Himiko…” you mutter, dropping your eyes once more as the threat of tears begin to form along your waterline. 

“Himiko?” The complete confusion in his voice makes you more upset, he probably didn’t even remember what she’d said. 

“What she said earlier,” your voice wavers at your words and your defeat is imminent. The tears have already broken their bounds and began to trail down your cheeks. Embarrassment be damned. “About your.. Your ex.”

You could practically see the cogs turn in his head as he recounted tonight's events — the alcohol no doubt impairing his reflexes. 

His expression only makes the pit of anxiety in your gut grow, tight, but clearly showing signs of unease, “Oh, that.”

You nod, confirmation stinging. 

“That was someone I dated in highschool. Back when I was a teenager for three months.” His gentle hand moves from your chin to your cheek, wiping the falling tears from your flushed cheeks. “I don’t even think she lives in Kamino anymore, and I don't care. Haven’t cared in years. It’s why we broke up.”

Your heart still feels heavy with the weight of jealousy as Tomura comforts you. It's a bitter emotion that you know you have no right to feel. This was all before you, it shouldn’t matter. 

Even though you don’t meet his eyes, Tomura lets you down — your toes touching the cold hardwood of the hallway floor as he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

It’s soft and it’s sweet in ways you know Tomura only reserves just for you.

“C’mon, lets go to bed,” he takes your hand in his, leading you to the bedroom you’ve grown to know so well. “I’m exhausted.” 

And your heart beats in tandem with your steps as you make your way to the bed, your tears dried up as Tomura pulls you close, the warm embrace so much more soothing than you’d expected. 

It takes no time for your eyes to close — your mind drifting off to sleep as the weight of your heavy heart is lifted by Tomura’s touch. 

—---------------

There’s a window near Tomura’s bed. 

It's big and it gives you the best view when the weather is dark and rainy. It also has a secret gift of shining the morning sunlight directly in your face and waking you up. Something that Tomura had remedied for himself by covering the window with blackout curtains. 

You believe that one of you forgot to pull the curtain last night because the warm light of the sun’s rays cause you to stir from your sleep. 

No, that can be ignored. 

Something else is causing you to stir.

Something is making your brows furrow and your hips writhe as your lips part to pant at the feeling taking your breath away.

“W-what..” you mutter as you try to blink the sleep from your eyes, hand reaching down to investigate.

Your fingers meet the soft tresses of Tomura’s familiar locks just as his tongue makes direct contact with your clit, the feeling sending the wave of pleasure up your spine and causing you to cry out.

“Tomura..!” you cry weakly as you bury your fingers in his hair, back arching from the bed as he becomes more intentional with his actions, the excitement of waking you this way showing in his efforts. 

You gasp as Tomura’s skilled tongue flicks against your sensitive bud, his hands coming forward to hold your hips in place as he relaxes against your soaked cunt — lazily lapping at your entrance as you struggle to keep yourself together.

It’s effortless, the way he pushes your body to come apart, knowing you were still fighting the remnants of sleep and fully indulging in your pleasure. 

He gives your clit a soft kiss before moving to readjust on the bed, spreading your thighs wider as he watches your expression — his lips are glossy with saliva and slick, a small string of the mixture connecting him to your exposed cunt. 

Tomura has seen you in many different ways, in many different situations, but to be here, exposed before him so intimately makes you want to shy away. It makes you want to look away and you bashfully attempt to close your legs. 

If you were to keep going this way you may say some things you weren’t sure either of you were ready to hear. 

You blame it on the morning fuzz in your brain. 

There was no other explanation for the strong feelings you had within. The way they bubble along the surface of your words at every moment spent with Tomura. You know if you go longer with these feelings unchecked they would threaten to spill out and over — possibly tainting the comfort of your relationship with Tomura. 

“Ah!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the lewd way Tomura laps at your cunt, moaning into you as the slick muscle of his tongue pushes you further and further to your end.

Tomura is watching your every move, his carmine eyes observing the way your hips twitch at the sensations, the way you breath hitches as he sucks on your clit — everything. 

You can’t help but fall into the pleasure. 

Coming undone is inevitable.

You toss your head to the side, the building pressure in your abdomen causing your thighs to tense as your hand finds his soft locks once more. The grip you had on his hair was nothing short of painful with the way you held on, but Tomura took it in stride, groaning at the rough treatment. 

He’s always liked when you were rougher with him. 

“F-fuck, Tomura, I can’t—” your words are slurred as his tongue glides against your clit, the sensitivity heighented as your mind rushes with the strong feelings that have plagued you for months.

You gasp as the budding realization hits you like a tidal wave. 

Your eyes clenched shut as the pleasure takes you over and under, dragging your muddled mind along as you come undone with Tomura’s touch. 

It’s so obvious — so glaringly obvious and you can’t believe the realization hit you right here, right now as Tomura makes you come undone on his tongue in the warmth of the morning twilight.

You love him. 

You love him.

Fuck.

Your body shivers as you reach the end, climax overtaking you while Tomura makes it his mission to make a complete mess of you — only stopping when your twitches of pleasure begin to meld into overstimulation, causing your hand to weakly push his head away.

There were tears lining your vision as Tomura brought himself back up to meet you, slick lips seeking yours and you hungrily greet him, unbothered by your own taste gracing your tongue as you languidly lick into his mouth. 

Your mind buzzed in the afterglow of an early morning orgasm and the idea of getting more from him entices you.

So much so that it makes you question why he hasn’t taken it further. 

Instead, Tomura pulls away, granting you one more kiss before lying down on his side of the bed, his words beating you to the question that awaited on your tongue.

“Headache,” he supplies as you turn towards him, the morning sunlight from the window illuminates his pale tresses in an almost pastel hue — hair so white it almost looks blue. You want to reach out and touch him. “I drank more than I thought last night and arguing with Dabi doesn’t help.”

Your heart tugs at the memory, a warm feeling spreading in your chest as you’ve grown to love those late weekend nights with Tomura’s friends. 

“I can bring you some water,” you offer, moving to stand. Maybe a little space would be good, it will give you a minute to think about the all consuming feelings that have flooded all parts of your mind this morning. “And some meds, too.”

Tomura hums in appreciation, turning over to face away from the sun.

You take that as your cue to go, but not before grabbing one of his oversized shirts and a pair of panties. Kurogiri shouldn’t be up at this time, but it would still be odd to walk around Tomura’s home naked. 

The trek to the kitchen is a short one and you waste no time grabbing an empty glass and some medication. 

Kurogiri was adamant about using one of those fancy water purifiers so it’s no surprise when you’ve fully distracted yourself, filling the glass and focusing your attention on the stream of water pouring from the refrigerator’s water dispenser. 

It’s so distracting that you don’t notice the presence behind you. 

“Oh, what’s this?” A deep voice behind you muses, catching your attention. The sound startles you so suddenly that you almost drop the glass of water. “Playing house now, are we?”

That doesn’t sound like Kurogiri, your thoughts race as you slowly turn to meet the mysterious voice of the man in question. 

He is… intimidating. 

He stands no less than twice your height with ashen hair that rivals Tomura’s. His eyes are even the same deep crimson of the boy you’ve grown to know so well. He eyes you with a tight smile, never straying from your gaze.

This must be—

“Are you Tomura’s friend?”

You nod, words caught in your throat, but you will yourself to speak. If this is who you think it is then it would be a bad idea to leave an impression worse than what you already have. “Yes.”

“I see. Would you be a dear and fetch him for me? I have a few words for him.” His tone is solid — even. 

You couldn’t make out how he felt in this moment if you tried. The small smile on his face seems pleasant, but given the circumstances of a half naked girl in what you can only assume to be his home really brings you no peace. 

So you nod again, hurrying off with the glass of water in your hand, forgoing the medicine and only wanting to be as far away from that man as possible. Something about him strikes fear into you. 

Tomura is in the same spot you left him before your kitchen adventure, but he cracks an eye open at the sound of you closing his bedroom door with a little too much force.

“What’s wrong?” he drags, turning over to face you and squinting as he gets hit directly in the face by the sun’s rays. You should really close that curtain soon.

The walk to him is short and you hand him the glass of water, bottom lip worried between your teeth as you search your mind for the right words.

“Someone’s here.” You didn’t mean to opt for an ominous choice, but you had no other idea what to say. Tomura has never talked about his parents. 

“What?”

“There’s a man in the kitchen. He wants to see you.”

This seems to click for Tomura as his eyes narrow for a second and then widen, ever so slightly, at the realization. 

You don’t know if that’s good or bad.

He sucks his teeth, taking the glass from your hand and downing the water as you watch on. Tomura seems calm, but he also has a very good poker face. If this is his parent then you’re not sure how long you would be able to stay.

The idea of going back makes you shiver. 

No, that’s not really an option. 

Tomura moves to stand, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and shirt, frustration evident in the way he tosses his clothes on. 

He gives you one more turn, words tight and brows downturned. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You nod as he exits, leaving you alone in the silence of his bedroom. The beaming sun seems more comfortable than before, the warm rays dance along your skin as you play through every scenario that could come from their talk.

He could make you leave. 

That's the first and most obvious way to handle this situation. You know that your parents would never in a million years allow someone to stay under their roof with their daughter. It’s unheard of. 

Or worse, he could call your parents. 

You’ve gone completely no contact at this point and it wouldn’t be too much of a farfetched idea that this man would call them. Especially if Tomura tells him about your situation in full.

But… he could be a nice guy.

This could all be a big misunderstanding and blow over, if given enough time. This is more of a pipedream than a genuine idea, but you would go crazy if you only thought of the negatives. 

You don’t realize you’ve been pacing the room until you almost trip over a discarded shirt on Tomura’s floor. It stops you in your tracks and makes you look around to assess the state of his room. 

It's not perfect and it definitely needed work when you moved in, but it’s not terrible. 

You turn back to the door, as if Tomura would come bursting through with updates of the conversation at hand, but no. nothing has happened. Nothing has changed. 

The quiet of the room drives you crazy — there has to be something you can do.

It starts off small, picking up a few loose articles of clothing here and there, and then it delves into picking up empty drink cans, making the bed, and even sorting the mess of his closet. All in the name of passing time. 

By the time Tomura made his way back to the room, you have the space nearly spotless. He takes note, but refrains from commenting. Instead his next words shock you.

“He said you can stay.”

Your brows furrow. “I can?”

Tomura only nods, making his way back to his newly made bed and lying down once more, no doubt due to the headache still pounding against his skull. 

“That’s it?” you press — this all feels too easy. 

“Yeah, just wear pants more often.” He waves you off, turning over and gearing up to go back to sleep.

The comment makes your cheeks burn and you nod, even though Tomura can’t see it. 

It feels odd, especially knowing your parents would never allow this, but you suppose not everyone lived under such strict conditions. 

So instead, you push that uneasy feeling in the pit of your gut aside and climb into bed with Tomura.

His steady breathing is calming and the rhythmic sound helps you drift off as well, unable to shake the lingering of suspicion and uncertainty, ebbing away in the back of your mind.

—-----------

You’ve come to learn that Tomura is actually quite busy during the day. 

He is currently gearing up to go to his internship at the hospital, and it’s been taking up a chunk of his time lately. For a couple months he’s had a break from it since the doctor he had worked under was taking time away, but now he’s back and he wants Tomura to be busier than ever.

It’s not that you mind. Of course you knew Tomura’s life couldn’t revolve around you, but it still left you with not very much to do. 

On the days he has to go, you stay at home — your attention hopping from playing video games on his pc, to reading books then eventually cleaning. 

It's given you a lot of time to think about what you want for your own career. You’ve started to think long and hard about how you envision your future. The reason you were home from college in the first place was because you needed the time to think.

But now you have nothing but time and it feels even more stressful.

The thought of having to decide your entire future on a whim is daunting. 

What if you didn’t like where you were in five years? Could you start over? 

Would Tomura still be by your side?

That possibility catches you off guard as you stop in your tracks.  

Would he be by your side? 

You’ve never been in a relationship at all, especially not a long term one. You were all in, but how does Tomura feel? Would it be odd to ask? 

The plaguing thoughts seem to take root in your mind as you walk through the halls of Tomura’s home, hoping to find something to occupy your time and chase these feelings away. 

You think of the basement, it’s where the other gaming systems were set up and it’s also a good change of scenery. 

Yeah, that would take your mind off of it. 

Or it would have.

As you set your sights on the hallway that leads to the basement, there's a voice that catches your attention. It’s deep and ever so calm, even when strained by the words being spoken.

“That's not good enough. I told you to keep him there as much as you can.” The voice hisses to the person on the other line of what you can assume is a phone call. 

You stop in your tracks, just before you could pass the door of the room Shigaraki Senior was speaking from. Instead you listen in, putting your back to the wall beside the door and zoning in on his words.

“I don’t care how fast he tries to get the work done — he’s only doing that to get home sooner.” He pauses and takes a breath, frustration imminent. “I need them apart. He won't listen to me about it, but the sooner he gets bored of her, the better. I don’t have time for his little distractions.”

You have to bite back a gasp as the words ring in your ears. 

A distraction..? You knew it was too good to be true. 

“Right,” the voice carries on, calling your attention once more, “I understand, but if he is to be the next me he cannot afford to get sidetracked.”

You haven’t had much of a chance to get to know the head of the household, instead preferring to stick by Tomura and make yourself as unobtrusive as possible. 

It felt as though you were walking on eggshells. As if you were in an orientation period and any misstep would lead to you tossed out onto the street — you would be food for the wolves.

But you knew deep down that there was always something to worry about. It was too good to be true, yes, but you couldn’t understand why he was letting you stay anyway.

There's a lull in the conversation before it picks up again.

“I suppose…”  The man’s voice sounds like it's getting closer and you take that as your cue to go back to Tomura’s room — but not before you catch the sound of his parting words. “It seems I'll just have to try harder then, hm?”

You don't know what kind of games this man was going to play but you knew one thing.

You had to tell Tomura. 

—-----------

It doesn't go well.

“No, Tomura, I heard him,” you whisper, the harsh sound of your voice cutting through the dark room, the curtains blocking the light of the incoming dawn as Tomura began getting ready for another day at the hospital, “talking about us.” 

You look down, arms crossed and defensive. “He wants us to break up — and he thinks you’ll do it on your own.”

Tomura’s expression is a mix of shock and disbelief, probably unsure of why his father would ever want him to break up with someone who brings him so much joy.

“No, there’s no way.”

“I’m telling the truth.” you plead, putting on your best voice of reason.

“He wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t make sense.” His tone is snappy, clearly ready for this conversation to end. 

But you persist. “Why would I lie?” 

“I don’t know — why would you?” He shoots back and the retort makes your ears perk. 

“I would never lie to you, Tomura, I—”

“Just stop,” he holds up his hand and the shock of it makes halt in your tracks. You’ve never seen him this agitated, or irate. “You don’t even know him.” 

But I don't have to know him, the words echo in your mind, stuck on your tongue as you watch Tomura continue, one hand to his neck as he etched his bad habit into his skin. 

He was starting to spiral. 

“You’re not even giving him a chance! I know he wouldn’t do that — he cares about me! He's the only one who—” Tomura stops himself, frustration leading him down avenues you don't think he’s walked in years.

You reach a hand out, aiming to comfort his ravenous habit, aching to tell him what’s really been eating away at your emotions for the last few weeks, but Tomura only scowls, the harsh look so intense it makes you snatch your hand back.

He’s never looked at you with such disdain before.

“Whatever. I’ll see you later.” His tone is final as he turns towards the door and you watch as he takes a breath to calm himself down, lowering his hand from his now redded neck.

Your chest feels tight, words fighting on your tongue to admit what you’d been holding within. It’s eating you up inside how strong these feelings were. “Tomura, wait— I didn't mean to upset you.”

He pays you a glance, expression neutral and features school back to their default calm. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight.” 

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone once more in the room that you’ve both begun to grow into. The desperate feeling in your chest fights for your undivided attention and you're beginning to wonder how long you can keep it at bay. 

—----------

The night doesn’t feel any better. 

Tomura’s return brings the tension from this morning and you’re positive he didn’t have the best day during his internship. It pushes the pressure between you further.

The air feels thick as you both move about in his room — you, scanning the books along his bookshelf for another manga to read, and Tomura on the floor with his notes from the day spread out in front of him. 

Luckily for you, Tomura breaks the silence. 

“There’s a dinner tonight — my father wants us both there.”

This piques your interest, eyes darting to his tense form. “Like a fancy dinner?”

Tomura shakes his head, adjusting the papers below with a bit too much force. He takes one flyer and balls it up, tossing it into the trash can near his desk as if the paper offended him. It’s crumpled, but you can still make out the words: Almighty Medicine.

“No, it’s just with us. Kurogiri will cook.” He pauses, features pensive as he decides his next words. “He wants to get to know you.”

Your heart sinks. 

It sounds like a trap. 

But you really didn’t want a repeat of this morning, so instead you suck it up and nod — even though Tomura couldn't see you. His gaze was completely focused on the papers below. His shoulders were stiff as he slouched to halfheartedly read the notes. You debate giving him some kind of massage to ease the edge.

You refrain, choosing to wait it out a bit more. The last thing you want is to stress him even more before the last minute dinner. 

So with a resigned sigh you answer, “Okay.” 

—---------

Kurogiri is a good cook.

It's the only thought in your mind as you absently stare at the food plated before you. Dinner tonight was filled with flavorful meats and vibrant vegetables. The rice was a perfect accent to the other options and any other time you would find yourself eager to dig in. 

But not tonight. 

No, tonight you can’t seem to find your appetite. 

You only push your cabbage back and forth with your chopsticks and await the inevitable questions you're sure Shigaraki Senior will ask.

“Tomura,” his baritone voice breaks the silence and you focus more on your cabbage, “you seem tense. What’s the matter.”

There’s a pause, and Shigaraki Senior’s faux friendly demeanor is not lost on you. “I saw that asshole again today. His face pisses me off.”

His father frowns. “Yes, well. That’s just business. When you’re over the company you won’t have to see him—“

“That’s not the problem!” Tomura cuts him off and you hold your breath, you could never raise your voice at home, “He leads his hospital and he’s a provider.”

“And that is not the path I have laid out for you.” The words are calm and collected, no hint of malice or anger. It’s eerily calm. 

 “Yeah, whatever. When are you going on that business trip again?” Tomura snaps.

The tension in the air is suffocating, it's thick and it's tense. It makes you want to run away, your feet anxiously tapping as you will yourself to bite down the uneasy feeling. 

The slow smile that creeps its way onto his father’s face makes your skin crawl. “You know, I believe I have more important matters to handle here at our home and in our town.”

“Great.” The sarcasm is evident in Tomura’s voice, dripping into the already strained air. 

“Well, that’s enough about our family matters... how about you, young lady.” His sharp eyes catch yours and you feel like a deer in headlights. “How are your parents? Do they know you’re here with my boy?”

You feel struck by his words, the pang in your stomach reverberating through your body as you scramble to find the words to answer him. “Well—”

“They’re aware.” Tomura cuts you off, his glare is ice as he places his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. 

It seemed to be a challenge, one you are not prepared to back him up on. 

You were never a good liar. 

His father’s attention is snapped back to Tomura and you were sure anyone else would falter under that glare. 

“Really? If it were my boy off staying with some young girl I would want to at least get to know the one who’s paying the bills.”

He only shrugs in response, false air of disinterest apparent as he picks his chopsticks up again, picking away at his food once more. “Well it’s a good thing she isn’t your child then, huh.”

You think the conversation is over — that Tomura has successfully dodged this bullet and you will be allowed a peaceful dinner, but things were never that easy for you. 

“I think we should give them a call, hm? If she’s staying in my home I want to make sure they know all the details.”

You watch Tomura’s fingers twitch, irritation threatening to explode and you can’t help but think that’s exactly what his father wants to see. 

It’s toxic, in a whole new way. 

“Fine,” Tomura surprises you, your eyes cut to his stiff form, “since you’re so worried why don’t you go ahead and do it. I don’t get why you care so much anyway.”

His father seems unimpressed — that smile and those chilling eyes frighten you, it makes your blood feel like ice in your veins. “You’re right, Tomura. I shouldn’t care. And you know what? I won’t.”

You both look up, dumbfounded. 

“I won’t care unless you both give me a reason to care. How does that sound?” 

It sounds fantastic, in theory, but you know that it doesn’t matter how it sounds. 

It’s blackmail. 

The reality of the situation hits you then and there. 

Tomura is combative with his father because he can be.

“I think that’s a fair trade, don't you, Tomura?”

But only to a certain extent. 

Your eyes dart between the two of them as the weight of his words set in. Tomura is forced to comply — agree to his fathers terms or else. This is a battlefield you aren't familiar with — one of mind games and bad faith practices. 

It is naive to think Shigaraki Senior will be sensible in what he decides are good reasons.

Your time here was limited.

The end of dinner was as stressful as its start: tense, awkward and very foreboding. 

The stress of it all had Tomura pacing his room while you helplessly sat on the bed fighting the urge to tell him I told you so — that would help no one here. 

“This is bullshit!” he starts, the frustration of his thoughts coming to a head and spilling out. “Give me a reason, yeah, whatever.” 

Your brows furrow as you watch Tomura vent, his bitter words hanging in the air as you purse your lips — trying and failing to come up with any kind of solution for your situation. 

“And why does it even matter that you're here? He’s hardly here anyway!” The perturbing scratching habit has made its return and this time you do stand to your feet, marching over to where Tomura paced and taking his hand. 

As upsetting as this situation was, you knew that it wouldn’t do either of you any good if tomura destroyed himself in the process of understanding his father’s true intentions. 

“Hey,” you try, reaching for his hand and refusing to back down this time. “We’ll figure something out.”

You’re surprised when he lets you, his carmine eyes lock with yours as his ever present scowl remains unchanged. “Yeah, like what?”

You try to ignore the cross tone in his voice, opting to just hold his hand and try again. You're beginning to realize this is uncharted territory for both of you. 

“I don’t know, who was the guy you saw at your internship? The one who runs the other hospital and all? Maybe you could ask how he—”

“I am not doing that.” Tomura cuts you off, voice even more agitated.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you ignore his tone. You squeeze his hand instead, still trying to remain calm. “But you never know, Tomura. Maybe he could help you—”

“No! Why would I ask him of all people?” He snatches his hand away and you realize you’ve struck a nerve. 

This wouldn’t end well.

“You don’t even know who he is, you don’t know what he’s done!” His voice begins to rise and you wonder if he’s aware of the hurt lining his words. There is a hidden history in this mystery man that Tomura has foregone informing you of. 

You’re beginning to recognize a pattern — something about that fact gets under your skin. 

“Maybe I would if you actually told me anything about your life, Tomura! You’ve barely let me in at all!” 

And it’s true. 

You knew nothing about his father, he doesn't talk to you about his internship and you don’t even know who this mystery super provider is. You’ve been in the dark for a while and you’re tired of it. 

“And why should I do that?” He questions, becoming more and more defensive as the conversation carries on. “So you can use it against me?”

“What?” you gasp, baffled by his accusation. “Why would I ever do that?”

“I don’t know! Why else would you fucking care?”

“I care because I love you, dumbass!”

Both of you freeze. 

You didn’t want it to come out this way. 

You wanted the confession to be one of candied words and hushed whispers. You wanted it to be slow and romantic, maybe while Tomura was deep inside of you, hitting that sensitive spot that made you see stars. 

But things were never ordinary when you were dating a man like Tomura Shigaraki. 

In that moment you realize that maybe this was something you were willing to learn to live with. 

“What,” Tomura’s voice is low as if speaking louder would shatter the still air within the room, “what did you just say?”

Your breath hitches, the buzz of anxiety and anticipation makes you hesitate. “I said.. I love you, Tomura.”

He takes a step forward, it’s slow but sure. You remain stagnant and still. 

“Say it again.”

You do. 

“I love you, Tomura.” The words are warm as they leave your lips and now he stands before you, his height forcing you to look up at him. 

His carmine eyes shine with unbridled fervor that seems to be itching to make itself known. 

You want to see him lose control. 

So with a slow smile, you gear up to say it again, “I love y—“

You’re cut off by the press of Tomura’s lips against yours and the desperation in it pushes you back. Tomura is fast, pulling you closer to stop you from losing your balance. You feel lightweight as you wrap your arms around Tomura’s neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

It’s intoxicating the way he maneuvers you, the way he makes you melt into the kiss, desperate for more — and he gives it to you. 

His hands trail up your sides and back down to grip your ass. The action makes you gasp and Tomura wastes no time taking advantage of the opportunity, his tongue dominating your mouth as the heat between your thighs grows. 

You moan into the kiss and lean forward as Tomura begins to pull away. 

Your nose scrunches in confusion as he gazes down at you, lazy grin on his face. 

There isn’t much time to mull over what Tomura was thinking, he takes your confusion in stride, using the opportunity to push you back, bottom landing onto the bed and bouncing once with the force of impact. 

Before you can speak, Tomura is on you, lips against yours and pushing you down onto his dark sheets. You bring a hand to those familiar pale locks and close your eyes — allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling and finally release the pent up energy of your emotions. 

Tomura is quick, fingers curling around the hem of your shorts and dragging them down with your panties in tow and leaving you exposed before him. 

You gasp at the gentle touch of his index finger slipping between your slick folds and going no further.

“Tomura…” you try, pulling away from the kiss and hoping the hunger in your voice would be enough for him to continue.

He only gazes at you, eyes half lidded yet vibrant. You’re sure he’s put you in a trance.

“Say it again.” 

“I love you.” you breathe and then gasp as he finally touches you. 

His finger is gentle as he rubs slow circles onto your clit, the action makes your head feel fuzzy as the pleasure begins to rise. 

Tomura leans forward to press kisses against the column of your neck, nipping and sucking along the soft flesh — no doubt trying to leave deep marks into your skin. 

“Mm!” you squeeze your eyes shut as he picks up the pace, adding more pressure to his movements and slowly bringing you closer to the edge. Tomura is steady with his hands, he knows your body so well. From the inside and out so he knows that if he continues at this pace you would come undone way before you wanted to. 

Maybe that's what he was aiming for. 

His other hand is warm as he cups your breast, tweaking a nipple between his forefinger and thumb, knowing it drives you crazy. You feel dizzy as his fingers leave your clit and travel lower to your entrance, pressing not one, but two fingers inside and chuckling at your whine.

“What?” he teases, pumping the digits in and out as you writhe beneath him, “too much?”

You want to shake your head, tell him no, and that it's never too much when it comes to him, but the only thing you can manage is a pathetic whimper as you grip his dark shirt. “Please, Tomura.” 

“Please, what?” you can feel his grin against your neck as he places another open mouthed kiss against your collarbone. “You gotta talk to me, baby.”

“T-touch me,” you plead. 

He moves up so that he’s eye to eye with you once more. The grin on his face was just as you imagined it, smug and excited. “I am touching you.”

You close your eyes again, knowing exactly what he wants you to say. “Make me feel good, Tomura. Please.”

He likes that answer, you can tell by the way his eyes soften and his fingers twitch ever so slightly within you. 

Tomura leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss once more as he moves his fingers with purpose, his thumb now pressing against your clit as the sensation grows.

It's hard to contain your cries, but you try. His fathers words echoing in the back of your mind — the possibility of loud sex with his son being a reason to kick you out almost makes you laugh.

At this point it would probably be worth it. 

“F-fuck,” you breathe as you lean into the feeling, your eyes flutter closed as you bring Tomura closer. Your peak is so, so close you can almost taste it.

Tomura would tease you any other time. He would try to drag it out in an attempt to see you squirm, but tonight he’s being so kind. He is so generous as he brushes against that spot inside that drives you crazy. He does it over and over again, making your toes curl in pleasure as the euphoric feeling takes you over the edge. 

The elation of your orgasm makes you shiver and cry out, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you lose yourself in him. 

Tomura presses another kiss to your sweet lips, swallowing your moans as you cum on his fingers, soaking the digits in your slick and trembling in pleasure, 

Once you come down from your high Tomura is quick to remove his clothes and you follow his lead, finally removing your shirt. 

The feeling of his warm chest against yours is always so comforting. It brings a feeling of safety and security as he presses against you, his cock rock hard and dripping from the excitement earlier. 

He places a chaste kiss against your lips as he rubs the head of his cock between your slick folds, the glide is smooth and you gasp every time he brushes against your clit. Your hands find his soft locks again as you begin to move in tandem with his actions, trying to get more of the feeling as best you can. 

At this, Tomura pulls away, kiss swollen lips red and eyes soft, his words hold no bite, “Desperate, huh?” 

You nod, in no mood to tease back and Tomura can tell. He feels it in the way you look at him, so he presses his forehead against yours, his pale locks falling against your cheeks. 

“Again, tell it to me again.”

And you know what he’s talking about. You’re both so close, chest to chest and you swore your hearts were beating in tandem.

“I love you, Tomura.” you whisper and it's for his ears only.

Tomura groans, closing his eyes with a soft grin on his lips.

“Fuck…” he breathes against you, and that’s all it takes as he presses into you. The stretch of his cock makes you wince, but the smooth slick of your arousal helps him slide in with ease. 

You hold on and allow Tomura to anchor you as he pushes forward, desperate to give you everything he can. 

He bottoms out with a sigh, filling you completely as you bite your lip in anticipation — the pressure of feeling full is addictive. It doesn't take Tomura long to move, his eagerness impossible to hide as he pulls back, almost pulling out, and drives forward, rough and desperate.

It’s everything you've wanted and your body is greedy as you take in all of him. 

“Yes, Tomura!” You fight to keep your voice down but it proves impossible as Tomura sets a brutal pace, fucking out every ounce of tension he’s held within for the past few days. You can feel it as it unravels with each and every trust. 

Tomura adjusts ever so slightly and that's all it takes for him to hit that special place inside of you. 

“A-ah!” You moan underneath him, ripples of pleasure cascading up your spine as his sharp assault on your sensitive spot carries on. The consistent sparks of pleasure have your brows furrowed and legs wrapped around his waist, desperate to pull him closer, to feel him deeper. 

“Fuck,” Tomura mumbles and his low tone makes you shiver. 

You know that you won't last much longer if he keeps this up, but you give up trying to hold back. You cannot stop the way your cries spill from your lips, echoing against the walls of Tomura’s bedroom and mixing with the sound of his urgent trusts.

The lewd noises rise as your cunt drips with arousal against Tomura’s push and pull thrusts. His heavy balls slap against your ass with the force of them and you close your eyes, falling into the rhythm. 

You dont expect it when it happens, but it comes all the same — your orgasm takes you under, the overwhelming feeling of ecstasy capturing your mind as your lover fucks you through it. 

He groans at the sensations, the way your cunt squeezes him almost sends him over with you, but he holds on.

Tomura lowers himself, slowing down as you ride out your high and his lips are close to your ear.

“Fuck,” he starts and you feel his hips stutter as he tries to regain his pace, sending you into overstimulation. Tomura knows you can take it — and he can’t stop now. He was so close to his peak. “L-love you.. So much..” 

The words make your eyes widen, they are soft and slow as if unspoken for years and you can’t help but wonder how many. 

“Tomura..” you whisper as you turn your head, craving his lips and his gaze. 

Your eyes meet and you feel synced as you bring a hand down to his cheek, your heart racing as he leans into your touch. 

Yes, you love him. Truly and deeply, you love Tomura. 

He pushes forward, capturing your lips in a kiss as his thrusts grow more erratic, hungry for his own release as he groans against your lips. 

It doesn’t take long — Tomura gives a few more strong thrusts and meets his end, cumming inside of you with a mewl that you drink up. The twitch of his cock is subtle but the pearly white ropes fill you to the brim, leaving you ruined and raw as he pumps it as deeply as he could.

Tomura pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. Sweaty and sated you both try to catch your breath. 

His bedroom is quiet and still, making you both feel as though you were the only two in the world. You know that it is deep into the night and Tomura would still have to wake up early in the morning, but you know none of that matters to him.

No, Tomura couldn't care less as shares this moment with you, the stress finally expelled from his body and the weight lifted from his mind. 

His carmine eyes hold you captive as you melt into them and you realize then that you can’t see yourself anywhere but here — with Tomura. 

It's a chilling realization. 

Once you’ve both gathered your bearings and Tomura pulls out — taking his rightful place beside you, the overwhelming pull of sleep drags you along. 

Tomura leans forward, placing a soft kiss onto your forehead with whispers of goodnight and his newly relaxed demeanor is contagious. 

You know that you may be on borrowed time with him here, but that's okay.

Your eyes catch the crumpled flyer hanging near the trashcan by his desk, the words Almighty Medicine big and bold on the paper.

The feeling of sleep is heavy in your body, but your last thoughts are of a plan. 

You know there’s a way out of here. 

For both of you.

[mushgloomz]

Say 'Ahh'.

dentist!dave york x patient!reader (gender neutral)

• an: READ THE TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. I have included tags for anything and everything I can think of, but please be aware that this is a non-consensual, abuse of power piece of writing between FICTIONAL characters (Dave York x Reader). From the bottom of my heart, if you read this without heeding the warnings and tags, your discomfort is not my responsibility, nor are your triggers. @/firefly-graphics for the perfect dividers!

• tags: 18+ MDNI. Non-con. DDDNE (Dead Dove Do Not Eat). Needles, injections, IV use, dentistry, slapping, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, gagging, use of medications (lidocaine and twilight sedation/benzos), dark!character, abuse of power, one (1) use of 'sweetheart', language, spit, fear of dentists.

• wc: approx 2.9k

Dave loved his job. It made his family happy, paid well, gave back to the community in a meaningful way (unlike those pathetic annual fun-runs held by the town council). He wore his title with pride - David York, D.D.S.

Deft fingers lightly adjusted the small silver pin on the breast pocket of his jacket. Tooth shaped, naturally. He flashed a quick grin at his reflection in the sun visor mirror of his car; pristine rows of dazzling white teeth that did more for business than any marketing scheme.

Of all the noble intent one may have for entering the line of dentistry, so many failed to acknowledge the real allure; the very reason why Dave had committed so many years to the mastery of his skills.

Control.

Statistics would try to tell you that around half of the population had a fear of visiting the dentist. Dave knew better though. He saw it all - the anxious twiddle of thumbs in the waiting room, the minute beads of perspiration gathering across a person's hairline, the tick of a jaw as he called out a name with a charming smile.

No one enjoyed coming to see him at work, and he relished in it. With his returning patients, the fear lingered; the innate worry remaining ever-present even after being subject to his charm. Perhaps it was the vulnerability? The relegation of autonomy?

That’s what did it for Dave, at least. As he strolled through the doors of his practice, he gave a brief wave to the receptionist before turning his gaze to survey the patients dotted around on pleather chairs.

A bald man, sweating profusely, a hand at his jaw and brows furrowed. A woman wrestling a squirming toddler that she couldn’t seem to settle. Another man, a few years younger than himself; a mouth full of metal that no doubt chewed away at his cheeks, adding to the unsightly swelling of his lower face.

And then there was you.

Arms crossed over your chest, a leg bouncing up and down repeatedly. A single finger between your lips as you gnawed away at the skin of your nail bed. The epitome of apprehension; radiating trepidation. Something about the way you refused to meet his gaze, as if looking him in the eyes would make it all real, made Dave’s mouth water.

Walking out of the clinic’s lounge and into his operatory, Dave got to work. Suit jacket shrugged off and hung swiftly after; computer booted up and medical records printed. His routine never deviated - he moved with clinical precision, gathering equipment and PPE as if it were second nature.

The room itself was as white as the teeth he worked on, apart from the black leather furnishings - his own personal touch; he never could stand the flimsy plastic shit he’d been forced to endure during dental school. There was an aseptic quality to the very air of the clinic.

The next hour passed quickly enough as Dave worked on mouth after mouth, taking special care to ensure each patient saw the reflection of their own anxiety in the cold surgical steel instruments he wielded before their faces. He couldn't help himself - the more worked up they became, the more he enjoyed the task at hand.

Whilst finishing up some notes, a knock at the door echoed over the linoleum. Timid. Barely there.

"Come in."

The shuffle of footsteps reached his ears; back still turned to the door as he pulled up the next patient's records. New to the practice - new to the neighbourhood too it would seem, based on their previous clinic's location. The hinge of his chair creaked as he turned and there you were.

You were so quiet, so placid. And those lips, the bottom one quivering ever so slightly - fuck, he was going to get a semi just looking you over. Instead, Dave put on his signature grin, head tilting to one side as he stood, gesturing to the dental chair in the centre of the room.

"Please, take a seat; no need to be shy."

There was a hesitation to your movements, each step cautious as you slowly sidled your way over to the chair. He could feel the energy in the room building; thrumming the exact way he knew your heart would be against your ribcage. No doubt that the tension could be sliced clean in half with a single flourish of his dental bur.

As you rested your head against the sterile black leather, Dave clicked his tongue at you; a quiet, condescending sound predicating the words he spoke next.

"Think you can manage a few words to tell me why you're here today?"

The grin on his face remained as he leant over you, adjusting the chair until you were near enough horizontal. He preferred this angle with all of his patients; liked to watch the rapid rise and fall of their chests whilst he worked. In that regard, you were a real treat. "J-Just an annual check-up and clean", you'd murmured, stumbling over your words in the most delicious display of fear.

Dave plucked a pair of black latex gloves from a container set to one side, sliding each on with a squeak and a snap. He didn't fail to notice the way you'd flinched as the elastic pinged against his wrist - exquisite.

"Great - let's get started then, shall we?"

It was a formality more than a genuine question - he knew that from here on out, he held the power. Your pupils were so dilated that when Dave leant over you, he could see the reflection of his rolled shirt sleeves in the deep black pools.

"Open wide for me... that's it."

The plush pink expanse of your tongue glistened under the bright bulbs overheard, quivering as he moved the oral mirror toward the rows of pearly whites cocooning it. It wasn't much use - the hot, heavy breaths you seemed unable to control fogged up the tool. Fuck, if this wasn't the most inviting mouth he had ever peered into.

Removing the mirror and setting it to one side, a patronising smile breaching his features, Dave spoke softly.

"I make you nervous, don't I?"

He already knew the answer - of course he made you nervous. He just needed to hear it. Needed to diminish any sense of fight you might have left in you; to properly scare you into submission. Speaking it aloud made it real. "Y-Yes, I'm sorry, I-", you began to stammer out, but he cut you off mid-flow with a tut.

"Listen - have you ever heard of something called twilight sedation?"

The pitiful look of confusion that spread across your face - God, you got better and better with each passing minute.

"It's just a little injection, chills you out. Works nice and fast, and a lot of the time, people don't even remember their session with me afterwards."

He could practically hear the cogs whirring in your head. Mulling over such an appetising offer - the opportunity to relax and maybe, just maybe, forget the entire encounter. "I-Is that something I can h-have?", you all but squeaked. Music to his fucking ears.

"I think it would be for the best - I'll go get the IV and we'll get started, yeah?"

Ironically, Dave could feel his own heart rate begin to pick up as he discarded his gloves and headed out into the corridor toward the store room. The tension in the room was palpable when he returned, meticulously setting up the IV.

"Just a sharp scratch now, and... perfect."

It was moments like these that made the job all the more appealing.

Memories of watching nature documentaries with his daughters - the sadness in their eyes when they realised that whichever unsuspecting small creature was being observed by a much larger, hungrier animal. The slow pan of the camera as the predator moves in; the false sense of security snatched away in a flash of canines or claws.

That's the way the world works, my loves, he'd murmur as he consoled them, this is why it's so important to stay in control.

When your eyes became a little hazy, Dave knew he had you right where he wanted you. Not unconscious - he wasn't sick in the head. Just woozy, the benzo in your system lulling you into a comfortable heaviness. He wasn't going to hurt you, and you wouldn't remember any of this even if he did.

"How are you feeling?"

Flat. Cold. You blinked up at him slowly, contented. Such pretty eyes, even when they weren't overwhelmed with panic. He smiled, using a gloved thumb to coax your lips apart, leaning over to take another look; he was at work after all. Not even plaque marked your teeth - you were a dentist's wet dream.

Turning his back to you, he wheeled over a tray of equipment, speaking softly as he went. You were so placated after all, it seemed only right to make this a little easier for you.

"You've got a few issues cropping up, ones that I'd like to nip in the bud before they become major. I'm going to give you a few small injections along your gums to numb you up - don't want you getting all panicky again, do we?"

Your head tipped left to right ever so lethargically; a hum of agreement rumbling from your throat.

"Perfect. You're doing wonderfully. Now, say 'ahh' for me."

And you did, so obediently. Lidocaine syringe in hand, Dave got to work. Your little winces and hisses slowly disappeared as the numbing agent took affect - a shame really; the sound made his cock twitch in his slacks. A dozen pricks later and a steady stream of saliva was making its way out of the corner of your mouth.

Syringe deposited back on the stainless steel tray, he picked up the nozzle for the saliva ejector and set it into the hollow of your cheek. The machine was loud as it quickly dealt with the pooling spit at the back of your throat. Perfect. He'd need something to fill the silence.

He indulged himself, just for a moment - pressing a flat palm against his crotch and rubbing a few times whilst his back was turned once more. He needn’t have bothered - your sniveling display of fear was ample aphrodisiac for him; erection now straining against the material confines of his boxers.

The way your eyes widened as he turned around was the final nail in the coffin; adept fingers tugging at the leather belt at his hips. The sedative being drip-fed into your veins worked remarkably well - your fingers scrambling for purchase against the leather armrests of the chair, arms too heavy to lift. A warbled sound of protest rose from your chest and reached his ears as it bounced across the linoleum.

"Shh, you're in very capable hands. Just relax - I won't be long."

He cupped the back of your head with a tenderness so alien considering the circumstances, tilting it until your cheek was flush to the leather beneath it. Another murmur of sound as he pushed his boxers down; cock springing free. He couldn't help but think about how much smaller your mouth looked now that the leaking head of his length was there to directly compare.

Your attempt at closing your mouth was feeble; endearing. You couldn't even close your lips around the suction device still hanging between them - it didn't stop you from trying though. A quick flick of his wrist and your cheek came into contact with the powdered latex glove covering his left hand.

"See how that didn't hurt?"

One hand cradled the base of your skull, the other slowly pumping his cock as he shifted on his feet.

"Going to need you to open up for me now. Nice and wide."

As he spoke, he smeared the bead of pre-cum at his tip across those soft lips of yours. He could feel the way your neck flexed under his hand as you tried your best to writhe away; watched the tears prick instinctively in the corners of your eyes.

There wasn't much you could do to resist as he slowly sunk the weeping head of his cock past your lips, muffling the shrill whine of dismay that you let out. Honestly, he couldn't have made this easier for you - all you had to do was lay there and stay still after all. A rumble of satisfaction left Dave's mouth as he pushed further into your own.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glossy as he fed you inch after inch, the sound reverberating against him and doing little more than spurring him on. Your mouth was fucking divine - hot, slick and oh so soft. The gurgle of the saliva ejector, still flush to your inner cheek, blended with the grunts that Dave couldn't stifle.

"Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Or don't - fuck - makes no difference to me."

He started to set a rhythm with his hips, hand still held firmly on the back of your head. When you gagged as he dipped into the back of your throat - Christ, it was all he could do to not spill his load there and then. The way the muscles of your neck contracted, trying in vain to keep him out as he continued to rock back and forth, clenching around him over and over.

Pulling all the way out for just a moment, you gasped and spluttered before he sank all the way back in with a groan. Your knuckles were taut against the armrests as he ensured your tonsils became well acquainted with the head of his cock. Each thrust against your tongue was dizzying, and he could feel himself quickly being won over by pleasure.

"Perfect fucking mouth, not much longer."

His words came out as a lusty hiss, hips beginning to stutter, barely retreating from the sanctuary of your throat. Why would he? If he wasn't meant to cum as far down it as possible, then why did it hug his dick so perfectly?

Using his free hand, he pulled the nozzle of the suction device from your mouth, flipping the switch and turning the machine off. No longer concealed by the thrum and whir of the ejector, the slick squelch of your mouth and the choked gurgles you let out echoed around the room. That was his undoing.

Pulling your head snug to his lower stomach, Dave buried himself as deep as possible before spilling down your throat with a shuddery groan. Your tear-stained eyes barely even blinked as he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum; completely zoned out and staring straight ahead.

As the aftershocks of his high ebbed away, he slowly pulled out of your mouth - not without admiring the pearly string of saliva connecting your tongue and his softening cock first. You coughed, your swollen lips glistening as you gulped in air. Dave couldn't help the giddy smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Clinical professionalism resumed as he tucked his now flaccid dick back into his boxers, re-dressing without so much as a hair out of place.

"Let's get this IV detached - that's it, nice and easy."

The rosy hue from his cheeks dissipated as he worked. His heart rate settled as he changed his gloves once again. Work mode resumed with practiced ease for Dave. He slowly readjusted the dental chair, bringing your head up cautiously as if he hadn't just bruised the roof of your mouth with the vigor of his thrusts.

The glaze over your eyes from the sedative slowly but surely faded; the numbing effect of the lidocaine weakening - the way you stretched out your jaw, brow furrowed as you attempted to piece together the cause behind the ache that crept in, was a dead giveaway.

"How are you feeling?"

His tone was calm, collected. It had to be - he had to gauge how much you'd retained without arousing suspicion. "A little bit... woozy. What... what happened again?" - your slurred words elicited a wide smile on Dave's face.

"Had to do a little bit of scaling on some of your incisors. You did very well though, should be proud of yourself."

Ah, that delightful expression of misplaced pride on your face would be a highlight for the day; the perfect contrast to how utterly pathetic you had looked just moments prior. After a few minutes of reeling off the usual spiel, Dave gestured to the door with the same signature grin he had greeted you with. "Thank you - I've always struggled at the dentist; I'll have to recommend you to my friend, they're a real wuss as well", you chuckled.

Oh. You were just the gift that kept on giving, it seemed.

"Send them my way, by all means. Anyway, I'll see you in six months time - remember to floss!"

tag list (requested tags and people that showed interest when i posted my moodboards lol): @lilac-boo @joelmillerisapunk @letsgobarbs @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ohhoneypascal @clawdee @lectersimp

[happy74827]

Fate’s Design

[Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Not even fate can stop forbidden love. {GIF Credits: Pinterest}

WC: 2051

Category: Angst (with a side of fluff)

Can you tell I rewatched Twilight? 👀 Edward? Jacob? Nah, I’m team Carlisle all the way.

In all seriousness, this took me so long to write out since I’m in that stage of life where there’s no free time 😭

But, regardless, here’s a fic that no one asked for (and hopefully won’t mind 👀). So, uh… enjoy :)

『••✎••』

Funny, how the world works, how fate works.

The day you had first laid eyes on him, you could tell immediately there was something different about him, something... strange. Stranger than strange.

A simple hospital visit, a clumsy fall down the stairs, and here you were, stuck in a place of healing with the smell of antiseptics and disinfectant all around you. For a simple wrist sprang, being around deathly ill people who had no sense of common courtesy was the last thing you wanted to experience.

Still, it couldn't be helped, and so you endured. Endured until that one fateful encounter.

When the nurses brought him into the room, you couldn't help but stare. A young, handsome man who looked barely a few years older than you, pale, cold skin that reminded you of the snowy tundras, and bright eyes you swore turned gold in the light.

Strange, yes. Very strange. But a very good kind of strange, the kind of strange that was captivating.

Carlisle Cullen.

You couldn't help but smile as you thought of the name, as the memories came back to you. The first meeting, the second, and then the third. You remembered all of them, every single one, and the way your heart fluttered like a caged bird each time, wanting to break free.

How long had it been since that first meeting? Five months? Six?

You couldn't be sure, but it was enough.

Enough for you to know that you loved him.

How funny, how ironic, how cruel fate was, giving you someone to love and then making it impossible to be with him.

You were just an average girl with average interests and average talents who had a boring, average job that didn't pay much and was living an average life.

But you were human; he was not.

You were a creature that could live, grow, age, and eventually die while he was frozen in time, a beautiful, timeless statue with an old soul that lived a hundred years in the span of one.

You knew this, he knew this, and that was what held you both back.

Even though you loved him, even though when he looked at you, his eyes burned with the same emotions you felt, the two of you were still unable to come together.

You would’ve given up had it not been for your own stubbornness, your own will to hold on, to see this through to the end.

He was worth it, and you knew it.

And so, you decided it didn’t matter if your time with him would be short because you would spend it happily, without regret.

After all, a few months spent with him was better than none at all.

You found yourself storming into the hospital, pure determination set on your face as you went up to the reception desk and demanded to know where Carlisle Cullen was.

The nurse gave you an odd look but didn’t question you further, and after giving her the information she needed, she directed you to his office.

You were assured he was filing papers, so you didn’t bother with knocking. Instead, you barged in with the burning desire to make your mark, to make your presence known, to show him, without any doubt, how you felt.

You didn't care if he was startled by your sudden entrance, and as you approached him, he stood up, surprise written on his face.

"I’m done, Carlisle," you said, your tone final, a declaration. "I’m so done."

He tilted his head in confusion.

Your hands came to a fist as you rested them against his desk, eyes narrowed and burning.

"I'm done holding back," you said, voice steady. "If you don’t kiss me right now, I'll never forgive you."

Your name came out as a soft sigh from his lips, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through you at the sound of it. The mellow, gentle tone that held your entire being was always catching you off guard, even after all this time.

It wasn’t fair; it really wasn't.

"Kiss me, goddamnit!" You yelled at him, the demand clear in your tone.

And, like always, he denied you. In fact, he practically told you to shut up in his own way by bringing attention that you were still… quite literally, in the hospital.

You didn’t care. It was obvious by the way you kept going at him, demanding he take action.

And then, a gush of wind.

Your eyes widened, and before you could utter a word, the door from behind slammed shut. Not enough to create a loud bang, but enough to get your attention, and when you looked over, his arm was extended out, hand resting on the door.

Just inches away from your head.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him.

He was towering over you completely, and the proximity made your breathing hitch. His gaze was intense and golden, and it burned right through you like it always did. But you weren’t scared, not even the slightest bit.

This was what you wanted, after all.

So you kept silent and waited for him to make the first move. Any move, really.

A few seconds passed, and then, ever so slowly, he lowered his head. But he didn't lean down far enough, no. Instead, his face inched closer and closer to yours until, finally, all you could see were his eyes.

And all you could think about was his lips.

"As much as I want to," he began, voice soft and smooth. "You and I both know it's not that easy."

"Yes, it is," you retorted, stubborn. "You're just making it hard."

"I'm being realistic."

"Realistic? Really?" Your face twisted into a scowl. "Says the man who's not even human."

"That's precisely why," he said. "You’re…"

His voice quivered, just slight enough to be noticeable. It made your heart ache, and you were ready to interrupt him, to say that it didn’t matter; nothing else did.

But you stopped yourself.

It was only right to hear what he had to say.

"You truly wish to want… this? To give up the happiness of your future, the family you deserve, to be drowned in sorrow, all for me?"

His words were sincere, his voice quiet, and the expression on his face was one you could barely comprehend.

"Drowned…? Drowned?!" You echoed his words; brows knitted in a deep frown. "Carlisle, I'm already drowning! Right now!"

You paused, trying to calm yourself, but you could feel tears prickling your eyes. This wasn’t how you had imagined it going.

"It hurts," you confessed, voice low. "It hurts me that you don’t understand, that you think so little of yourself."

Carlisle's breath caught, and his lips parted in surprise, but you weren’t finished yet.

"It hurts me that you think I could ever be happy without you," you continued, your voice rising a bit. “Carlisle, I have found happiness in you. I am happy with you. The day we met, I was a wreck; my wrist was a wreck… everything was a wreck. But then you came, and now, now I'm happy. You make me happy."

The look on his face was unreadable, but it didn’t deter you from speaking your mind.

"Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that you’ll always be twice the man than any other human being out there?"

Silence.

He didn’t answer, and the longer the silence stretched, the more your heart hurt. Carlisle was a good man; he was. He was a good doctor, a good father, and, of course, a good-looking guy.

He deserved the world.

And if the world couldn't give it to him, you would.

"If you can't see it, then fine," you finally spoke, and it was almost a whisper. "Then I'll do it for you. I'll tell you every day. I'll keep telling you until it sticks."

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a shaky smile.

"Even if I have to keep yelling at you."

He exhaled, and suddenly, he looked much more relaxed, and you realized that you had gotten through to him.

It made the tears that were gathering in your eyes spill over.

"At least I know you wouldn’t toss me aside when my personality eventually overpowers my looks," you mumbled, laughing.

"Toss you aside?"

There was a sudden, sharp edge to his tone, and when his hand came to rest under your chin, gently, carefully, your eyes shot up, staring into his own.

You didn't realize it, but the way you looked at him, the expression on your face, it made him see something different, something he never expected.

A woman who loved him. Truly, sincerely, deeply, and completely.

He couldn’t believe it, and yet, you were right there, in front of him, your eyes shining and reflecting nothing but adoration and admiration.

Your eyes were shining, but not with sadness, no, not anymore.

It was a beautiful sight, one he would remember for all of eternity.

"I'd be a fool to do that," he whispered, his tone sincere, and when his other hand came up, his fingers brushing over your cheek, a featherlight touch, he could hear your breath catch.

"A complete and utter fool."

You watched the smile grow on his lips, and it was so beautiful, it was unreal.

But this, the feeling of his hand on your skin, the coldness contrasted by the warmth of your own body, the gentleness of his touch, it was surreal.

"Carlisle," you murmured, and he was still staring at you, but there was a new intensity in his gaze. "Let me give you the happiness you deserve. Let me."

You took a small step forward, and his hand was still resting under your chin. You didn't dare move or speak again, not until you could read his face, the expression on his features.

It was difficult, however, and just when you thought he wouldn't say anything, he spoke.

"I can't guarantee the future or the happiness," he admitted. "Not for myself, and not for you, but-"

"But?" You couldn’t help but smirk.

"I can try," he answered. "For your sake, I'll try."

You should’ve expected the response after that, the speed at which his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward, and his other hand, moving downwards to rest on the small of your back.

You should've, but you didn't.

All you could do was stare at him, your eyes widening, and just when you opened your mouth to speak, to say something, anything, his lips were on yours, and all the coherent thoughts left you.

You could hear the thumping of your heart, loud, thundering, and it drowned out all the other sounds around you.

He was gentle and careful, and the kiss was nothing more than a brief, feather-light press of his lips, but it was enough. It was enough to set your whole body on fire, to have you lean in, to have your hands come up, grasping onto his lab coat for dear life.

You could feel the coldness of his skin, but the taste of his lips was indescribable.

He tasted sweet, like vanilla, and the longer his lips were on yours, the more the flavor lingered until you couldn’t remember how your own lips had ever tasted.

When he finally pulled away, it was as if the world was spinning and all the strength left your body.

"We're not in the clear just yet," he murmured, his gaze still intense, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "There are many things we have to talk about and many things to work out, but-"

"Carlisle," you breathed out, your grip on his coat tightening. "Don’t talk. Just relish."

You leaned forward, and he did the same, his eyes fluttering shut, and as your lips connected with his, your mind was filled with a single thought.

This.

This was right.

It was perfect, and the world was a better place.

The funny thing about fate is that if two people are meant to be, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances, they'll find each other.

The two of you were living proof.

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; "Missing" (p3)

notes; part three to this! tbh i wasn't planning on making a part three but here we are lolz tw; Reader uses She/Her pronouns!, child getting lost, wc; 1.5k tl; @dianexo-v @mr-underhills-things @solaeirr @lenguasdegatofan @0vendettaself @sassy-cat-in-town @dreaminmemories @not-9ok @deepdinosaurwizard @dvc4 @wr4inn

Yor knew the relationship with Loid was fake and built on the narrative of getting Anya into school, but she could not help falling hard for the man. Between the way he cared for himself, how they looked as a family, and his gentle words when it came to Anya- it was like they were a real family, something she always had wanted. So, when she didn’t get a call from Loid’s office today explaining that he’d be late, she was a bit worried about when he would come home. Yor put Anya to bed after homework and dinner, allowing Bond to sleep with her as usual, and sat in the living room.

When Loid walked into the apartment, he was practically glowing with happiness. “Loid! I didn’t know you were going to be working late today.” Yor said with worry leaking from her voice, “Oh, I do apologize, I had a visitor today..” Loid said as he cleared his voice. He felt somewhat bad for keeping his real relationship and his real daughter away from Yor, but it could affect how the mission finishes out. So, he kept this information private, and away from her and Anya.

“Oh? A visitor?” Yor asked, Loid shook his head “Just.. a friend, her daughter needed some counseling.” he lied. Yor smiled and nodded, “Well, we had take-out, leftovers are in the fridge.” she offered before getting up and nodding in the direction of Loid. “Night..” Yor mentioned passing him, making sure to gently bump into him and touch hands. Loid just nodded his head, “Good night, Yor.” he replied before heading to the kitchen.

After eating some cold take-out, Loid was stuck in his head. He just sat back and sighed, he missed his daughter and he had hardly talked to her, but he also missed his real wife, his real bed, and his real home. Loid was beyond shocked and impressed on how his wife had been raising their daughter all by herself. He just sighed and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He was stressed, and all he was truly craving was what his life could be with his daughter and wife.

[YourName] gently puts Lotte down into her crib, smiling down at the little one. For once, she felt happy, light on her feet. She shuts the door as quietly as she could before walking down the hallway and giggling, “He remembers me!” [YourName] cheered as she twirled before landing on the couch. Sure, she missed her husband and seeing him every day but being able to see him and be able to kiss his lips brought joy to her.

The following day would be a Saturday, so Anya didn’t have school. “I want to do something today!” Anya whined at breakfast, Yor looked over to Loid silently looking for options to entertain their adopted daughter. “We could.. Go to the park with Bond.” Loid offered, Yor nodded her head in agreement- thinking whatever he came up with would be good. Anya gasped “An Ooting!” she celebrated, “You hear that, Bond? We’re taking you out on an ooting!” the child said, turning to the big dog.

Soon, breakfast concluded and it was time to get ready for the park. Loid thought that perhaps the park would have been better than sitting in front of the TV all day. So, Yor helped Anya get ready before doing so herself, “Do you think papa loves me?” Yor asked Anya. Anya paused, she knew the truth. She knew Loid wasn’t who he was, he was actually a spy with an actual family, she just didn’t want to hurt her mama’s feelings. “Of course! Papas are supposed to love mamas!” Anya said innocently, as if she didn’t know better. “Ah, yes, you’re right.” Yor replied, getting up to her feet “Well, I’m going to get ready.” she said gently before exiting her daughter’s room.

Yor would get ready, admiring herself in the mirror before patting her flustered cheeks. She had been thinking about the possible compliments Loid would give her for dressing appropriately and dressing Anya on top of that. She adored when he complimented on her motherly tendencies and duties, it made Yor fall for Loid harder each time.

Eventually, the family headed out and to the park. Loid held Bond’s leash while Yor held Anya’s hand. Once at the park, Loid hesitated but let Bond off his leash and allowed him and Anya to play together. Yor stood with Loid, gently holding his arm, it didn’t bother Loid as it made them look like a real family- but if he’s going to be honest, he wished Yor was [YourName].

Things were going smoothly until there was a cry heard throughout the park, immediately Loid and Yor turned to where it was coming from and there sat a toddler. But not just any toddler, it was Lotte. Loid didn’t push Yor off, but he disconnected from Yor quickly and rushed to the child, gently kneeling to be Lotte’s height, Yor soon joining with Anya and Bond. “Oh dear..” Yor said, looking around, trying to find this toddler’s mother or nanny.

“Where’s your momma?” Loid gently asked the toddler, Lotte would wipe her face and recognize Loid and cling to him. “W-Work.” Lotte replied, so Loid assumed there would be a nanny somewhere looking for Lotte. Loid scooped the little one up, shaking his head, he couldn’t just ask people if they were looking for Lotte, that could easily lead to a kidnapping. So, looking over at Yor, Loid pulled out his phone and contacted [YourName].

Turns out, [YourName] was called into work for some paperwork and the neighbor’s teenage daughter was supposed to be looking after Lotte- but there was no sign of her. “I’ll be there a-s-a-p.” [YourName] said before hanging up, Yor looked a little confused as Loid put his phone away “I know her mother.. well.” Loid explained gently bouncing the small one in his arms.

Just five minutes later, [YourName] came rushing over, crying because the thought of her daughter being missing scared her. She brought Lotte into her arms before sobbing, and acting on instinct Loid brought [YourName] in for a hug too so the three of them were grouped together. Yor couldn’t help but watch and feel a bit jealous, she wanted the chemistry that was strung throughout the air when Loid hugged this stranger. Deep down, Yor knew there was more to the story but her love for Loid took over those thoughts.

Loid would finally disconnect from [YourName] and Lotte once his wife had calmed down. With her free hand, [YourName] wiped her tears and Loid smiled at her. Yor cleared her throat making Loid and [YourName] look over and it finally clicked, Yor wanted to be introduced. Loid didn’t exactly want to introduce his fake wife to his real wife, but he had to keep suspicions low. “[YourName]... This is, uh, my wife Yor and over there is our daughter Anya and dog, Bond.” Loid said, giving his wife an apologetic look.

[YourName] nodded her head slowly, offering her free hand after making sure it was dry. “I’m [YourName].” She said, Yor smiled happily when Loid called her his wife, shaking [YourName]’s hand. “It’s always nice to meet someone my husband knows!” Yor said cheerfully, and something in [YourName] broke a little, not being able to call Loid her husband or kiss him when she needed it hurt, and to know he was spending free time with the perfect, well-built family hurt a little more than she thought it would.

“I got to.. Uhm, go..” [YourName] said, spinning around and heading toward her car. “Wait! [YourName]!” Loid called out, but [YourName] ignored him as she rushed to her vehicle. The mother sat Lotte down into her car seat and sighed once she got into the driver's seat, She put her hands on the wheel and placed her head against her knuckles as she cried. She missed her husband dearly and she couldn’t take just being friends with Twilight. Even if it was just for a few moments, seconds, minutes.

Yor noticed a difference in Loid, he was trying to hide his hurt, anger, and confusion- but Yor could sense something was wrong. She didn’t want to directly ask him what was up, so she simply leaned against him which made Loid tense up. She noticed this, but decided to ignore it and hoped Loid found comfort in her ways of comforting him. The rest of the day at the park went smoothly, no other crying children separated from their mothers or babysitters were around, so Loid, Yor, Anya, and Bond headed back to the apartment.

Loid was silent for most of the night, only talking when spoken to. He made dinner for everyone, sat with them as they ate, and then put Anya to bed after she watched some spy shows. Yor was getting tired of the silence Loid was offering up, so she finally spoke up; “What’s wrong?” Yor asked finally to her husband. “It’s nothing.” Loid tried to reply, but Yor didn’t take that as an answer.

Loid finally looked at Yor, sighing with aggravation, “Fine, what’s wrong is I miss my wife and child.” he says scoffing. “What? You were with us all day, no need to miss us, Loid..” Yor explained, placing a hand on to his bicep, but Loid shook it off.

“No, my real wife and child.”

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire—all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[hxney-lemcn]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Confused — Twilight Princess! Link x gn! reader

summery: you find your life turning monotonous without your childhood friend around, but when he comes back you find yourself conflicted. thankfully, he has his ways of making you feel better.

tw: mentions of getting hurt (not described tho), hurt/comfort, linked universe.

a/n: ALWEHFDLKGJ I LOVE LINK!!!! Finally wrote for him!!! Words kept getting put down I couldn't stop myself. Also, heavily inspired by @maple-the-awesome's The Chain Meets You, His Partner but also vastly different lol (so go read that too if you haven't).

wc: 3.6k

Master List

Trying to ignore the sweat that dripped down your brow, you continued to watch Talon hack and swing at the dummy that was set just outside of Link’s treehouse. He had left, again, on a dangerous mission that you had little to no information about. Once again left in the dark. So you didn’t think he’d mind if you used his equipment for training. You're being filled with sorrow for multiple reasons, but the main one at the moment was for Talon, who felt the need to learn how to fight to protect the village. A task that  you had failed at. Something that ate at not only you, but Rusl, Colin’s own father. It ate at you for a different reason than Rusl, as not only had you failed at protecting the other children, but you had failed Link, who had set out and brought them back. A task that shouldn’t have fallen onto his shoulders solely, but became his burden to bear as both you and Rusl were too hurt to travel, let alone fight. 

You had cried when he came back (much to your embarrassment). Cried happily that he returned. Then cried solemnly when he had told you about how he not only saved the children of Ordon, but had saved all of Hyrule. Cried for just how quickly he had to grow in the few months of his travels, how he found solace with someone that wasn’t you (you knew that was selfish, but you just couldn’t help it). If the villagers had thought you and Link were close before, they were surprised that you had managed to become closer. You never left his side, always trying to do chores before he had the chance. Link needed time to rest, but you knew he would refuse to…so you had to force him somehow.

That felt like forever ago as he once again found himself placed with an even heavier burden than before. Traveling through different dimensions to kill some sort of shadow beast. You weren’t one hundred percent on the details as Link as rushidly explained that he was leaving and he wasn’t sure for how long. That had been months ago, and you found yourself taking over his role in the village. You were the ranch hand now, as well as the defender since Rusl was needed at home to help take care of his newborn. Which led you to this moment, teaching Talon how to defend himself. He was still young, so he had time to learn of the best stances, strikes, defenses, and more. And even if you weren’t as great as Link when it came to a fight, but you were still pretty darn good, which is why Talon asked you. 

You were brought out of your reverie when Talon let out an excited cheer, jumping up and down as he pointed out the broken pumpkin that once acted as the dummy’s head. With a small smile, you congratulated the young boy, telling him to go take a break and play with the other kids. To your satisfaction he did just that, running off into the village as you let out a sigh. You didn’t mind the kids, in fact, half the village were kids. No, you just weren’t as close to them as Link or Ilia were, but they didn’t seem to mind your awkwardness. Just as you were about to make your own way into the village for your much needed break, you were caught off guard as you were brought into an embrace. Panicking, you went to elbow whoever decided it would be a smart idea to catch you off guard, only to be swung around in a circle. You grasped onto the strong arms that held you by your waist, turning your head only to see your greatest cause of stress for the past few months. 

A mix of emotions washed over you as Link set you down, letting you turn to face him fully. Happy once more to see the man you loved, relieved to see that he was not only alive, but no visible injuries, and a bit annoyed. Annoyed that he just pops back in and acts like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just left you alone again, like he hadn’t just left for a mission that could’ve left him dead in a world he was unfamiliar with. Where you would’ve never known of his status, if he was alive or dead, left to forever ponder the fate of your childhood friend. In the end, your relief won, staring into his azure eyes that shone with pure adoration and happiness. 

“You’re back already?” You whispered, like if you spoke any louder he’d shatter before you and you’d wake from a dream. He nodded, always one who expressed himself with his actions instead of words. “To stay?” You clarified, and that was when your heart dropped. His smile fell, and his gaze drifted away from you. 

Yet he still refused to let you go, if anything he pulled you in closer as he spoke in a similar hushed whisper, “Came here to restock our supplies.” Before you could ask what he meant by ‘our’, you heard multiple footsteps approach, causing you to pull away from Link much to his dismay. Each time he was pulled away from you he felt like he was missing a part of himself. He almost downright refused to leave you when he came back from saving the forest temple and saw you laying battered and bruised in your bed. Your despondent attitude had caused him great heartache, unable to stay and lift your spirits as he had to clear the twilight from the rest of Hyrule. Instead, he kissed your battered and bruised skin that day hoping that his love and adoration for you would seep through your skin and reach your bruised soul. Instead, it seemed his affection had done the opposite, and as you littered his own face with kisses of your own, he could feel the regret, self hatred, and sadness drenched in each and every peck. You had given him the most soul crushing look as he exited your room to continue his journey. He knew at that moment you blame yourself for the children being taken, for not being able to come and help him on his journey.

And just when everything seemed to go back to as normal as life could get, it got uprooted once more. That sorrow filled your eyes once more when he brought up leaving soon. Once more, he longed to stay by your side as your hand cupped his cheek, stating that he shouldn’t have the world rest upon his shoulders again, how it wasn’t fair he couldn’t just live his life like any other hylian. Deep down Link knew you were right, and as he met the Links from the other dimensions, he knew it was unfair that they also had to bear similar burdens. Yet at the same time it was a solace that he met others who were dealt similar hands as him. So when it was time to go back to his dimension, where you would be there to greet him, Link had been overcome with eagerness, wanting to see you once more, talk of his adventures, and give you a few items he deemed you’d enjoy. He completely forgot it wasn’t to stay, and when your loving expression turned sour he felt his heart drop. 

Before he could try to cheer you, the rest of his group had finally caught up, causing you to stare at the multiple blond men who wore green tunics. You blinked rapidly, wondering if you had hit your head to cause such a sight, because it almost seemed like many Links of different variations stood before you. 

“So this was why you were running so fast,” One of them huffed, the only major difference was the scarf he wore around his neck. An awkward air settled around you all, and you found yourself itching for a reason to excuse yourself. You’re sure anyone Link would travel with was nice, but you always had a harder time getting to know new people. 

“Everyone, meet my friend,” Link gestured to you, a warm smile lining his lips once more. Then he introduced you to each individual. Apparently they were all Link, just from their own times/dimensions. It was honestly hard to wrap your head around the whole situation, but they all went by unusual names to clarify who was who. Your Link being called Twilight (or Twi) due to the darkness your land had fallen to years ago. 

“It’s nice to meet you all,” You smiled politely, hoping to not come off as awkward as you felt. “Unfortunately I have to go help Fado with the ranch now.”

“I can–” Before your Link could offer to help, you sent him a sharp glare that quickly shut him up. 

“You need to rest,” You scolded, and as your gaze fell onto the others you clarified. “You all need some rest. You should stay for the night at least, Link—Twi has room in his house to fit you all.”

“But–”

“No buts,” You shook your head, already starting to walk towards the village, the argument ending before it could even begin. You could hear some chuckles from the group, but you paid no regard. 

To clear your mind from everything that just happened moments prior, you found yourself cleaning the goats stalls at Fado’s ranch. Clearing and refilling their food and water troughs, shoveling out their poop, stacking hay bales that will be used the next day, then preparing to herd all the goats back into the barn. A routine you had grown accustomed to in Link's absence. This was his job…had been his job, but it was yours in the meantime. It unsettled you how well the village could do in the absence of Link, how no one dared to utter his name. Or perhaps they thought the topic would upset you…they wouldn’t be wrong in that regard. 

Just as the sun started to set, you closed the doors to the barn, ready to head back to your home and prepare a warm bath to rid yourself of the grim accumulated from a day of hard work. Of course things could never be so easy. Link stood by the gate, watching you close up. As you approached the blond hero, those tumultuous feelings from earlier rose once more, unsure if you could handle any more emotional encounters. 

“Come,” Link waved at you, nodding towards the village. “Wild made dinner.” You planted your feet, ceasing your movements as you felt your eyebrows furrow. On one hand, you felt like you were being unfair to Link's companions, but on the other, you felt completely exhausted both mentally and physically. Waking up before the sun rises and falling asleep long after it sets does one to someone's body. Not to mention the constant work that was piled onto you, from working on the ranch to training Talon, you hadn’t had much time to yourself, and you weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. And when Link sensed that you stopped, turning around to face you, you're sure the bags under your eyes, slouched posture, and how you could barely keep your eyes open screamed everything you felt. The bone deep ache that just wouldn’t go away. 

Still, he grabbed your hand. His calloused palm slotted in perfectly with your own. As he pulled you past everyone’s house, stopping in front of his own you almost gave in, too tired to fight back. Instead he quickly went in and came out with two bowls of what you assume is stew. You quickly grabbed the bowls before he could spill them on his climb down. Once more, he grabbed his bowl, then your hand, and pulled you towards the spring.

The crystal water lapped at your feet after you pulled your boots and socks off, curling your toes in the pristine sand. Both you and Link sat in silence as you ate, the starry sky peaking through the trees that swayed with the small breeze. Slowly, you found your body unwinding, each tense muscle coming loose with each small wave of the spring. The stew was good as well, filling your stomach with something other than the basics you had been forcing yourself to eat. You scowled into your bowl when you realized you were feeling better than you had in a long time, and that always seemed to be when Link was by your side. 

Like he could sense your thoughts, he scooted closer to you, arm to arm, nearly thigh to thigh. Lifting your gaze, you were met with his worried one. His eyes searched your face like he was deciphering a language only he could…and in a sense maybe that was true. With a full belly and an exhausted body and mind, your eyes started to droop and you leaned against the blonde next to you. No matter what, he was still Link, still your childhood friend that you grew up with, and you’d always cherish him. 

“I missed you,” He muttered, gently brushing away any hair that managed to fall onto your face.

“I missed you too,” You mumbled back, the warmth of his body inviting you into a peaceful sleep. A comforting silence had fallen over you both, making it harder for your struggle to stay awake.

“I love you,” Was all your mind could barely comprehend before you fell unconscious. 

When you awoke the next morning, you half expected to be by the spring with a sleeping Link by your side. But to your disappointment you were in your room. Of course, being the gentleman he is, he carried you home and even tucked you in. You’d have half the mind to be embarrassed, but this was Link we’re talking about. You both had done and said more embarrassing things around each other than you’d like to admit. And when you opened the curtains you nearly had a heart attack realizing you were late as the sun had already risen a good amount. You shuffled around the room and put on your clothes, trying to ignore the thought that Link had undressed you for your comfort the previous night. Stumbling into your last boot, you ran as fast as you could, ignoring your rumbling stomach in favor of not getting scolded. (Not that Fado would actually scold you, if anything he’d be thanking Ordona for letting you rest a bit). 

Arriving at the ranch, apologies lining your tongue, you felt your mouth drop at the sight of all the Links already at work. The smallest Link, Wind, if you remember correctly, dropped his crate at the sight of you and ran over. You winced, hoping that the crate didn’t contain eggs or glass, but got sidetrack as the young boy smiled brightly at you, asking a ton of questions right out of the gate. 

“Good morning! Did Twi go out with you last night? What did y’all do? He seemed pretty happy when he came back. How did you both meet? Are you both–” Wind was quickly cut off as an older Link approached with a stern look. 

“Wind, you know better than to toss crates around,” Time scolded. “And don’t overwhelm the young one with too many questions. Now go and finish stacking those crates.” With a pout, the kid gave you one last look before dashing back to his previous task, leaving you and the older male alone. Helplessly, you watched all the chores you typically get done ten times faster than you’ve ever seen, feeling unsure what to do without work. Seeming to sense your cluelessness, Time spoke up once more, mentioning that Twilight had stayed behind at his house. And so, you found yourself wandering over, only to pout this time. Link was watching Talon’s new skills with the sword, all the village kids watching them both. 

Beth had spotted you first, shouting your name and waving at you with a giant smile, “Look! Link’s back and he’s gonna spar with Talon!” “Spar?” You repeated as you blinked. Talon was in no way shape or form ready to spar yet, but Link had a sparkle in his eye that only spelled mischief when your gazes met. Talon was jumping up and down, excited to not only see Link again, but to do something you had been holding off on. With a resigned sigh, you only shook your head, letting out a short ‘okay.’ The two got into a fighting stance, and you had to fight the itch to correct Talon’s incorrect posture. Instead, you continued to watch from the sidelines as Link let Talon start with the first strike. The skill difference was obvious, and it was clear that Link was going easy, but in the end, Talon ended up knocked to the ground. And as you expected, Talon complained, waving off his own mistakes and pinning it onto someone or something else. To your surprise, instead of asking for a rematch, Talon ran off with his friends following shortly after. 

Bumping your shoulder slightly, Link drew your attention back to him, a boyish smile resting on his lips. After all this time, all the hardships he went through, he still managed to have a young air around him. You weren’t sure how he did it. You reciprocated the gesture, bumping into his shoulder slightly harder. 

“I don’t know what to do,” You couldn’t help but confess. “All the work is getting done and I feel like I should be doing something.” Link looked up with a hum, tapping his chin in thought for a few seconds. That cunning grin once again settled on his face before he grabbed your hand and sprinted towards the springs. 

“The springs, again?” You asked with a short laugh. “Didn’t we do this last night?” You felt your skin prickle as he sent you a devious look, picking you up like you were nothing and tossing you into the water. Thankfully, he threw you into the deeper part, or else that fall would’ve surely hurt. Wiping the water from your eyes, you sent the man your best glare you could muster, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him in further. In retaliation, he sent a wave of water at your face with a chuckle. With a huff, you tried to do the same, but the wave wasn’t as big as you’d like it to have been and you both laughed. You felt the darkness that had enveloped your heart slowly melt away as both you and Link played like you used to when merely children. Something you had missed dearly in the past few years. 

As your playful fight slowed, you couldn’t stop yourself from watching Link, or how the water fell from his hair and dripped back into the spring. The last three words he muttered last night rung back through your head. All the love and adoration you held for him gathered into a pool, ready to spill past your lips, and who were you to fight that? Not you, you thought as you eyed his lovely smile, one you would die for. 

“I love you,” You stated, heart beating wildly as Link turned to face you. At first he looked at you with shock, but that melted into pure warmth and affection as he waded closer. So close that you felt your body warm at the mere thought of his touch, felt your heart quiver in anticipation for his next move, and stomach flutter with all the love you held. 

It was silly. When you were younger, you recalled that you’d pretend to be his spouse and play house. How you stated you’d both get married someday, and how he would always go along with your nonsense. You said all those things with your full chest before, but now saying your true feelings felt like a battle. It made everything more real, and as you grew older you assumed he had never taken your childish ramblings seriously. Yet you seemed to be proven wrong as he gently cupped your face with one hand, the touch sending heat blazing throughout your entire being. As he leaned in closer, you closed your eyes, expecting a kiss…only for him to nuzzle your nose with his own. Yet the disappointment was drowned with the fuzzy butterflies that flew in your stomach at such an intimate act. One so loving and pure. 

Link’s actions screamed volumes louder than any words could as he littered both your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, or anywhere he could reach with kisses. A bittersweet reminder of the day he came back after twilight had taken over. And just like that day, you reciprocated, this time with a heart full of light and happiness. Instead of ending it there, you pulled him in for a proper kiss, one you had wanted for as long as you could remember. He wasn’t as surprised by your actions as you wished he’d be as he reciprocated without hesitation. You didn’t mind his chapped lips, or the way you both kissed clumsily, because this was Link. Your Link. And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

And once you both pulled away breathless, ignoring how you both still stood in the spring with sopping wet clothes sticking to your skin, you took in the other's presence. The warmth you both offered each other, the happiness, the love, the need and the want. You were like two pieces to a puzzle, a part of you missing with the other gone. And in that moment, everything felt like it clicked into place. He may still need to continue his journey, but you knew that he’d always find his way back to you, just like he’d always know where to find you.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Ship Of Dreams 🚢 | Twilight Imagine

Set during the events between New Moon and Eclipse & after Breading Dawn Part 2

Twilight Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Cullen!reader (female), Bella Swan-Cullen (platonic), Edward Cullen (adoptive ‘twin’ brother), the Cullen family (platonic/adoptive family), family OC!s, Alex Mason!oc (past romance)

Content Warnings: major angst, smoking, details of historical event disaster, profanity, descriptions of stalking and death | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 9.4k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Bella Swan always wondered what the story was of her vampire boyfriend’s so called ‘twin’ sister. Quiet and reserved, she had a mysterious aura to her, and what many would describe as a lady lost in time. Though she appeared no older than the age of 17, Y/n Cullen had eyes that saw a multitude of lives. Though in April 2006, the anniversary of a fateful night, finally reveals the truth behind the ‘youngest’ Cullen’s history with the Ship of Dreams.

Note: I had this Twilight x Titanic work in the making for two years 💀😭 back when I visited the Titanic Museum in 2023! I had done the TGM x Titanic AU and immediately started working on this but then, as usual, I got hyperfixated on other things and pushed this to the back burner...but anyway hope y'all like this! ❤️ also I cried writing the hospital scene. I mean I literally had to pause and gather myself at times while writing it because I was making myself so sad.

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April 2006

In the year since becoming involved with Edward Cullen and learning of the secret he and his family share, Bella had yet to uncover the story of his ‘twin’ by name and nature, Y/n.

Calling them twins was a far reach. Sure they had the same golden eyes and inhumanly beautiful physique, but that was it. Unlike Rosalie and Jasper who were blonde and could easily pass as twin siblings, Y/n and Edward appeared nothing alike save for the tiny detail they shared the same birthday of June 20th and were both turned at the age of 17. But whereas Edward was born in the year 1901, Y/n’s was 1895–the same year Esme was born. 

Bella only learned this by doing the math, after Edward let it slip Y/n was technically six years older than him. 

Like Alice and Jasper, Y/n had not been turned by Carlisle but, to Bella’s surprise, was the first to join his coven. Well before Edward came into the picture. When asked about this, following Edward’s explanation of Carlisle’s origin to her the night she visited his home for the first time, Edward plainly stated with a look she couldn’t decipher, “You’d have to ask her, it’s not my story to tell.”

But Bella never could bring herself to ask. Y/n’s exterior was as cold as Rosalie’s. Guarded and reserved. Quiet to the point she hardly added input during times the Cullen’s faced conflict. Always glued to a corner, hidden from the shadows. One glare was enough to send goosebumps along Bella’s arm. Understanding it’d be better to either not know Y/n’s story all together or silently hope one of the Cullen’s would tell her. Since it was obvious the vampire was going to keep her secrets to herself. 

Well….she was hoping to. 

“We can’t watch it here,” Edward’s voice was serious. More serious than ever, causing confusion to etch Bella’s face, taking the DVD case from Edward with a frown. It was a movie she’d seen a handful of times, a classic and one she thoroughly enjoyed whenever it played on TV. The only reason she was suggesting it now for their weekly movie night was for an assignment her history teacher gave on the historical event it was based on considering the upcoming anniversary was the following week.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have a DVD player.”

“I do,” he rolls his eyes, yet still carries the serious strain of his tone “but we can’t watch that here. We’ll go to your place.”

Her frown deepened, a little annoyed with the vampire changing their plans considering she drove all the way out to his. “I don’t understand, Edward….why is it so much of a big deal to watch Titanic here.” 

Lightening fast, Edward held a hand up, freezing the two in their places while Bella watched him turn his head to face the open doorway. Tilting it slightly as though to strain his hearing. When it appeared whatever coast was clear, he let out a breath of relief before facing her again, noting her visible confusion. “I’ll explain everything once we get to your house. I promise just…” he pleads with his eyes, gently taking the DVD once again to tap at the title Titanic with his finger, “don’t mention this when we’re here or in front of my family.”

The entire drive was quiet. Save for the soft remedy of the radio. The music gave Bella the distraction she needed to not say anything about what took place in Edward’s bedroom until they reached her house. All the while she replayed the moment in her head, followed by how eerie the Cullen house became right after the famous ship’s name spilled from her lips.

Titanic.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” She did not hesitate the second they entered, hanging her coat on the hanger and moving past him to set up the DVD player. She heard his sigh, igniting her annoyance, “you promised me an explanation.”

She felt his presence behind her, then a second later Edward kneeled to her level and took the DVD once more.

“You once asked me about Y/n,” he began, eyes lowered to the ground, “What her story was and how she was the first to join Carlisle” Gold met brown, his gaze shifting upward, while holding the disk cover up. “This isn’t just a movie, Bella. Not to her.” Heart pounding, Bella felt the air catch in her throat, realizing his implication. 

It’s her life.

“You’re saying…” She glanced at the cover. The iconic image of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet as Jack and Rose. The love story that ended in tragedy. Bella’s heart skipped at Edward’s nod.

“She lived it.” The air caught in Bella’s throat as the words left his mouth. “Y/n was on Titanic the night it sank--where she was turned by a vampire who wanted access to her family’s fortune.” 

“Family’s fortune?” Bella was processing multiple things at once. 

She was getting Y/n’s backstory she’d been curious about for over a year. 

The vampire was aboard the famous ship which sank nearly a century prior.

Y/n apparently came from a wealthy family. 

It was a lot to take in. 

Edward placed the disk in the compartment, pressing the button to turn on the tv. “Her family were first-class passengers.” He began to explain, “Her father was the co-owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers and her mother was the daughter of a wealthy banker who happened to be a popular socialite among their class. Y/n was privately educated, and set to study literature at NYU.”

“Wow,” Bella exhaled, taking in the information. The screen had projected the main menu but neither were focused on it. 

Discovering Y/n wanted to pursue literature was no surprise. From the massive book collection in the Cullen’s library which Edward said belonged to her, to the phenomenal school papers Bella had read in their English class during their peer review sessions, she knew Y/n was a gifted writer and storyteller. She made the simplest of words feel powerful. Brought scenes to life in the reader’s mind. 

Then there was the tiny detail that Edward made a comment months back saying Y/n had published several books under pseudonyms.

He won’t admit it, but Bella’s fairly certain Y/n wrote one of the books on their summer reading list. The suspicion formed when she caught him sending his sister a knowing look after the sheet was passed out. When she looked at Y/n, Bella noticed her amused smirk, followed by a chuckle as she winked at her brother. 

“I-I don’t--,” she had trouble putting the words together, flushing red. “I can’t imagine….”

Edward nodded, understanding what she was trying to say. “Talking about our past is hard for all of us. But for Y/n, it doesn’t help that every history class talks about it.” He lifts up the DVD cover, “or that Hollywood continues to make shows and movies.” 

Bella wanted to ask more questions but understood it wasn’t the time. She knew if she wanted more information, she was going to have to gather the courage to ask Y/n herself. A task easier said than done when the vampire had barely warmed up to the human since implanting herself in their lives. 

They settled on the couch and pressed play, but Bella’s attention was far from the film. Her mind drifted to Y/n. Thinking about her as each scene played out to the point Bella started to picture Y/n in Rose’s place. It brought chills to her arms, shuddering as she couldn’t help but wonder what it was like in those final moments as the ship sank. 

When the movie ended, Bella said goodbye to Edward and began her assignment. Again, she was distracted. Feeling off as she searched online for sources about Titanic and watched video clips of survivors. 

Eventually, after contemplating for over an hour, Bella picked up the phone off the receiver and dialed the number. It rang three times before the familiar voice with a slight transatlantic accent spoke through. 

“I’ve been waiting for your call.” 

Bella silently cursed, face and neck turning red as she cleared her throat before replying, “Can you come over? I’d like to talk to you.” 

20 minutes later, Bella and Y/n sat across from each other in her kitchen. Notebook in front of her, cup of juice on the table and pencil in hand while Y/n’s were folded in her lap. To Bella’s surprise, the vampire knew exactly why she had called her, for Alice had seen it that morning and warned Y/n. 

‘So much for easing my way into this,’ Bella thought to herself. 

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” She nervously said, fiddling with the pencil in her hand. Y/n gave her a soft smile in hopes of easing the poor girl.

“Bella, if I didn’t want to do this I would have said so over the phone.” 

“I know but…” she cringes slightly, more embarrassed with herself than anything. “This is your history. And I feel like I invaded your privacy by making Edward tell me why we couldn’t watch the film at your house.”

“You didn’t make him tell you anything,” Y/n’s words shocked her, Bella tilting her head in confusion. “Edward made a promise, and you were ensuring he lived up to it. I can understand given the way he behaved and made you clueless as to what the issue was. Granted,” Y/n paused, shuffling in her seat, “I would have rather you simply came to me, but I realize my part in why you refrained all these months since you got together.” 

‘Avoiding you like the plague,’ as one would say.

Y/n put her folded hands on the table, nodding to the notebook. “How would you like to start?” 

Bella straightened in her chair, bringing the notebook closer as she opened it to remove the paper listing the assignment. She skimmed over it, brows pinched, “Um, it says I have the option to write an essay on media--documentaries, movies, tv specials--about the event. Research and write a biographical report on a famous passenger. Or….” her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, peering at Y/n over the paper. “Interview a survivor.” 

Y/n hummed, elbows propped on the table to rest her chin on her folded hands. “And which option are you leaning toward?” 

A frown made its way on Bella’s face, shrugging lightly as she placed the sheet back down. “Honestly I’m not sure. I’ve watched the movie and a couple documentaries. Read a memoir from a survivor and searched about a few passengers on the internet.”

“Well my advice,” Y/n mused, shifting her arms down so they were crossed but still leaning on the table. “Options one and two are your best bet. Unfortunately the last remaining survivor, besides myself,” she paused briefly with a strained smile, “lives all the way in England. She’s I believe 94, and was only two months old when she was aboard. Frankly I do not understand why our teacher would have that option on the assignment.” Leaning back in her chair she let out a sigh before giving the girl a knowing look. “But Bella, you and I both know you don’t really need my help on this assignment.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, making Bella’s pale face turn red as a tomato. Of course Y/n wasn’t going to buy her excuse of helping with homework. And there was no point in denying it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really know how to approach the subject.” 

“You could’ve just asked,” Y/n teased, but waved a hand dismissively and huffed. “Again. I’m to blame for why you didn’t.” Straightening her already perfect posture, Y/n tugged at the sleeve of her turtleneck and got serious. Taking a moment before speaking as though she were preparing herself. “You want to know my story and I’ll tell you, but you have to understand that it is not like how you see in the movies. My experience,” a faint look reached her eyes. “Was very different.”

Bella swallowed thickly, closing her notebook and pushing it away. Giving Y/n her full attention. “I understand.”

“What all did Edward tell you?”

“That you were on the Titanic when it sank. Your family came from wealth, and you were targeted by a vampire who snuck on who wanted access to that.” Bella saw the way Y/n’s breath hitched, stiffening but quickly recovered herself. Making the girl mentally curse herself for possibly overstepping. 

“Okay. That at least gives me some insight on where to begin.” Clearing her throat, Y/n reached into her satchel and removed a silver metal tin. It was in great condition despite evidently being from the 1910s. “Do you mind?” 

The question confused Bella, who didn’t know how to respond until her gaze landed on the now open tin, revealing five pristine cigarettes on either side. “Oh,” her eyes widened in surprise. Not sure how to respond since this was new information to her. Instantly questions popped in her mind. ‘Can vampires even smoke?’ ‘Does anyone else in the Cullens smoke?’ ‘How does that work?’ 

Bella shrugged, “my dad smokes cigars in the living room at times. And my step-dad is a smoker so I don’t mind, help yourself. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Y/n plucked one from the tin, placing it between her lips before looking in her bag again to fish for her lighter. “You know, it pleases me that there are still some cigarettes from my time available. These are Camels,” she gestured at them with one hand while the other pulled out the lighter. It matched the tin. Silver, vintage, and in pristine condition. “I preferred Fatima’s back then, but these will have to do. I hate Malboro’s,” her thumb flicked the lighter open, the flame igniting. 

“Never tried them,” Bella commented with a small smile. Frankly she was quite stunned with how Y/n was speaking to her as though they had been friends for decades. Just telling her the favorite cigarettes she used to smoke gave a little insight into her past. 

Bella pictured the young woman on the terrace of a New York cafe, cigarette in hand with a martini in the other while gossiping to her friends of the latest scandals within their socialite circle. Pearls around her neck, diamonds on her ears. Standing in the powder room with said friends to reapply her rough lipstick and adjust whatever pillbox hat she chose to wear that day. 

Thinking of what Y/n’s life might have been before becoming a vampire saddened Bella. The possibilities, the opportunities. Would she have married and have children? Would she have gone on to do great things? 

“It doesn’t do anything to me, obviously.” Y/n explained, bringing the flame to the filter. The glow of it made her golden eyes brighten in color. Once lit, she flicked the lighter off and tossed it and the tin back into her satchel. Bella stared at Y/n with fascination as she inhaled deeply before tilting her head back to blow out a thick cloud of smoke. “But it makes me feel….human. I used to do it so much that having one in my hand became second nature. It was common for the times. Plus the taste of it reminds me of bitter coffee,” That distant look in her eyes returned, but was then replaced by annoyance, “Carlisle hates it--as does Esme but they tolerate it so long I do it on the terrace. Emmett and Rosalie will indulge me by partaking to get under their skin,” a light chuckle leaves her lips, taking another drag. “The others say nothing. As I said, it doesn’t affect us.”

Bella laughed under breath, “Honestly I can’t see Edward smoking.” Picturing it felt foreign, and Bella wondered if he had before turning. 

Y/n laughed with her. “I’ve tried tempting him, but he never breaks. Still tries to use the excuse that it is a bad habit.” Y/n scoffs, “believe me, I know. He just hates the smell of it--enhanced senses to blame for that.” Blowing smoke out, Y/n finished with, “Alright, enough of my bad habit.”

Y/n began to take Bella back to April 10th, 1912. To the day she and her family boarded Titanic to set sail to New York from Southampton, England. “Before they were the Los Angeles Dodgers, they were the Brooklyn Dodgers. And before that, they were the Brooklyn Superbas. My father co-founded and owned the team in 1883 as the Brooklyn Grays prior to all the name changes and eventual move. His father,” she took out a small antique ashtray from the satchel, tapping off the ash from the filter. “had accumulated wealth after hitting big during the Gold Rush. My father then used his part of the inheritance to go into business with Charles Byrne, Joseph Doyle, and Ferdinand Abell.”

Now it made sense for Bella why whenever the Cullen’s played baseball Y/n sported Dodger merchandise and would find her watching the team play on T.V during the season. She also was a fan of the Brooklyn Mets, but not as enthusiastic as she was with the Dodgers. Not to mention the intense rivalry with Edward for his love of the Chicago Cubs. 

“Now you know how my family’s fortune came to be,” Y/n waved the smoke she released away, “and as you can imagine, he was friends with some very rich, influential people in New York. The whole reason we were in England to begin with was to attend the wedding of one of those people. As for Titanic,” she swallowed the imaginary bile in her throat. “He wanted to have the ability to tell everyone that he and his family were amongst the ship's first passengers. To brag or whatever--I don’t really know. But it happened that the wedding took place around the time she was set to set sail to New York. Extending our trip to last three weeks instead of the two we planned. All because he managed to snag the tickets by talking to the right people at the right time…..”

“I do not understand why we couldn’t have left on the Lusitania last week,” Y/n complained as the car neared the boarding docks. Trying to peer out the window but was annoyed by the crowd of people taking up every inch of the pavements, making their journey last longer than planned. “We’ve taken the liner twice now--surely it would have been up to satisfaction. We’ve had no trouble traveling on it--why go through the hassle of staying a whole week longer just to be on this ship, father?”

Not looking up from the newspaper in his hands, Y/n’s father sighed and shook his head. Irritated by her complaining as she had yet to stop since he told her the news. “Because, daughter, this is no ordinary ship. The White Star Line has spent years crafting the perfect vessel for the sea and we are in an extraordinary position to be able to be amongst the first passengers aboard. How could you not be excited by that?”

Y/n secured her coat tighter around her shoulders, frowning while keeping her gaze on the scene outside. “Forgive me for not being comfortable at boarding a ship that is set to make its first voyage across the Atlantic.” 

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Y/n. There is no need to be dramatic and consume yourself with worry. The White Star Line has assured Titanic passed every safety precaution and is unsinkable.” 

That did nothing to lift her unease, “Is that not what they said about the Tayleur? It sank three days into its maiden voyage?!” Her father grumbled, closing his paper to fold and place in his lap. 

“That was over fifty years ago. Times have changed. Technology has changed.” His hand waved dismissively, “That ship was doomed from the start despite what the papers make of it. Look, it would be foolish of them to not have learned from their mistakes. I’m telling you there is nothing to worry about.”

“But that feeling never left me,” Y/n put out the cigarette, blowing out the last bit of smoke. “Even after meeting the crew and the captain, there was an odd heaviness in my stomach. Telling me that something would happen. No matter what I did to distract myself--whether that be playing cards or chatting with other young girls my age aboard, thinking about my fiancé back in New York….it never left my mind.” 

Bella let out a gasp, eyes widening at the revelation, “Fiancé?” At the vampire’s nod, Bella felt her heartbreak. 

“Alexander Mason,” there was an airiness when Y/n exhaled, reminiscing at the memory of her lost love. “His father was a real estate mogul and big fan of the Dodgers. Our fathers met at a banquet, not long after they were invited to watch a game from our private viewing box and introduced us. Alex was a doll,” Another cigarette was lit, the woman shifting in her chair. “Handsome, intelligent. Beautiful eyes you could get lost in. Had a sharp tongue but a quick wit. I honestly wanted nothing to do with him,” Y/n chuckled at Bella’s gaped expression. “He talked my ear off that night.”

“And that was a bad thing?” Bella giggled.

“No,” Y/n defended, her own smile threatening to peek through. “It’s not a bad thing. It was just….odd. Took me off guard--especially because the conversation was centered around me. Which--,” her finger not holding the cigarette lifted up for emphasis, “most men in the 1900s of that class were not interested in the hobbies and interests of women. They desired a wife who would be a shiny doll to hang off their arm and keep the house in order.” The cigarette went between her lips. 

“I was not like that. I had dreams. Aspirations. I wanted to go to school, become a writer, and maybe see a little of the world before settling down.” The small, albeit sad, smile appeared. “He supported me--encouraged it actually. Then after several dates I was smitten. Alex was the first man to whisk me off my feet and make me believe there were truly good people out there. He was so sweet. So kind. Loving.” If her heart could beat, Y/n was sure it would have died on its own from being broken. “I knew I’d never find another like him. Which is why I said yes to marrying him after four months of courting. Under the condition we’d wait until I completed university--we were seventeen after all and the idea of marrying that young, despite it being common, unnerved me.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“He was. He agreed that it was too soon to get married, but he told me he’d rather refer to me as his fiancée than telling people we were going steady.” It was then Y/n peered down at her left hand. Bella followed her gaze, landing on the dainty diamond ring on the finger reserved for when one commits their life and love for another person until death do them part. Realizing what the ring was, and seeing how she never saw Y/n without it, Bella felt her eyes water. 

“Is that…?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful,” it truly was. Timeless and the type of ring that belonged on display in an antique museum. It suited Y/n.  

“Thank you,” she beamed, lifting her hand up to inspect it. “His words when he proposed was he saw the ring and it reminded him of the way my eyes sparkled when I laughed.” Y/n tightened her lips, emotion flooding her. “Little did he know the only time I genuinely laughed was with him. He was the reason for that sparkle.” 

A pregnant pause fell over the two. Y/n shuddering as she blinked away the tears that would never fall. God if there was one thing from her human days she wished she still had, it was the ability to cry. 

“What happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking,” Bella’s tone was gentle, hand nudging slightly forward as if to offer Y/n comfort. 

“He lived a long life,” Y/n resumed smoking, though the sadness never left her tone and her gaze remained on her ring. “I watched over him for many years--even after joining Carlisle. He can attest to the weekends I’d go missing and return with a tortured presence.” The heaviness in her chest heightened, she quickly reverted the story back to Titanic knowing at some point Bella would ask more about her relationship. 

“Anyways, we boarded Titanic the morning of April tenth and I kept to myself most of the time. If I wasn’t in my suite, I read in the lounge or sat on the deck drinking tea. Played cards with wives and daughters in first class. Chatted with the crew whenever I had questions.” Y/n inhaled sharply, eyes turning narrow. “It wasn’t just the ship I was worried about--Twas the main reason for my anxiety, yes, but there was a sense that I was being watched. You know the feeling?”

Bella nodded, heat rising to her pale cheeks as she thought back to the first weeks she lived in Forks and first met Edward. Even when she could not physically see him, the feeling she was being watched hovered over her. Then of course the incident with James, and now with Victoria still out there, Bella kept looking over her shoulder believing she’d catch a glimpse of red hair. “I know it quite well.” 

“Then you know it brings the hairs on the back of your neck up,” Y/n snarls, clutching her fists together. “And it is frustrating because you feel as though you are going crazy scanning your surroundings every second hoping to find the one responsible.” Unclenching she shook her head and took a deep drag of the cigarette. Letting the nicotine, a placebo to her, linger in her system before releasing. “The entire time on that ship I knew I was being watched. On the deck--in the lounge--in the ballroom, God, on my way to the powder room, I felt like a deer being hunted. My father dismissed my concerns, naturally, because I had no evidence of this faceless individual stalking me aboard. My mother, God rest her soul, at least listened and advised me to not wander on my own after nightfall.” 

“I’m assuming this faceless individual is the vampire who…” Bella trailed off nervously, her suspicions confirmed by the firm nod she received. “Who was he?” This time she got a scoff.

“To this day I’m unsure if the name he gave me was in fact his real one. Hours prior to the sinking he introduced himself to me--Called himself Arthur Deveroux. Said he was an investment broker out of London.” The sneer returned on her visage. “And that he was on his way to New York to do business with Rockerfeller. I’d never heard of him, and to this day the name Arthur Deveroux is not on the list of first class passengers aboard Titanic. He was a stowaway,” Y/n explained with a grimace. “Snuck on minutes before the ship departed Southampton and imposed as a member of London’s elite. In reality, Arthur--or whatever his true name was--was a man who’s greatest power was the ability to deceive.”

A chill ran down Bella’s spine. Enough to make her shift in her seat. It wasn’t hard to picture the kind of man Arthur was based on the fury laced in the vampire’s tone. And as Y/n relayed the story of the night she met her creator, Bella felt as though she were there with her. 

“What did you say your name was again?” Y/n’s brows pinched, observing the man with skepticism as she removed her hand from his after he’d taken it to kiss her knuckles. Just before he approached her at the table where she had been retrieving a plate of custard for her mother, that inkling of being watched had pooled in her stomach. Sending off alarm bells when she turned to find a beautiful man appearing not much older than her with the most unusual eye color. 

Red. Deep like the rouge lipstick she wore. The sight of them made her take a cautious step back. 

“Arthur Deveroux, madam.” Never had she heard a voice like him. Smooth and echoey. Unique and the type one would hear singing on the radio. Or beckoning prey out to sea. 

“Arthur,” Y/n repeated, scanning his physique which was donned in a crisp suit. Matching the men around them present for dinner. “You’re from England I assume? What brings you to New York?”

“Business. My company hopes to collaborate with Mr. Rockerfeller.”

“Fascinating,” she wasn’t really. Many men attempted to get their hooks into the millionaire and turned up short. Y/n thanked the waiter handing her a martini, taking a sip while eyeing Arthur, who declined the waiter’s offer of making him a drink. “How come I have not seen you before tonight, Mr. Deveroux? Are you not one to mingle?”

His chuckle sounded like wind chimes. “I’m afraid not. I tend to stick to the walls during these gatherings and observe. The people here are far too ostentatious for my liking.” If he’d been anyone else Y/n would laugh. Agreeing with the statement. But something about Arthur screamed that he was hiding something.

“Well, do enjoy yourself these last days Mr. Deveroux.” She began to excuse herself, sneaking a glance to her table to find her parents watching the scene. “I hope New York is up to your standards.” 

The smirk that appeared sent goosebumps along Y/n’s arm. And not the good kind she’d get when Alex looked at her. Everything about the expression was eerie. As though Arthur was calculating an idea--and Y/n was at the center of it.

“I believe you might be right, Y/n. I think New York is going to be everything I envisioned.” Taking her hand once more, Arthur’s smirk never left as he felt her shudder at the touch. Cold lips pressing to her knuckles. “Perhaps we’ll see each other there.” Before she had the chance to reply, Arthur backed away slowly then turned on his heel. Striding toward the exit amongst a sea of guests, and Y/n let out the sigh of relief she’d been holding. 

When he disappeared from her view, Y/n realized she’d never given him her name.

As it came time to recall the final minutes of her humanity, Y/n was on her fourth cigarette and the golden color of her eyes had dimmed. Bella’s heart skipped and she swore to herself knowing Y/n heard it. The last thing she wanted was to dishearten the young woman further. 

“I’d got separated from my parents during the initial chaos,” her voice was barely over a murmur. Gaze fixated on the surface of the table. “Titanic had just struck the iceberg and the impact woke me up. My parents went to the deck for information and I was trying to find them when I was suddenly pulled into a storage closet by a force so strong I remember it knocking me off my feet. Dragging me into the darkness. I couldn’t see and the grip on me prevented me from moving--I let out a scream but then a hand covered my mouth causing me to freeze. That’s when I heard his voice.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Y/n.” his icy mouth caressed the side of her ear. Y/n whimpered against the rock solid hand holding her still. “I’d hoped to continue our conversation in New York, but it appears this ship will not be arriving. Now I have to improvise, but rest assured….this will only hurt for a little while.” And before Y/n could react, a pinch on her neck turned to a searing, excruciating pain that exploded in every cell in her body as Arthur sank his teeth into her skin. 

Ensuring Y/n L/n was listed among those lost at sea when Titanic greeted the bottom of the Atlantic on the early morning of April 15th, 1912. Her name missing from the list of survivors recovered on the RMS Carpathia. To the world, the beautiful young socialite died along with the thousands Titanic took with her. Never knowing she was reborn into a creature of the night, destined to walk the Earth for eternity as a living reminder of the ship of dreams that was believed to never meet her end. 

“By the time I awoke Titanic was all but a memory. A blur. He kept me in that closet for most of the transformation as the ship took on water. Slowly descending further and further into the icy waters of the Atlantic,” Y/n finished the last of her cigarette, putting the nub out and curling her hands into her elbows. “I heard everything. The screams. The cries. Women and children saying goodbye to their fathers. The violins from the band who refused to stop playing.” The melody filled her ears, bringing Y/n back in time. “I focused on the music. Ironically enough, it brought comfort despite the chaos unfolding and served as a distraction for the torment I was going through. Mentally and physically.”

Bella wiped away a tear with a sniff but she remained quiet.

“When the upper deck flooded, that's when Arthur moved us. Edward might have told you before that when a vampire bites a human, the amount of time it takes for the venom to course through all depends on where they bite them.” Bella nodded slowly, remembering the conversation from when she first went to the Cullen’s home and he told her that Carlisle suffered for days during the transformation because he was bitten on the hand. For Y/n, Arthur bit her neck. Closer to the heart and therefore it would only take hours. 

“I was nearing the end--and he knew that, but it was minutes before the ship would submerge and he did not want us to get stuck. He gathered me up, hauled me over his shoulder and made our escape. To everyone on board scrambling to stay afloat it looked like a man carrying his lover to safety. What they didn’t see, however,” Y/n paused briefly to gather her emotions. “Was Arthur throwing us off the railing on the opposite side and swimming away. For miles and miles in absolute darkness. Until we finally reached the shore.”

Bella pictured a newly turned Y/n dragged from the waters onto the sands of New York. Returning home as planned, but without a beating heart and newfound thirst for blood. Scared. Confused. One minute she’s aboard a sinking ship, the next she’s on land. Life stolen by a man with sinister intentions. Depriving her of the future with Alex she dreamed of. 

“What happened next?” Bella carefully asked. 

Y/n’s expression remained dejected, offering a light shrug. “Arthur kept me hidden for days. Forcing me to feed on innocent humans. The RMS Carpathia would be arriving in New York and he needed to confirm if my parents had survived so he could blackmail me into stealing my inheritance.” Pushing away from the table, Y/n gathered the ashtray and discarded the remains into the trash. Running it under the faucet before wiping it dry with a paper towel.

“What the bastard didn’t anticipate,” she said with a tone Bella couldn’t decipher, but it sent a wave of unease through her. “Was the level of rage I experienced when I finally got a hold of my mind. It’s easy for creators to manipulate newborn vampires, but they have to be precise and hope that the person does not remember what preceded the bite. Unfortunately for Arthur, I remembered everything.” Y/n returned to the table, tossing the ashtray in her satchel and Bella saw the darkened expression that had encased her. “And once I realized what he’d done to me…let’s just say Arthur should’ve thought twice about taking on a newborn vampire for the first time.”

Bella didn’t have to hear the words to know what Y/n was implying. Gulping as she muttered, “You destroyed him. Like Edward did to James.”

Their eyes locked, and Bella felt her breath hitch by the blankness in Y/n’s. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” there was no hesitation. How could Bella blame her for wanting revenge on the man who stole her life. Y/n deserved her revenge and from the sound of it, Arthur had never turned anyone prior to her. Leaving him unqualified for the intensity a newborn experiences adjusting to their new life. 

Y/n would’ve been stronger. Faster. Combine that with rage and the taste for vengeance and Arthur was no match for her. 

“Carlisle found me three months later--in July of 1912,” Y/n wrapped up the story, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve before moving to play with her ring. “I knew immediately he was like me, but his eyes were different and I wanted--needed--to know what my future was like. Considering I didn’t really give Arthur the chance to explain,” A sheepish look came over her. “Carlisle had this aura, and I knew I could trust him.” A soft chuckle escapes her, “It’s funny, you know, my intuition never failed me when I was human. It was so strong even then and becoming this only enhanced it. Just look at how the entire time on Titanic I could not shake the feeling it wouldn’t reach America. Then Arthur….Carlisle believes it to be my gift and If I’m being honest I didn’t believe it myself until decades later.” 

Bella instantly became curious, “What made you think otherwise?”

Y/n tensed, and the crushing expression replaced the somber one. Folded hands going in her lap, but her thumb still stroked the ring. “Remember how I said I used to watch over Alex?” Bella nodded slowly, chest tightening at the implication, followed by confirmation. “Well I always felt,” her left hand went to the part of her chest where her heart lay. Unmoving. “In here, beckoning me to be near him. That I needed to see him--even if it was for a split second. And so, for seventy years--,” Bella’s mouth parted with glistening eyes. Y/n mirrored her, but unlike Bella the tears wouldn’t fall. “I would go to him. Observing from afar of course I could never…get close.” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, placing her hand back in her lap. “There were times he saw me.”

A gasp left Bella before she could stop it. “He did?”

“Yes,” Y/n murmur was more of a whimper, and Bella let the first tear fall. “I knew it was wrong, but I’d let our gaze lock. Then the second he blinked or turned I bolted. I know,” she huffed, “It was selfish of me. I hated myself because I was quite literally a ghost haunting him. But God I just needed to see his eyes--they were always my favorite thing about him.” 

Y/n cleared her throat loudly, rubbing her arms as she gathered herself. She knew telling Bella about Alex her years watching over him would come to this moment, but nothing could prepare her for the pain surfacing within her. 

“The uh--the last time I saw Alex was on his deathbed,” her eyes were closed but she heard Bella’s reaction. From the stutter of her heart to the sharp inhale. “In the days leading up everything felt off. I knew he was sick--he’d been for awhile, but I hoped he’d pull through like the other scares. This was different.” Her hand went back to her chest. “My intuition never failed me,” she let out a watery laugh, “and this time…it was warning the inevitable. Then Alice gave a look I’ll never forget, and I knew I needed to get to him as fast as I could.”

Bella couldn’t even imagine, just envisioning it made her heart sink into her stomach and throat dry up. Before she could ask the million dollar question, Y/n answered for her. “I got to say goodbye. It’s what Alex deserved. After everything I put him through he deserved to have closure.”

“Why did you never…?”

“Turn him?”

“Yeah,” Bella frowned, immediately regretting the question upon Y/n’s look of torment. 

“Same reason why Edward has yet to turn you,” it was harsh and Y/n knew it. But Bella needed a wake up call, if she could be the one to deliver then so be it. Yet at the same time, Y/n finds it aggravating that Edward would put this much effort into a relationship with Bella to not turn her. With Alex, Y/n never pursued him and kept her distance for a reason. Yes, she tortured herself by constantly checking on him, but at least she committed to it. 

A flash of hurt was evident on Bella, but she recovered as Y/n continued, “Alex lived a long life. Maybe not always happy, but he went on to do great things. He became an engineer, and dedicated his career to advancing ships for cross-Atlantic travel. Because he never wanted another disaster like Titanic to happen again,” a small smile curled up on her lips, a proud look in her eyes. “Eventually he married a nice woman, had a daughter, and three grandkids. Turning him would’ve taken that all away.”

Despite feeling broken-hearted for Y/n, Bella understood her reasoning, even though she herself desires becoming a vampire to be with Edward. Unlike Y/n, who sacrificed her chance at having her love with her to give him the ability to live a full life. 

“Did you,” she bit her lip, leaning her elbows on the table after wiping a stray tear. “Did you at least get to talk to him? Before he died?”

Y/n was silent. Gaze drawn down to her lap where it focused on the diamond ring. And while her undead heart broke for the man she’d never see tending to his garden or placing fresh flowers on her ‘grave,’ ever again, Y/n smiled at knowing he was in a better place. 

“I did.”

“I-I knew--I always knew,” the old man croaked in anguish as tears welled in his beautiful eyes that still held the color and sparkle they did when he was a seventeen-year-old boy. Now covered with wrinkles to match his withered skin and silver hair. He laid in a hospital attached to different machines, heart monitor picking up in pace at the rapid beat due to the emotions consuming him. But no matter his appearance, he was still the sweet, darling, Alexander Mason Y/n fell in love with all those years ago. “I-I saw you--after Carpathia docked I scoured the area for you.”

“I know you did,” Y/n whispered with agony. Grabbing his hands gently, making him gasp by how cold they were but he clutched them like a lifeline. Holding them to his chest because he feared that if he let go she’d disappear. 

“They told me you were lost at sea,” the first tear fell, and Y/n felt a sob in the back of her throat. “They said you sank to the bottom and would never be recovered. They--they told me I was making it up--but I knew you were out there. I saw you.” He shook his head as more tears cascaded down his cheeks like a never ending waterfall. “I saw you at my graduation. At the cemetery when my mother died. At the docks when I left for France--when I was in France.” Y/n shuddered at the memory surfacing. 

America had entered World War I and despite Alex coming from wealth where he easily could’ve dodged the draft, he enlisted and spent the year in Europe fighting. And the entire time Alex carried a photograph of Y/n in his pocket close to his heart. Removing it when he was about to go on the frontlines to take one last look at her face and press a kiss to the image. Men in his battalion often asked about the lady Alex held in his pocket, and each time they were met with shock and regret when he revealed she was on Titanic when it sank. 

That was the longest time Y/n had been away from Carlisle. He advised her not to go as she did not know any of his friends that lived in Europe, but Y/n refused to be an ocean apart from Alex. Especially when there was the high chance he may never return home. No, she needed to be close to him. To ensure he was safe. Eventually when the war ended, and Alex was back in New York, Y/n tracked down Carlisle in Chicago. Discovering that during her departure he turned a 17-year-old boy dying of Spanish Influenza. 

“I was there,” she breathed, confirming his statements as she stroked his hand and wrist. Aged skin contrasting with hers frozen in time. It pained her to see him like this. Pained her to have gone decades as a shadow in his life. Observing from afar while never drawing close. 

“You were there,” He repeated with awe, the memories of each occurrence flooding his mind. She wasn’t a figment of his imagination, conjured by his grief. She was real. “At the docks.” Y/n nodded. “At the hotel opening.” Another nod, this time slower. “At my wedding.”

Y/n couldn’t take it anymore. Her head dropped between her shoulders, leaning forward to press her forehead against their conjoined hands. The tearless sob released, echoing along the walls and hitting her straight in the chest. Her undead heart breaking into pieces. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I am so so sorry. Please forgive me--I couldn’t come to you no--no matter how much my soul begged for me to put an end to the suffering.” 

“What happened out there, my darling?” He brought her attention back to him. Not wanting to go another second without looking at her face. The beautiful face he fell in love with as a boy. The face that haunted his dreams. That he swore he saw on a crowded street and when he looked out his window on every birthday and anniversary that passed. The face he thought of when fighting for is life in France--praying he’ll see when he was called to the heavens. 

Now that face was in front of him after decades of mourning. When people called him crazy for always believing Y/n to be alive and forced to hide away. “You’re still as beautiful as the day I lost you.” One hand let go of hers to caress her cheek, wrinkled thumb stroking the area below her eyes. “Except your eyes have changed. They’re not the color they were when you left New York.” His hand rested on top of hers, still perched on his chest right by his heart. “But nonetheless, still beautiful.” 

Y/n swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words to say but none of them seemed appropriate. “You remember all those stories of creatures in the night we used to read about that our parents said were incongruous?” His nod was slow, but attentive. 

“Like Dracula?”

“Yes,” Y/n choked out a laugh, “Like Dracula. Turns out all those stories are not fairy tales.” His sharp intake filled her ears.

“Are you saying…?” This time Y/n was the one to nod. “Good Heavens. You--you are a--.” She shook her head roughly, not wanting to hear him say the word. 

“I’m not the same I was when I left for England all those years ago. There are things--dark things, that exist in the world, and unfortunately I’m one of those.”

Alex rescinded her words, “No. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“It’s true, darling.”

“You might have different eyes, but you’ll always be my Y/n. You’ve been my guardian angel all these years. Any--anytime I felt lost, you were there. Anytime I-I felt like I was forgetting your face, there it was in the distance.” 

Y/n let out a pained sound, but it was so soft Alex couldn’t hear it. His words struck her. Like lightning hitting a tree. How could he still have devotion to her after all the suffering she put him through. 

“You still wear it?” He brought her attention to their hands, where his frail finger traced the ring. “After all this time?”

Y/n stared at him with absolute love, “I’ve never once taken it off.” Bringing his hand to hers, she kissed his weathered skin. “And I never will.” For a moment they just sat there. Staring at each other while the beep of the monitor filled the room. Getting slower and slower to the point Y/n felt herself starting to crumble. “I’m breaking all the rules coming here,” she eventually said, wanting to hear his voice until the inevitable arrived. 

“Rules?”

“Things in this life are not so different from yours. There are rules to follow and the reason why I had to stay away from you. It would’ve put you in danger--and I couldn’t let that happen.” Alice assured Y/n her visit with Alex would remain hidden from the Volturi, but part of her still worried. Thankfully her intuition wasn’t screaming at her, otherwise the situation would be different. 

“Will you get in trouble if you’re caught?”

“Yes. But I don’t want you worrying about that. Alright?”

“Does anyone know you’re here?” The fact Alex was concerned made her smile. 

“The man who took me in does--and the family he and I found along the way.” One of her hands came up to brush away a silver hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “He found me shortly after I…became this. He knows I would've moved mountains and fought my way through anyone who got in my way to prevent me from being here with you.”

Alex sighed, eyes fluttering shut as they fought against the sleep his body desperately craved. Y/n saw it too, and the look of anguish overcoming her made Alex understand why she waited until now to make an appearance. 

“This is it, isn’t it.” Not a question, a statement. 

“Yes,” she whimpered, scooting closer so she was sitting beside his torso rather than his legs. Leaning into his space as he kept her palms pressed to his slowing heart.

His smile was gentle, “I guess I should find some solace. Dying with the last thing I’ll see being the love of my life I lost a lifetime ago.” Another groan left her. “I always regretted not coming with you to England. That damn Yale interview.”

“I’m grateful you didn’t,” she defended, tone serious as though appalled by his confession. “Had you who’s to say we would’ve made it on a lifeboat. And if they refused to let you on, I would’ve leaped off.” The chances of him surviving would’ve been slim. The lifeboats took women and children first and therefore the majority of those who died aboard Titanic were men. Including Y/n’s father. “You would’ve never done the amazing things you accomplished, Alex. You would’ve never got your Nobel Prize--or had your family.” 

A sigh left him, knowing she was right, and another wave of tears fell as he whispered, “I would’ve joined you.” He would’ve become a vampire for her. Traded in his future of living to remain unmoving in time with her. 

It devastated her. “I know you would have,” her bottom lip trembled, “But Alex, you deserved to live. You deserved to do all those great things. You’ve embedded your name in history--thanks to you, there hasn’t been a commercial passenger ship to sink in seventy years.”

Alex let out a snuffle, “I didn’t want--I didn’t want anyone to experience the pain I did. Losing you that way…I never recovered, Y/n.” 

Now that destroyed her. Worse than she ever imagined. Y/n audibly reacted as the pain tightened and exploded in her chest. “Oh, Alex.”

“You’ll stay, right?” The monitor decreased in pace. Alex used what little strength his heart had left to stay alive to treasure the last moments the universe afforded him with Y/n. His time was coming, and he was ready, but he needed to see her face, hear her voice, and feel her touch, one last time. “You’ll be right here.”

Y/n leaned forward, holding her weight up but still keeping her body close to his. “I am not going anywhere,” She vowed, lacing their fingers together, pressing them into his chest so she could feel the light thump of his heart. “I’ll be right here every second.”

And Y/n did. She sat there, holding his hands until they went limp. The beeping decreased. Alex’s breathing turned into soft pants, eyes fluttering as the darkness beckoned him. The last thing he felt was cold lips pressed to his forehead, and the melody of her voice in her ears sending him off to the Heavens, “I love you, Alexander Mason, I will love you until the end of time. And when the day comes, I’ll meet you at the docks.” 

April 14th, 2012 

The Cullens stood together in silence as the cool wind breeze passed them and clouds drizzled light rain above. The smell of salt from the sea filled their senses, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, causing the boats docked to lightly sway. 

Bella, now possessing golden eyes and skin so pale and cold, leaned into Edward’s side while brushing a hand down their daughter’s hair. Like her family, she remained silent as she watched her sister-in-law stand alone at the edge of the docking port. Staring ahead into the deep, quiet ocean. 

In the middle of the night one hundred years prior and 1,300 miles away, the ship of dreams known as Titanic sank to the bottom of the Atlantic. Carrying 2,240 souls on her maiden voyage to New York, only 706 made it to their destination. The rest were lost to the sea. 

Y/n L/n may have survived the sinking, but she died aboard Titanic. As the ‘unsinkable’ vessel took on water, her heart stopped. Never to beat again. Becoming frozen like the waters consuming them, she went on to outlive the 706 survivors rescued on the RMS Carpathia. The last one leaving the docks forever in 2009. 

Flowers in her hand, with the same face that boarded Titanic, Y/n approached the edge of the dock. The wind breezed past her, stronger this time but she remained afoot. Crouching down so her knees hovered over the wood. And when she leaned over to stare at the water, the reflection of that 17-year-old passenger stared back at her. 

With a shuddered breath, Y/n gently lowered the bouquet, watching as the current grasped the flowers, allowing them to drift away in the direction Titanic would have traveled when she reached her final destination. 

Golden eyes followed the flowers as they grew smaller and smaller in the distance until Y/n barely made out the color. When it was gone from her vision, she tilted her head up to the sky, smiling at the sight of the sun breathing through the dense clouds. 

They’d have to go indoors eventually, but Y/n rejoiced in the feeling that the universe was sending her a sign. They might be gone, but they are never forgotten. The people we love are always watching over us. Sometimes it’ll feel like a gentle touch to the shoulder. Or comes as a whisper. Or in a crowded room you might find their face. 

However it may come, they are always there. 

And as Y/n began to stand, wind picking up once more, she felt the caress of a hand on her shoulder, a gentle murmur filling her ears. 

“I’ll always wait for you at the docks.”

[kwanisms]

Run Rabbit, Run — k.seungmin

» stray kids masterlist «

➮ vampire!Seungmin × f!Reader wc: 20.5k (sorry. it happened again lmao) summary: Seungmin is a vampire and has lived a very long life and seen many ages pass him by. He’s grown weary of immortality until he meets someone one random night who really puts things into perspective for him. genres/themes/au: angst, smut; supernatural and vampiric themes, gothic undertones, predator/prey dynamics, s2l; non idol au, vampire au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, Seungmin is a vampire so drinking blood and feeding from humans is a given, alcohol consumption (Y/N has a couple drinks), Seungmin is still a predatory creature so he has some… thoughts about that, minor character death, attempted SA (but nothing happens), sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! special taglist: @yoonguurt , @lvelicky , @anyamaris , @wooyoungqueen , @kpop-stories-21 , @xsweetelegantdiasterx , @kookthief , @stardragongalaxy , @millennial-fangirl , @blankdyean , @imwithurmother , @bangchans-angel , @oreoqueen , @yjeonginlvr , @zdgx1 , @shuxsoo , @s00buwu , @queenmea604 , @pochaccomin , @katsukis1wife , @linos-catnip , @wh0r3mir4 Join the taglist! »» Closes 10/30 @ 23:00 CST Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED.

a/n: this one was so much fun. Seungmin is such a wild card when it comes to writing. He fits innocent types but he also fits these savage/predatory roles really well! Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please reblog or comment your favorite part! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), unprotected sex (he’s a vampire. This ain’t twilight. But you aren’t a vampire, so use protection), blood play, orgasm control, predator/prey play, dacryphilia, use of pet names (little rabbit, sweetheart, doe, pet, etc), Seungmin is kinda mean but he also leans a little heavy into the predator role but jokes on him cause Y/N is into it so who’s the real winner here? If I missed anything just let me know.

dialogue prompt: ❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜

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Eternity. Humans use the word so freely. 

I promise to love you for eternity. I want to live for eternity. Death is eternal.

Seungmin knew that the last one was correct. Death is eternal and it will last forever. But love? Eternal love didn’t exist. Not in the literal definition of eternal. Mortals die and then that is eternal. The love they experienced before their demise is fleeting and perishes with them.

The only thing that was eternal other than death was the waking hell Seungmin had endured for centuries; life eternal. It was supposed to be a gift. He was told it was a gift and initially, he believed it. Getting to stay young and live a long life. All he wanted was to live for a long time.

But as the ones around him withered and died, Seungmin came to see this “gift” as a curse. Life eternal was part of a bigger scam. Creating an army of vampires to take over the world. Or at least that’s what he thought. He’d been changed upon his request and then left alone. No guidance, no mentor, nothing to help him navigate this new life he’d been unceremoniously dropped into.

Seungmin had to learn as he went, adapting and changing at a much quicker rate. He made mistakes along the way but eventually he found a path and stuck to it. It wasn’t until those around him started dying of old age, people he’d grown up with, that he started to see the error he’d made.

Each generation that passed, Seungmin grew more and more dissatisfied with life as an immortal. He stopped forming relationships and bonds with people because he’d lived this story so many times, he knew how it ended. It was better to not feel. Better to not get attached.

He moved from continent to continent, city to city. Perhaps that was the only good thing about living for so long. Being able to see more in his infinite lifetime than a mortal could see in their limited years. Decades turned into centuries and Seungmin had been to more cities and countries than he could count. He’d seen more and done more than anyone could ever hope to see or do.

So why was he still so [word]? He’d been given the gift of immortality, he’d been to so many places and seen so much and yet… none of it filled the void in his soul. None of it left him feeling fulfilled or satisfied with life. He still held so much disdain for his existence.

Even as he stood on the edge of the cliff, looking down at the vast forest below. It was a great fall, one that would surely kill a man before he even hit the ground but Seungmin was no mere man. Would a fall from this distance even leave a mark on him? Would his body break and finally free him from this cursed life? He had no way of knowing. It wasn’t exactly like he’d been given a manual on this.

How to Commit Suicide as a Vampire for Dummies wasn’t a title that would ever grace the shelves of Barnes & Noble. He’d have to just try. It was trial and error at this point. He’d tried so many different things. Poison didn’t even register. Knives and swords did nothing, not even a wooden stake through the heart had come close to killing him. Bullets did nothing either and they were annoying to remove.

He’d tried drowning himself in the ocean only to discover he didn’t need to breathe. He’d tried starvation only for his instincts to kick in at the last minute and force him to feed on whatever was nearby. He’d tried jumping from other heights but none this high.

If this didn’t work, he felt the only thing that might kill him was extreme pressures.

Seungmin was so absorbed in his own thoughts of death that he didn’t realize he was no longer alone.

You stared at the man, noticing how close he was to the edge of the clearing. A fall from this height would surely kill him. You glanced up at his face and could help but stare. You’d never seen such… sadness before.

He looked as if he was deep in thought. You glanced out over the forest below and then back at the man. ‘Surely he isn’t thinking about jumping,’ you sincerely hoped silently.

A simple hike in the mountains was what you had expected when you came to this national park. What you hadn’t expected was to find a man standing on the edge, possibly about to end his life. You glanced around the clearing to find it was just the two of you.

Looking back at the man, you were reminded of your own struggles with depression, thoughts of suicide, almost attempts but in the end, it got better and so did you. You wondered if it would make a difference in his life whether you stopped him now. Even if just to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, keeping your eyes fixated on the man. You stopped a few paces behind him but kept a good few feet between you. Turning your gaze from his profile, you looked over the trees below.

“What a view,” you said softly. Your voice must have startled him because his head snapped to look at you, alarm etched on his face. You kept your gaze over the trees, looking around and taking in the splendor of it all. The man kept his gaze focused on you. “It’s so beautiful,” you continued, still not looking at him.

Out of your periphery, you could see him turn his head back to look out over the forest. “It’s the same as all the others,” he said softly. “All the others?” you asked, finally turning your head to look at him. You allowed yourself to actually look at him this time, focusing on the details you couldn’t see before.

His smooth, flawless complexion, the reddish brown color of his hair blowing in the gentle breeze. He wore a simple white button down under a black blazer and black slacks. He looked like he just came from an office job. Not dressed for a hike in the mountains.

He had no supplies, no wilderness gear, no backpack or sleeping bag.

It hit you then and made your heart rate speed up as you hoped you were wrong.

‘He’s come here to die.’

You looked around, trying to think of anything you could to distract him.

“Have you been to a lot of forests then?” you blurted out. He turned his head to look at you, brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he asked, his voice a little louder this time. He looked and sounded genuinely confused by your question.

“You said it’s the same as all the others. So you must have been to a lot of forests to make that statement,” you replied. ‘Yes, this is good, Y/N. Keep him talking. Keep him distracted.’

“Do you travel a lot?”

The man stared at you, a look of perplexion on his face. Almost as if he was wondering why you were even talking to him in the first place. “I’ve heard the forests in the Carpathian Mountains are gorgeous this time of year,” you continued, looking away from him. “The changing of leaves, the cool autumn air, the influx of wildlife preparing for winter hibernation,” you said with a smile.

“I’ll bet it’s beautiful--”

“It is,” he said, cutting you off. You turned to look at him. His eyes were still on you. “A little colder than you’re probably imagining though,” he added. “Transylvania is also beautiful this time of year,” he continued. You took a cautious half step forward. “Have you been to Romania?” you asked.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, amusement on his face for a brief moment. “I’ve been all over,” he replied. “Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia,” he listed off. “I’ve even spent time in the Antarctic.” Your eyes widened with wonder. “For work or…?” you trailed off as he shook his head. “Not exactly,” he answered.

“I’ve lived a very unique… life,” he added, forcing the last word out after some consideration. You tilted your head curiously. “Would you tell me about it?” you asked. He turned his head again, meeting your gaze and a shiver went up your spine. It was almost as if looking into his eyes flipped your flight or fight response and every nerve in your body was telling you to run but you couldn’t.

Not because you were frozen in fear but because this man, a man who was on the verge of possibly throwing himself off the edge of a cliff, thousands of feet off the ground below had lived a unique life and if getting him to talk about it meant he’d step away from the cliff and live his life a little bit longer, then you couldn’t run.

Not if it meant he lived.

He scoffed and turned back to the cliff. “What are you? Some kind of shrink?” he asked, a bitter sound to his voice. You shook your head. “No,” you replied. “You just look like you have a lot of stories to tell,” you continued. “And if you’d like. I’ll listen to you.”

Seungmin didn’t know why, but when he looked at you, he felt as if he could talk to you and that you might actually listen to him. Something deep in him was telling him to talk to you. To keep living a little while longer, even if just to share his stories with you because you were right.

He had a lot of stories.

He found himself spilling almost everything to you. His weariness with life, his solitude, and his exhaustion. He was exhausted with everything. He had grown almost sick of living, sick of being alone, and sick of being alone for so long.

The best thing about you, Seungmin noted, was that you didn’t interrupt or judge him. You listened with rapt attention but it didn’t feel forced or fake. Your genuine curiosity was refreshing and although he knew he shouldn’t get attached, Seungmin found himself craving your company.

Perhaps it was because he’d been alone for so long and you were the first person to show him any interest beyond flirtation or sexual desire. He was unaccustomed to such attention after centuries of not experiencing it and this was the first conversation he’d had with a mortal in ages.

Seungmin took a deep breath, having finished the story of his most recent trip to Europe. A trip that spanned months and took him to places most people never think to visit. The sun had long set since he started his stories and the sky was beginning to lighten, indicating he’d spent the whole night talking.

But more importantly, you’d spent an entire night listening to him. Mortals had such a short time on the planet and yet you’d chosen to spend an entire night listening to him tell you stories of his life and his travels.

And you had actually listened to him.

“Sorry for taking up your whole night,” Seungmin said, glancing back at the sky as it started to lighten into shades of blue and purple. You shook your head, lifting your head from its resting place against your hand. “Not at all,” you replied. “It was fascinating. Thank you for sharing with me,” you replied.

“I’m sure you need to get going,” Seungmin said as you stood up from the log you’d taken a seat on next to him. “What about you?” you asked, looking down at him. Seungmin stood up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I think I’ll walk with you,” he answered. “Are you heading back to your car?”

You nodded. “I was only supposed to hike up and spend the night,” you replied, starting to walk and he kept pace with you. “And I guess in a way I did that,” you added with a chuckle, one that Seungmin shared. The walk back was punctuated by more stories, not nearly as grand as the ones he’d shared before. Smaller stories about random events and chance encounters on his travels.

The sun was climbing above the trees as the two of you reached the bottom of the mountain, the small gravel parking lot coming into sight where your cat sat, waiting for your triumphant return. “This has probably been the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had,” you started as Seungmin stopped a few paces from your car and you turned to look at him.

“Thank you again,” Seungmin said. “For listening to me.” You offered him a dazzling smile, one that might have taken his breath away had he not already been dead. “Thank you for allowing me to listen,” you replied. You turned and opened the hatch on the back of your car, removing and placing your pack in the back before shutting the door and heading around to the driver’s side.

Seungmin realized at that moment that he’d never gotten your name nor had he shared his.

“Wait,” he called, stepping forward. You hesitated as you pulled open the door and looked up at him.

“What’s your name?” he asked. A smile spread over your face. “Y/N,” you answered.

Seungmin smiled the first genuine smile in years. “Y/N,” he repeated. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Seungmin.” Your smile widened slightly as you finished pulling open your door. “It’s good to meet you, too,” you replied. “See you around, yeah?” you asked before ducking your head and getting into the car.

Seungmin watched as you backed out of your spot and waved at him one last time before pulling out of the parking area and disappearing through the trees on the dirt road, leaving him alone in the clearing.

“Yeah,” he said softly to himself. “See you around.”

The funny thing about time when one has lived as long as Seungmin is that days, weeks, even months, go by in the blink of an eye. At least until Seungmin had met you. Suddenly, life seemed to drag on yet still, days went by, turning into weeks and yet all that occupied his mind was his meeting with you. The random hiker who had somehow managed to save his life.

He’d tried to find you but to no avail. He only had a single name to go off of. Several times, he’d gone back to the national forest, trying the same hiking trail he’d met you on and even trying others but he had no luck it would seem. Finding you was starting to seem impossible. 

Despite being a mostly lonely creature, Seungmin did have one contact he’d kept over the years.

Wonpil.

Seungmin had met the man during a brief stint in the military, meeting the combat medic who turned out to be the same as him, an immortal. A friendship was formed and over the years, even if they hadn’t seen one another for decades, their bond remained intact.

In the modern age, Seungmin could rely on Wonpil for three things.

Loyalty

Perspective

And blood in the form of blood bags.

He never asked how Wonpil was able to acquire them without rousing suspicion but the how wasn’t exactly important. In a day where everyone carried a phone with cameras and facial recognition almost everywhere, Seungmin had to be careful not to feed from living people.

Most immortals who lived in the modern age had switched to feeding from animals, going hunting in the forests instead of feeding from humans. It was safer but even so, one wrong move and an immortal could be caught on camera feeding from a deer or some other woodland critter.

Seungmin had tried the animal diet when he lived in areas closer to the wild but in the city, one was limited on options. So Wonpil, with his job in the hospital, was able to sneak around and steal blood bags without anyone finding out.

It had worked out so well for this life as they were in the same area for once, settled into false identities but Seungmin’s was about to expire. He needed to move on, start anew to avoid drawing attention. He could only pretend to be thirty for so long until suspicions arose.

During one of their meetups so Wonpil could deliver Seungmin’s monthly supply of blood, Seungmin had told his friend of his chance encounter in the woods and Wonpil found it both endearing and amusing. He’d told Seungmin to stop focusing and obsessing over one woman. “You need to go out there and get laid,” he chuckled. Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to get laid,” he retorted, taking the messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Not in this day and age,” he added. Wonpil snorted, crossing his arms as he looked over his shoulder. “This day and age is perfect for that,” he replied.

“No one wants a relationship. They just want something casual,” he added. Seungmin shook his head. They’d had this conversation before but he was still reluctant. What if he ended up liking the person too much? He’d get attached and then just end up hurting them when he inevitably had to leave.

He was far too reluctant to get himself into that situation. Wonpil sighed and placed a hand on Seungmin’s shoulder. “Suit yourself,” he said before patting him and walking away. Seungmin returned home after that and went about his usual routine of cleaning up and putting away his supply.

It was a few days later that things completely changed.

He’d gone by a coffee shop to meet Wonpil for something, he couldn’t even remember what. It’s not like he needed the coffee or any other item the shop offered. It just made them look normal. Made them blend in more.

Wonpil had left after his business and Seungmin had gotten up to leave when he bumped into someone as he reached the door. The sudden action caused him to spin away from the door as did the person who he bumped into, spinning to face him and Seungmin couldn’t believe his eyes.

There you were, looking back at him, shock on your face.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, seconds stretching into minutes as the two of you stared at one another unmoving, unblinking. Seungmin found it hard to hear anything happening around him. Like everything had been muffled the way the world sounded when one submerged themselves in water.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

As if that was the magic word to break the spell, just as quickly as the world stopped, it picked up again. The sounds of chatter, the sounds of the coffee and espresso machines, the ding of the cash register and the ringing of the bell at the door as new patrons flooded in.

“Seungmin,” you said softly, your lips spreading into another one of your dazzling smiles. “Hey,” Seungmin said, mirroring your smile. “How have you been?” you asked and he stepped aside as someone tried to squeeze past him.

“I’ve been okay,” Seungmin admitted. “A lot better than that day, actually,” he added. Your smile widened, a brief spell of relief washing over your face. “Good,” you said with a nod. “I’m glad to hear that.” Seungmin noted how a silence fell between you but he had no idea what to say.

He’d never experienced this. He’d never not been able to keep a conversation going before. He’d never felt like a school boy talking to his childhood crush before. It was foreign to him. Finally, a feeling he’d never experienced. Something new.

“I wondered if you were just passing through,” you admitted as you stepped aside, pulling the strap of your bag back up on your shoulder as patrons filed past the two of you. “If you weren’t living in the city but instead just on your way through.”

Seungmin shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I live here. Not in this neighborhood,” he added. “But a few blocks north.” Silence again. Why was he so bad at this? Had your first meeting been this awkward and he’d blocked it out because he’d been so focused on wanting to end things?

“Are you staying?” he asked suddenly. You tilted your head in confusion. “Here,” Seungmin added. ‘No. Stupid. You need to elaborate further.’ “What I meant,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Are you getting your order for here?” Your confusion melted away, a small smirk presenting itself.

“I’m on my way to work actually,” you answered. Seungmin felt his heart sink just a little before he had an idea. “Would it be alright if I walked you?” The words left his lips before he could even register them. Your smirk morphed into a bright smile and you nodded. “I just need to place my order,” you said, pointing at the counter.

Seungmin nodded and pointed towards the door. “I’ll just wait out here for you,” he answered. He could have waited inside with you but the cafe was starting to get crowded. Too many warm bodies and where there were warm bodies, there was blood. He needed to clear his head.

Thankfully you didn’t find this odd, only nodding before joining the queue.

Outside the cool autumn air helped Seungmin quell his thirst. Pushing back the beast that threatened to rear its ugly head and make him do something that he would regret. ‘You only have a couple weeks left before you have to leave,’ he reminded himself.

But for some reason, reminding himself of that made him sad.

Before he could dwell on that feeling for too long, the door opened and you joined him on the sidewalk. “Ready?” he asked and you nodded, carrying a hot cup of coffee and a small paper sack. Seungmin followed your lead, keeping pace with you as you walked.

He learned that you had lived in the city for a few months. Your move came with a transfer with your job.

“What do you do?” he asked as you took a sip of your coffee, sighing softly. You sniffled, the cold air no doubt nipping at your skin and making your nose run. Seungmin hadn’t experienced that in centuries. He didn’t remember what it was like to feel cold or warmth.

“I’m a pediatric nurse,” you replied. “I work at Seoul General,” you added as you continued walking. ‘Seoul General?’ Seungmin thought. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “I have a friend that works there, actually.” You looked up at him, eyes wide. Whether it was excitement or curiosity, Seungmin couldn’t tell.

“Oh really?” you asked. “I wonder if I’ve met them yet,” you added. Seungmin shrugged as the hospital started to come into view. “Perhaps you have,” he replied. “Who’s your friend?” you asked, looking at him. “Wonpil. Kim Wonpil,” Seungmin answered.

Your eyes lit up. “I know Dr. Kim!” you replied. ‘Excitement,’ Seungmin noted. ‘Definitely excitement.’ He smiled as you started to slow your pace. “I didn’t know you were friends with Dr. Kim!” Seungmin chuckled at your response as you neared the doors.

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” he replied. “We go way back.”

You glanced at the doors briefly before looking back at Seungmin. “I need to get clocked in but could I get your number? Maybe we can meet up for drinks or coffee sometime?” you asked, sounding hopeful. Seungmin’s heart sank. ‘Number? Oh no…’

Seungmin had managed to adapt to the times. Following trends, especially fashion. He understood email, he understood online ordering, he got all of it. The one thing Seungmin hadn’t seemed to keep up with were mobile phones.

He’d never had one, nor had he ever used one. Wonpil had one. Of course he did, but Seungmin hadn’t quite caught up to that part yet. Even if it was 2023. And now he had the misfortune of telling you that he didn’t have a mobile phone.

“Uh…” he hesitated, uncertain of how to even explain this. You stared at him expectantly. He wondered what was going through your head, rushing to explain before he lost the opportunity. “I don’t have one,” he finally managed to blurt out.

You stared at him, blinking a few times as you processed his words. ‘Great. Now she probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo.’ After a moment of silence, you wordlessly opened your purse, fishing out a small pad of paper and a pen and quickly scratched something down. “Here,” you said, holding out the paper. “It’s my number,” you said, smiling at him.

He didn’t detect any sarcasm as you spoke. “If you end up getting one sometime, give me a call. Or a text,” you said as you dropped the pen and paper back into your bag. “And then we can get that coffee,” you added, giving him a wink. “I’ll see you around,” you called as you backed towards the hospital entrance.

Seungmin looked up as you waved. He waved back. “I’ll call you!” he called back and you sent him a thumbs up before entering the hospital and leaving him standing on the sidewalk in awe of what just happened. He looked back down at the small piece of paper in his hand. Your number looked back at him, the numbers silently judging him for not owning a phone.

Yet you didn’t. You didn’t even question it. Surely you thought it strange he didn’t have a mobile phone in such a technologically advanced age and city. Seoul was a hub of technology and of technological advancements but yet you said nothing on the subject, merely offering a solution.

Seungmin tucked the paper in his wallet carefully and started back down the sidewalk, a new confidence in his step. He knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to update, get with the times. His walk took him through the front door of a high rise building, catching the elevator up to the seventeenth floor.

He reached the apartment he’d been looking for, raising his fist and knocking heavily on the door three times. Then three more when no one answered. He knocked three more times before he heard the lock slide and the door opened, Wonpil appearing before him with a look of annoyance and confusion.

“What is your problem?” he asked, looking around. “I was sleeping,” he added. Seungmin stared back at him. “What?” Wonpil asked. “You look like you just murdered someone,” he joked. “Do you need help with the body?” he added under his breath. Seungmin shook his head. “That’s not what I need help with,” he replied.

“Then why are you pounding on my door? You know I sleep during the day because I work overnight shifts for the next two weeks,” Wonpil asked. “I do need your help,” Seungmin clarified. Wonpil nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “With what?” he asked as he let Seungmin into the apartment.

“It must be urgent if you’re coming in here, guns blazing,” he joked as he walked over to the kitchen island and looked back at Seungmin who nodded. “I got her number.”

Wonpil stared blankly at him. “Got whose number?” he asked. “Y/N’s,” Seungmin replied. Wonpil’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, really? When? How?” Seungmin explained how just after he left the cafe, Seungmin ran into Y/N and then walked her to work. “And she works at your hospital,” he continued.

Wonpil smirked as he hopped up onto the kitchen island to sit. “I can totally hook you two up,” he said as Seungmin rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to hook me up,” he replied.

Wonpil held his hands up. “Then what do you need my help with?” he asked, looking confused. Seungmin cleared his throat before looking up at his friend. “I need a mobile phone. Now.”

Since acquiring the phone, Seungmin hadn’t been able to bring himself to make the call. Each time he picked up the device and tried to type out a message, it just didn’t feel right. Wonpil had sat down and shown him exactly how to use the device and even gave him some tips and pointers but it just felt… wrong.

After the tenth attempt at texting, Seungmin erased the message and set the phone down on the table in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t he just send a text? It wasn’t that hard, right?

He stared at the screen, hearing the ticking of the clock on the wall as he stared. He stared for a couple more minutes before grabbing it again and instead of typing he pressed the call button. This had to be easier, right? Talking was easier than trying to type.

Wonpil had been very precise that Seungmin did not write his texts like emails. It would make him look really weird and the last thing Seungmin wanted was for you to think he was weird.

He was certain if his heart had a beat that it would be pounding in his chest as he listened to the ringing through the receiver. If he could sweat, his palms would be clammy. Even if he was nervous, there was no way for him to express it except in his voice when you finally did answer.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded just as lovely as the last time he’d heard it. “Hello?” you said again. ‘Fuck. Answer her!’

“H-hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking. Seungmin quickly recovered, crossing his arm over his chest and tucking his hand under his arm. “Uh, hi,” you replied, sounding unsure. “Who is this?” Seungmin started to pace from the kitchen to the living room.

“It-it’s Seungmin,” he clarified, clearing his throat, trying to push his nerves away and keep the conversation going. “Oh hey!” you said, instantly sounded much more excited to hear from him. ‘That’s a good sign,’ he told himself. “So you got a phone?” you asked.

Seungmin nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Wonpil had warned him that almost no one said ‘yes’ over the phone except “boomers” and that Seungmin did not want to be lumped in with them.

“Welcome to the 21st century,” you said jokingly, making Seungmin chuckle nervously. “Am I your first call?” you asked and Seungmin hesitated. Should he say yes? Should he lie and say no? He decided against lying. “Yes,” he replied.

“I’m flattered,” you said and though Seungmin knew you were joking, he could tell it was just in good humor. He smiled to himself. “So,” you started and Seungmin heard the sound of rustling on the other side of the phone. Almost like the sound of sheets. Were you home in bed? He tried not to think about you in bed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being your first mobile phone call?”

Seungmin straightened up, moving his free hand to slip into his pocket. “I’m not entirely sure,” he answered truthfully. “To be honest, I didn’t have a plan when I called you.” He heard you chuckle lightly on the other end. “So you’re just winging it?” you asked. Seungmin laughed, continuing to pace slowly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he replied. His nerves had calmed down and he found it easy to talk to you like this. “Well, how about I invite you out to dinner?” you asked, catching him off guard. ‘Dinner?’

“Like… a date?” Seungmin asked, waiting anxiously for your answer. “Or like two friends getting to know each other, if that makes you more comfortable. No expectations.” Seungmin paused, looking around his apartment slowly. The boxes in the corner that were half packed to the bare walls. He only had a few more weeks here in the city. ‘What the hell,’ he thought. ‘Why not?’

“Sure,” he replied. “Perfect. How about Saturday?” you asked. “I start a new rotation tomorrow so I’ll be free in the evenings.” You sounded excited about this and Seungmin tried not to get his hopes up. After all, he couldn’t get attached. He was moving soon. “Saturday works,” he replied.

“Great, I’ll text you the location of the restaurant,” you continued and Seungmin chuckled. “I don’t get a say in this?” he asked and you giggled. “I’m inviting you out, so no,” you replied. “I’ll see you Saturday, seven o’clock?” Seungmin’s smile widened.

“Seven o’clock,” he repeated. “It’s a date.”

Saturday came much too quickly for his liking and internally, Seungmin was panicking. He didn’t know how to do any of this. He was from a completely different time period. He had no idea how dating in the 21st century worked. He’d seen movies and television shows but none of it prepared him for what he was getting himself into.

You had sent a text with the location of the restaurant and Seungmin arrived at six-fifty, giving himself plenty of time to prepare to spend a few hours with you in a restaurant full of people. He’d chosen to walk, enjoying the scenery of the city as the sun slowly descended behind the buildings and the way the sky erupted into oranges and pinks as the celestial body sank further below the horizon.

The restaurant was a small upscale place nestled into the base of one of the many high rises near the heart of the city. Seungmin glanced through one of the large square windows on the front of the building, allowing him a glimpse inside the establishment.

Couple sat at small round white draped tables, eating their meals by candlelight and sipping their drinks. He noticed a familiar face sitting at the bar in a fitted black satin dress. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, thanking the attendant who opened the door and let him in.

Once inside, he was greeted by a host who promptly asked him for the name for his reservation but Seungmin didn’t look at him. His eyes were trained on you as you turned, catching his eye and smiling as you waved. Seungmin pointed in your direction. 

“My date is at the bar,” he said to the host who turned to look back at you. “Ah yes,” he said, turning back to the book. “Your table is not quite ready but I will inform you when it is.” Seungmin nodded and squeezed past the host, making his way over to where you sat.

Inside, he had a better look at what you’d chosen to wear and he was glad he decided to dress up as everyone in the restaurant had the same idea. You smiled as he reached you, sliding into the seat beside you. “You’re early,” you noted, looking up from your drink.

He hadn’t noticed it before but you’d ordered a cocktail and it was half finished. He wondered how long you’d been waiting. “As are you,” Seungmin noted as he settled into the seat. You flashed him a sheepish smile and turned your attention to your drink.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked and you shook your head, taking a sip of your drink. “Only a few minutes,” you replied as the bartender approached. “Can I get you anything, sir?” he asked, directing his question at Seungmin. “Whiskey, neat please,” Seungmin said as he pulled his wallet out. The bartender nodded and turned to start pouring Seungmin’s order.

“Whiskey without any chaser? You sound like a simple man,” you said, toying with the stem of your glass. A moment later, Seungmin’s drink was set in front of him and he thanked the man, passing him a couple notes. “I try to be,” Seungmin said, lifting the glass to take a sip.

“So, how does it feel to have finally joined us in the twenty-first century,” you asked, leaning on your arm against the counter. Seungmin felt his lips twitch into a smirk. “You make me sound like I’m ancient and out of touch with reality,” he mused, taking another sip.

“Are you?” you asked, drawing his attention. “Out of touch with reality?” Seungmin asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders. “Or ancient?” Seungmin could have sworn his dead heart tried to skip a beat but it lay still in his chest.

He scoffed, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass. “What makes you think that?” he asked before looking back up to meet your gaze. You studied his features carefully, eyes lingering on his for a moment longer than he liked.

Before you could respond, the two of you were interrupted.

“Excuse me,” the host from before said. Both you and Seungmin turned at the same time. “Your table is ready.”

Once you migrated from the bar with your drinks, Seungmin ordered another whiskey while you both looked over the menu, looking for something that he could ingest without arousing suspicion. “Do you eat a lot of Italian food?” Seungmin asked, looking up from his menu.

You shook your head. “No,” you admitted. “Unless you count pizza,” you joked. Seungmin smiled, returning to the black words before him. He settled on a steak with a simple side dish while you ordered some kind of seafood pasta.

“I’ve heard the pizza in Italy is nothing like the rest of the world,” you said as you picked up your water glass. Seungmin nodded, setting his now empty whiskey glass down. “It is,” he replied. You looked up from your glass. “You’ve been to Italy, too? Why am I not surprised,” you mused with a smirk.

Seungmin shrugged his shoulders, smiling back. “I’ve been all over Europe,” he reminded you. You set your water glass down and leaned forward slightly. “And the States,” you added to his statement. He nodded. “And Asia,” he continued. “Hmm,” you hummed, looking down at his fingers drumming against the white tablecloth.

“What’s the best place you’ve visited? Your favorite,” you asked, clarifying what you meant at the end. Seungmin hesitated. That was a good question. One he doesn’t think he’s ever answered. Then again, he didn’t make a habit of conversing with people other than Wonpil. What was his favorite place to visit?

As he pondered, the server stopped by the table. “Would you like another drink, sir?” he asked, to which Seungmin shook his head. “No thank you,” he replied. “Two is my limit,” he added, looking up as the server nodded, taking the empty whiskey glass.

You fought the urge to smile, thanking the server as he took your empty cocktail glass as well. “Would you like another?” he asked softly. Seungmin saw your eyes flicker to him and then back and you nodded. “Just one more. Three is my limit,” you replied, turning to look at Seungmin with a smirk.

He returned the smile before looking away. “So, my favorite place?” he asked. You nodded again. “A place you couldn’t forget, even if you tried,” you replied. Seungmin’s eyes widened comically as he chortled. “Wow. Okay, no pressure then,” he said as he shifted in his seat.

“I think I’d have to pick Milan. Especially during autumn. It’s spectacular,” he replied. You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he explained. “In summer, it’s just so hot and humid. Especially in July and August. But in autumn? Perfect. Temperatures aren’t hot, it’s mild. Absolutely gorgeous,” he added.

You sat back as the server returned with not only your drink but also the food. Seungmin was surprised by the portions, especially of your pasta. He knew he’d only be able to eat part of his meal. He’d have to take the rest to go.

As the two of you ate, he asked you more questions. He learned you moved to Seoul for work. He asked about your hometown and your family. He was surprised to learn that your parents still lived in your hometown and that you went home almost every year during the holidays.

He also learned that you loved animals, cats were among your favorite and that you actually had a cat at home in your apartment. He learned that you had a studio apartment in a high rise a few blocks west of the coffee shop that had a view of the river. 

You told him how you loved books. You loved to read and most of your free time was spent curled up on your couch with a blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a book in your hands. Sometimes your cat curled up in your lap and sometimes she would curl up next to you as you read.

Seungmin focused more on your words than his food and when the server came by he asked for the rest of it to go. Once the food was packed up and your drink finished, Seungmin fished his wallet out and you held up your hand. “I invited you out,” you started but Seungmin was much quicker, handing his wallet to the server. 

You stared at him, looking up to find the confused look on the server’s face. Seungmin glanced up, realizing his mistake in an instant. “Sorry,” he muttered, snatching his wallet, opening it and handing the card over. The server walked away, still processing what just happened as you looked down at the table, biting your bottom lip to hold in the laugh Seungmin knew was trying to escape.

“I meant to do that, you know,” he addressed you. Nodding, he could tell you didn’t quite believe him. He looked down at the table, silence falling over you as he, too, processed what he’d just done. As it set in, he snorted, holding back a laugh. Never before had he done something so absentminded as hand his entire wallet to a server to pay for a meal before.

How weird did he look? Would the server take it as stupidity or pretentiousness? As the server returned with the slip, Seungmin thanked him, holding back his laughter. He signed the slip and left a generous tip. He quickly returned his card to its home in his wallet and looked up at you.

“We should probably go,” he said softly. Your shoulders were shaking from holding back your laughter. You cleared your throat and nodded, getting up and Seungmin followed, grabbing the bag of to-go food. You both hurried towards the entrance, thanking the staff as you exited the building.

Once outside, you took one look at Seungmin, meeting his eye and both of you burst into laughter, ignoring the looks of other pedestrians as they passed by you. “What the hell was that?” you asked, your laughter subsiding only for a moment.

“I have no idea,” Seungmin replied, laughing just as hard. “I’ve never done that before!”

As the two of you started down the sidewalk, you continued to laugh about the wallet situation.

“It was just the look on his face,” you said, giggling hysterically. “He was so confused!”

“I know! I wish I could have read his mind. I wonder if he thought I was some pretentious asshole,” Seungmin countered. “Or just dumb,” you snorted. “Not that you are,” you clarified quickly. Seungmin burst into another round of laughter.

“I mean, I did just try to pay for our meals by handing over my entire wallet like we were getting mugged in an alley,” he reminded you, another round of laughter emitting from both of you.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your building and Seungmin stopped as you did, looking up at your building. “This is me,” you noted, turning back to look at him. Seungmin nodded. 

“It’s getting cold out here,” he replied, his eyes threatening to dip down to look over your body again. He’d avoided it back in the restaurant by looking at other things in the establishment but out here, alone, in front of your apartment building he found it much harder to resist.

“It is,” you nodded. Silence fell between you but it wasn’t awkward this time. There was a certain tension. Something Seungmin hadn’t experienced in a long time. Sexual tension. He cleared his throat softly, noticing how you drew your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Did you want to come up?” you asked softly and Seungmin froze. He had no expectations going into this, knowing he was going to be leaving the city and his current life behind in a couple weeks so your question caught him off guard. Could he? He could, he was capable of going up to your apartment and giving you what you were probably expecting. He had the ability to do so.

But could he do that, knowing that something more might come out of it when he knew he was leaving? Could he do that to you or to himself? Was he strong enough to give in for just a couple weeks and then leave, never to return? He knew the answer to that question before he even asked himself.

“No,” he said softly, shaking his head and giving you a kind smile. “I’m afraid I’m a bit more old fashioned,” he added. The brief hurt on your face was replaced by understanding. The classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ tactic. You returned his smile. “I understand,” you replied.

“That’s actually kind of refreshing,” you added. “Most guys can’t wait for the date to get to this part, hoping I’ll invite them up but to be honest,” you explained. “I almost never invite them in.”

Seungmin felt a small surge of pride. It felt good to know that you felt comfortable enough to invite him in although you should feel anything but comfortable in his presence. “Maybe another time,” you added. Seungmin nodded wordlessly, not wanting to give you any false hope.

The man in him was screaming at him, cursing at him for letting you walk away. You stepped forward, closing the distance and kissing him on the cheek. It happened so quickly, Seungmin couldn’t stop it without hurting you physically or emotionally. When you drew back, you uttered a soft goodnight and turned to head up the steps to your building’s door.

Seungmin stood rooted to the spot, watching you walk away. He finally allowed him the chance to look over your body, the man in him still screaming at the lost opportunity to have you beneath him. Once you were safely inside, Seungmin turned and started in the direction of his apartment, going over the events of the night in his mind.

It had been awkward for him at first but he was surprised by how easily you both seemed to get along. The conversation, the joking, the wallet situation that still made him chuckle. The chemistry was there, he couldn’t deny it. And so when you called him a couple days later, asking him on another date, he couldn’t find it in him to say no.

Nor when you asked him on another. He enjoyed every minute he spent with you. He enjoyed your company far more than he enjoyed Wonpil’s, though he’d never tell his friend that. He normally shied away from humans physically but with you, everything felt natural.

The way you grabbed his hand when you were walking, the way you leaned into him, even when you kissed his cheek goodnight after he turned your offer to come up again and again. Everything with you felt right. Each time spent with you only drew him closer and closer to when he’d have to say goodbye.

He had a week left and so he decided to invite you out for once, calling you up.

“Oh, sorry,” you said over the receiver. He could hear the sound of you moving around your apartment. “I actually have plans tonight.” Seungmin felt his stomach sink. ‘Plans?’ he wondered and briefly, he thought maybe he’d turned you down one too many times until you spoke again.

“Yeah, my friend Ami is in town and it’s her birthday so we’re going to the club tonight,” you explained. Seungmin felt the weight in his stomach dissipate and he felt better instantly. “Oh? Where at?” he asked. “At this new club down by the main strip in Gangnam,” you replied. He heard the clicking of heels. You must be getting ready to leave.

“Well, have fun and be safe,” Seungmin said as he heard your keys jingle through the phone. “Thanks,” you said, a smile in your voice. “I’ll be careful,” you added. “And tell your friend I said happy birthday.” Your chuckle rang out and it made Seungmin miss hearing it in person. “I will,” you replied.

“I gotta go,” you said as Seungmin heard you open your door. “I’ll let you know when I get there and when I get home,” you added. “If it’ll make you feel better.” Seungmin smiled to himself. “It would, actually,” he answered. “Thank you.”

After you hung up, Seungmin plugged his phone in, hurrying through the apartment and changed at inhuman speed before returning to his phone, snatching it up and dialing Wonpil’s number. After the second ring, Wonpil answered the phone.

“What’s up?” he asked and Seungmin looked at himself in the mirror above the dining room table. “Do you have plans right now?” he asked. Wonpil fell silent for a moment before answering. “No?” he said hesitantly. “Want to go do something?” Seungmin asked.

“Dude, are you finally enjoying life again?” Wonpil asked, sounding both shocked and excited. “Well,” Seungmin said, playing with his hair, trying to get some of it to lay a certain way. “I’ve been on like 4 dates with Y/N,” he answered.

He heard Wonpil whoop through the phone. “Finally! You got laid!” Seungmin’s smile fell. “Actually about that,” he started and he could hear Wonpil groan through the phone. “Dude!” Seungmin held up his finger, even if Wonpil couldn’t see him. “To be fair, I’m leaving the city in like a week,” he explained.

“You know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go out,” Wonpil said. “Where are we going?”

A smile spread across his face. “Have you been to the new club in Gangnam?”

Getting to the club was easy, and meeting Ami and Hae-eun was even easier. You hated turning Seungmin down but you’d had these plans for a couple weeks now. You could always see him another day. “Y/N!” Ami said excitedly as you joined her and Hae-eun in line.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a hug before you turned to hug Hae-eun. “Look at you,” Hae-eun said, looking at your dress. “I’ve been wanting to wear this for a while,” you admitted. “But I don’t have a chance to go to clubs anymore.”

“Is that hospital overworking?” Ami asked as the line moved closer to the door. “No,” you replied, waving your hand as you took a step forward with your friends. “I’ve actually started dating,” you admitted. Ami gasped dramatically. “No way,” she said and Hae-eun lightly slapped her arm.

“Stop teasing her,” Hae-eun chastised. “I think it’s great,” she added as the three of you took another step closer to the doors. “I like that you’re settled in enough to start dating again.” You smiled at her, thanking her silently.

It only took a few minutes more to get to the door, show your IDs to the bouncer and get inside after paying your cover charge.

Once inside, you maneuvered through the crowd towards the bar to order drinks. Hae-eun opened the first tab on her card and once you each had a drink or two in Ami’s case, the three of you tried to find an open table and were lucky enough to find three open places on one of the sofas.

Playing catch up over drinks and the loud music was difficult but you managed and after downing a drink, Hae-eun dragged both you and Ami onto the floor, even if you lost your spot. It had been a while since you’d been dancing with your friends but it was nice to let loose.

Seungmin had been a blessing, spending time with him helped you unwind but you couldn’t lie that you were left feeling a little frustrated each time he declined to come back up to your apartment at the end of each date. You understood his position completely. He wasn’t a casual sex kind of guy and you couldn’t fault him for that but you couldn’t deny that you were really hot for him.

Like really really hot.

You’d had more than one dream that left you even more frustrated than before.

“I need water!” you called over the heavy bass to your friends who nodded and continued to dance as you squeezed through the crowd of sweaty patrons and headed for the bar to get some water.

You were glad you chose a comfortable dress that was still form fitting and showed off your curves. As you approached the bar, you smiled at the bartender who stopped in front of you. “Water please,” you said, leaning in and grabbing a napkin or two, starting to dab at your forehead and neck.

As you waited, you managed to dab and wipe away some of the sweat, tossing the napkins away as the person beside you stepped away from the bar, leaving an open space that was quickly occupied by another body. “Here you go,” the bartender said, passing you an unopened bottle of water.

You thanked him, twisting the top off and taking a drink.

You were aware of the eyes on you and you glanced to the side, noticing how the man who had walked up was looking at you. His eyes looked up and down your body before looking up to meet your gaze. He gave you a smile which you did not return.

“Hey,” the man said and you turned back to look at him. You said nothing, forcing a polite smile before turning back away, hoping he’d get the hint. He didn’t.

“I saw you from across the room,” he started, leaning in to speak into your ear. You leaned away from him, the scent of his cologne overpowering your senses. “Your eyes work,” you noted. “Good for you.” He laughed heavily, the sound instantly putting you off.

You grabbed your bottle of water and excused yourself, turning and walking away from the bar. You spotted your friends in the crowd but before you could step off to weave through the crowd and join them, you felt a rough hand grab your arm. “I wasn’t done talking to you,” the man growled.

You quickly untwist the cap on your bottle of water and squeezed it, sending water into his face. “Yes you were,” you snapped and pulled from his grip. “No means no.”

Not giving him a chance to respond or react, you dumped the rest of your water on his shoes and tossed the bottle in the waste bin nearby, turning and heading into the crowd to find Ami and Hae-eun. They turned as you arrived and both their smiles fell upon seeing your annoyed expression.

You gave them a short explanation and commended you for how you handled the situation. They pulled you in to dance some more before the three of you headed back to the bar for more drinks. You were here celebrating with your friends and nothing, not even some creep, was going to ruin your fun.

As you sat back down at the sofa, Hae-eun rounded on you. “So,” she started, tapping your knee. “Tell us about this guy.” Ami’s eyes widened in excitement. “Ooh, yes!” she exclaimed. You shrugged your shoulders, stirring your drink with the small black straw.

“What do you want to know?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible. 

“How did you meet?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“Is he rich?”

“What does he do for a living?”

“Does he have a big-”

Hae-eun slapped Ami’s arm. “Stop with the superficial questions!” she hissed, making you snort and shake your head at their antics. ‘The same as ever,’ you noted.

“We met in the national park,” you started, looking at Hae-eun. “Yes, he’s hot,” you continued, looking at Ami. “I don’t know what he does for a living but he’s got enough money to pay for all our dates,” you added. The two stared at you, waiting for more. “And???” Ami asked. 

“And what?” you asked, looking between them.

“I think what the birthday girl is asking,” Hae-eun said, throwing a glare at Ami. “Is ‘have you slept together?’” Ami nodded excitedly, looking at you expectantly. You averted your eyes from their questioning gazes, suddenly more interested in your drink.

“We haven’t,” you finally answered quietly. Ami groaned and Hae-eun shushed her. “This is why none of your dates go anywhere, Y/N,” Ami said pointedly, ignoring the glare Hae-eun gave her. You looked up at them, confusion written on your face.

“But I’ve invited him up!” you protested. “Numerous times actually.” Ami exchanged glances with Hae-eun. “And he says no?” Hae-eun asked, to which you nodded. “Every time; he declines, we say goodnight, I kiss him on the cheek, and then he waits for me to go inside before he leaves,” you explained.

“He’s gay,” Ami said suddenly, making Hae-eun choke on her drink.

“He’s not gay,” you retorted. “He even said he’s just old fashioned. He’s not into casual sex.” Ami rolled her eyes, settling back against the sofa. “Gaaaaaaay,” she shouted. Hae-eun covered her mouth with her hand, apologizing to the group sitting next to you.

You looked back down at your drink. “Maybe he’s a virgin!” Ami suddenly said and you shrugged. “And if he is?” you asked, looking up. “Is that so bad?” Ami hesitated but Hae-eun jumped in. “No,” she replied. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she replied.

“It’s boring!” Ami said loudly, earning another slap to the arm from Hae-eun.

“Well, I think it’s refreshing to have a guy not want to get into my pants and actually take an interest in building something first,” you retorted. “Not everything has to be about sex. Meaningful relationships are important, too,” you added. Hae-eun raised her glass. “Hear, hear,” she said.

You gently tapped your glass against hers before taking a sip while Ami shrugged.

“I still think he’s a boring, gay virgin.”

Seungmin had met Wonpil at the door, managing to get to the club at the same time Wonpil was ready to go in. They’d paid their cover charges, slipped inside and headed for the bar. Seungmin ordered a simple whiskey neat and spent most of the first few hours nursing the drink.

Wonpil was looking around, noticing a few ladies not far smiling his way but tonight wasn’t about that as Seungmin had explained as soon as they entered the establishment. “I can’t believe the first time ever of you inviting me out is about spying on your girlfriend,” he murmured, downing the rest of his second drink.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Seungmin retorted, keeping his eyes on you as you danced with your friends. You had finished one drink already that he saw and took to the floor immediately after, following your two friends. He had half a mind to slip onto the dance floor and join you.

He was vaguely listening to Wonpil talk about work when he noticed you were no longer on the dance floor. He saw your friends but there was no sign of you. Sitting up quickly, his eyes darted around until he finally found you, relief flooding him but it was short lived.

You had managed to ask the bartender for something when a man in a gray suit sidled up to the bar beside you. The way he was staring at your body made Seungmin’s stomach churn. He watched as the man spoke to you but due to all the other interference of the loud music and chatter around him, Seungmin couldn’t tell what was being said but based on your body language, you weren’t into it.

Seungmin watched as you walked away from the bar, feeling a bit better but when the man followed, grabbing you by the arm, he clenched his hand so hard, the glass in Seungmin’s hand shattered, sending whiskey all over the table.

“Whoa, dude, chill,” Wonpil hissed, starting to pick up the pieces, catching the attention of one of the servers who came over with a towel. “I’m so sorry,” Wonpil said as he helped her gather the glass in the towel. “My friend doesn’t know his own strength sometimes,” he added as he brushed Seungmin’s hand off and accepted a clean towel to clean up the alcohol.

“Thank you so much,” Wonpil said, offering another apology.

Seungmin’s eyes were still on you and the man. You’d managed to untwist the cap of your water bottle and squeeze the liquid in his face, prompting to let go before you dumped the remainder on his shoes and then left to join your friends.

Seungmin felt a surge of pride at watching the exchange but he didn’t miss the murderous look the man threw your way before he stormed off towards the bathrooms. Seungmin kept his eye on you but also kept an eye out for the man.

It was maybe about twenty or thirty minutes later that you got up from the couch after settling there with new drinks that you made your way towards the bathrooms. Seungmin had yet to see the man but when you passed the bar, a figure turned and Seungmin saw it was the man.

He felt his stomach churn again as the man got up and started after you, keeping his distance. “I’ll be back,” Seungmin announced to Wonpil and got up from his seat, turning and weaving through the crowd in the direction of the bathrooms.

You managed to make it through the crowd and into the bathroom. As you were shutting the door, a foot blocked it and you looked up to see the same man from before. He pushed the door open, forcing you back. “This is the women’s bathroom,” you remarked but he said nothing, instead, shutting the door and to your horror you heard the lock click.

“You need to get out,” you said as he advanced. Again he said nothing.

You backed away as he continued forward towards you.

“Get the fuck out. What is your problem?” you snapped, which finally got a response. “You think that was funny?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “Splashing water in my face in front of everyone?” You narrowed your eyes. “If you hadn’t been such a creep and left me alone when I literally walked away from you, maybe I wouldn’t have had to splash water in your face,” you replied.

“If you didn’t want attention, you shouldn’t have dressed like a slut,” he retorted. You rolled your eyes. “Seriously dude? Grow up. Get out before I call security,” you warned. He scoffed, almost laughing at you. “How’re you gonna do that when you can’t even scream?” he asked.

Your eyes widened and before you could move, he closed the distance, pushing you back against the sink, one hand going round your throat and pushing your head back against the mirror. You heard the glass crack and splinter as your head made contact, the impact dazing you for a moment. 

You tried to claw at his hand. “L-let go!” you choked out. His free hand moved to the hem of your dress. “I’ll teach you a lesson, slut,” he growled. Before he could do anything else, the door was thrown open with such force you thought a bomb had gone off.

“Get your hands off her,” a familiar voice snapped. You heard the impact of a punch and the sound of a body falling into the wall before you felt a presence standing in front of you. “Y/N, holy shit, look at me,” the voice said. Gentle hands took hold of your face and through your swimming vision you saw Seungmin’s face.

“S-Seungmin?” you stammered. “Back off buddy,” the other guy said, advancing but Seungmin turned to look at him, a deep growl emitting from his chest. It rumbled so intensely that you felt it on your skin. “Touch her again and I’ll rip your fucking fingers off, one by one,” he threatened.

Without another word, Seungmin easily lifted you off the sink, carrying you from the bathroom and through the crowd easily. He stopped at the door to inform the bouncers of the situation but you couldn’t pay attention. Soon the cool autumn air hit your skin and you opened your eyes. 

You were outside.

“Where’s your phone?” Seungmin asked, carrying you to the end of the block and kneeling down, holding you up with one hand as he pulled his own phone from his pocket. “It’s here,” you murmured, gesturing at your chest where you had stuffed your phone earlier as your dress had no pockets.

“Can you get it out for me?” Seungmin asked softly as he dialed something on his phone and held his phone up to his ear. “Yeah, I got her,” Seungmin said softly into the receiver. “I’m gonna call an ambulance. Get her friends and I’ll text you the location of the hospital they take her,” he continued.

You shook your head. “No mmbulance,” you mumbled. Seungmin pulled his phone away from his ear and started typing again before holding it back up to his ear. “Y/N, you’ve hit your head,” Seungmin explained. “You’re bleeding so you might need stitches,” he continued. “And you might have a concussion.”

You looked up as he waited for whoever he was calling to answer. In the glow of the neon lights of the city he was exceptionally beautiful. You blinked slowly as you watched him. His hair was pushed back, like he’d intentionally styled it or had run his fingers through it so much it was holding.

His irises were red and you don’t know how you never noticed it before.

“You have pretty eyes,” you said, your speech slurring slightly. Seungmin looked down at you, his lips parting before he looked back up. “Hi, yes, I need an ambulance to the corner of Gangnam Boulevard and the 69th street. Address? Uh…” Seungmin looked up and around for an address to give what you assumed was a 1-1-9 dispatcher.

You tuned out the words, instead just watching him speak as the throbbing of your head started to set in.

“Thank you,” he replied, drawing you back to reality. “Ow,” you murmured as he put his phone away. “An ambulance is on the way,” he said, shifting so he was leaning against the wall of the building and keeping you on his lap. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?” he asked softly.

“Ssseven,” you slurred. “Y/N oh my god! What happened!” a voice rang out. Seungmin looked up as did you. A smile spread across your face as Ami and Hae-eun hurried over with some guy you’d never seen. He looked a bit like Seungmin. You glanced at Seungmin again and then to the man and back at Seungmin.

“Are you two brothers?” you asked, pointing between them. Seungmin looked up at the man who stared back. “Uh, Y/N,” Seungmin replied. “That’s Wonpil.” You looked again and the realization dawned on you. “Dr. Kim!” you said suddenly, trying to sit up but Seungmin kept a firm grip on you.

“Whoa,” Wonpil said as he moved and knelt down. “No sudden movements, Y/N,” he said with a chuckle. “You know that. Let me see your head,” he said, gently taking your head and turning it so he could inspect the back. “It’s bleeding,” he noted.

“But it doesn’t seem too bad,” he added. “Might not even need stitches,” he continued with a smile and a wink. “But you could have a concussion,” he said, glancing at Seungmin. “Okay,” Hae-eun said, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Not to be rude, but who the fuck are you two?”

Wonpil chuckled at Hae-eun’s aggressiveness. “I’m Wonpil. I work with Y/N,” he introduced himself. “I’m a doctor at Seoul General. This is my friend Seungmin who also happens to be dating your friend Y/N,” he added, gesturing at Seungmin.

“Ami! Ami! Seungmin is the one you think is a gay virgin,” you blurted out, looking at Ami who looked positively horrified at your candor. You felt Seungmin freeze under you. “Y/N,” Hae-eun hissed. “You can’t say things like that.” You looked at her. “Oh, sorry, Hae-eun.”

Wonpil looked as if he might burst a seam, holding in his laughter.

“I am so sorry,” Ami said, looking at Seungmin. You looked up at him trying to decipher his expression but it was unreadable. “He’s just a gentleman,” you replied, still looking up at him. Seungmin looked down, meeting your gaze and you noticed the small smile he gave you.

“He’s just old fashioned and there’s nothing wrong with that,” you continued. You looked around as everyone was bathed in red and blue lights. “Is the wee woo wagon here?” you asked, making Wonpil snort as Seungmin carefully shifted as two paramedics got out of the ambulance.

“Yes,” he said, glancing down at you. “The wee woo wagon is here.” You closed your eyes, letting out a laugh. “Wee woo, wee woo,” you said, mimicking the siren as a new set of hands started to look you over and carefully placed you on a soft material.

“Wow,” you said as one person started to check your blood pressure. “The concrete sure is soft.”

Wonpil let out another laugh before covering his mouth. “Sorry,” he said softly. After starting an IV and checking your vitals and the wound on your head, you were loaded into the ambulance. “We only have space for one of you,” one of the paramedics said. “I’ll go,” Wonpil offered. “I’m a doctor and her colleague,” he added. “I’ll text you the location,” he said as he climbed in.

Seungmin nodded, keeping his eyes on you as the doors were shut and the ambulance took off, sirens blaring. “This is not how tonight was supposed to go,” Ami said tearfully, Hae-eun leaning into her looking every bit as worried as Seungmin felt.

“Where will they take her?” Ami asked, looking at Seungmin who shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Wonpil will let me know as soon as they get close,” he added.

Seungmin glanced behind him, back towards the club. His mind was full of thoughts to go back. To finish what he had in his mind but the buzzing of his phone pulled him from those dark thoughts. Seungmin glanced down at his phone, the screen lighting up with a notification from Wonpil.

Wonpil: they’re taking her to our hospital. Visiting hours will be ending soon. Get there fast

“I got a location,” Seungmin announced, Ami and Hae-eun turning to look at him. “Where” Ami asked as Seungmin hailed a cab, pocketing his phone. The driver pulled up to the curb and Seungmin turned to the two. “Seoul General,” he replied. “But we have to hurry.”

He got into the front while Ami and Hae-eun got into the back and he told the driver where to go.

He’d deal with the creep later.

The drive to the hospital didn’t take long and soon, the cab was pulling up to the emergency entrance. “Thank you so much,” Seungmin said, paying the driver as Ami and Hae-eun got out. He joined them on the sidewalk and headed into the hospital.

“Can I help you?” one of the triage nurses asked, smiling up at him. “Hi,” Seungmin said softly, leaning against the counter. “Our friend was brought in. A Dr. Kim was with her. She had a head injury and was picked up just off Gangnam Boulevard,” he explained.

“What’s your friend’s name?” she asked, typing on her computer. “Y/N,” Seungmin replied quickly.

“Last name?” she asked, looking up at him. Seungmin hesitated. He didn’t know your last name. “Y/L/N,” Hae-eun interjected, stepping forward. She rattled off the rest of your information as Seungmin fell silent. He hadn’t even known your last name.

How didn’t he know something as simple as that? It started to dawn on him just how little he truly knew about you. “She’s still being looked at,” the nurse said as she looked at her screen. “Dr. Kim ordered an MRI and CT scan. If you want to wait, you’re welcome to wait here and I’ll make sure someone comes and informs you of her condition as soon as there’s an update.”

Hae-eun thanked the nurse and returned to Ami, the two leading the way over to an empty corner, taking a seat on the small sofa while Seungmin sat in one of the armchairs. He didn’t look at either of your friends, instead trying to focus on keeping himself from going back to the club.

He wasn’t sure how much time went by but Hae-eun looked up and tapped Ami’s arm prompting Seungmin to also look up, seeing Wonpil walking over. Seungmin got up quickly as did Hae-eun. “How is she?” Ami asked, looking up from her seat.

“She’s okay,” Wonpil answered. “She didn’t need stitches,” he confirmed, looking at Seungmin who was relieved. “It was a lot of blood but the cut was very shallow and shouldn’t scar.” Seungmin let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “As for the trauma to her head,” he continued.

“Nothing on her scans indicate any serious trauma to her brain. Maybe a little bit of rattling, but there’s no bleeding in her brain which is a good sign,” he explained, addressing Ami and Hae-eun. “We will keep her overnight for observation. Nurses will wake her up every hour to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion,” he continued.

“Can we go see her?” Ami asked and Wonpil nodded, smiling. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “I’ll take you back there now,” he added. Seungmin brought up the rear as Wonpil walked your friends back into the ER. “Visiting hours end soon,” Wonpil said softly as he stopped by a door,

“But I’ll extend them just a bit for you,” he added, gesturing to the open door. Ami and Hae-eun entered, pushing the curtain aside as they entered. Wonpil stopped Seungmin before he could follow. “Tell me you didn’t do anything to him,” Wonpil said under his breath.

Seungmin looked up at this friend. “No,” he replied. “Well, I may have punched him.” Wonpil raised a brow. “Did his head stay on?” Seungmin snorted. “Unfortunately,” he replied. Wonpil held back a laugh. “I know he did something wrong but don’t go causing trouble,” Wonpil warned.

“Let the consequences of his actions catch up with him.”

Seungmin said nothing, nodding silently as Wonpil lowered his hand. “She’s a little more lucid,” he added. Seungmin thanked his friend and entered the room. Seeing you lying in the bed made his non-beating heart sink into his stomach. 

He hated seeing you in such a state and it further fueled the fire in his being to go back to the club and deal with the man who had the audacity to put his hands on you. To say the things he did. To hurt you. Seungmin heard it all.

After the man had gotten up and followed you, Seungmin had gotten up, following both of you at a distance. He heard the entire exchange. The way you stood your ground, the way the man degraded you, calling you names before he acted.

It took every ounce of his strength to not tear the man apart, limb from limb when he entered that bathroom. Seeing his hands on you, how he had you pinned to the sink. The shatter mirror, the cracks spreading from the source of impact. Your head.

He should have killed the creep then and there but he was driven by a desire to make sure you were okay first. To get you to safety and assess your condition. He could always go back. And he would go back.

“Y/N, oh my god!” Ami said, rushing to your side as Hae-eun followed. Seungmin hung back as Wonpil entered the room, hands in his pockets. “She’s a very pretty woman,” Wonpil said under his breath. Seungmin nodded. “She’s more remarkable than she looks,” he replied.

Wonpil nodded, silence falling over the two.

“You can’t keep seeing her if you plan to leave,” Wonpil said finally and Seungmin nodded again. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve thought about it over and over,” he added. “It’ll just hurt her and I can't do that to her.”

Wonpill nodded, turning his head towards Seungmin. “So don’t keep doing this. Don’t follow her to clubs,” he continued. Seungmin looked at him. “This was a one time thing,” he whispered. “I’ve never followed her before,” he clarified.

Wonpil nodded. “Good,” he said softly. Seungmin watched as Wonpil stepped forward. “I’m sorry ladies,” he said, addressing Ami and Hae-eun. “But Y/N needs rest. She’ll be released tomorrow so long as she’s cleared,” he added. Ami and Hae-eun nodded and looked back at you.

“Sorry I ruined your birthday,” you said to Ami who laughed, gently squeezing your hand. “It’s okay,” she replied. “You didn’t ruin it,” she added. “We’ll come see you tomorrow,” Hae-eun said, looking at Wonpil who nodded with a smile. “Of course,” he said, gesturing towards the door.

“Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Ami said as she and Hae-eun said goodbye and started to move towards the door, passing in front of Seungmin. When they were past him, Seungmin caught your eye and offered a smile before turning to head for the door.

“Actually, could I have a moment alone with Seungmin?” you asked Wonpil who glanced at his friend before looking back at you. “Of course,” he said. “Just a couple minutes,” he added before leaving the room. Seungmin turned back to face you.

“Could you come here please?” you asked, trying to push yourself up. Seungmin hurried to your side, grabbing the bed controls. “Use this,” he said, placing it in your hand. “Thanks,” you said, pressing the button to raise the head of the bed.

Seungmin sat carefully on the edge of your bed, keeping his eyes on your face. “I--” your voice cracked as you tried to say something. You tried again. Seungmin could see you fighting the urge to cry. “I wanted to thank you for saving me,” you said softly. Seungmin glanced down at your hand, wondering whether he should take hold of it or not.

He lost the fight with his inner self and took your hand gently and carefully. His ears picked up how the heart monitor beeped a little faster. It wasn’t much but it was enough for you to avoid his glaze for a moment. “Damn machine,” you said softly.

“Giving me away.”

Seungmin fought the urge to smile. He’d already known how he affected you. He could hear your heart without the monitor. He could hear the way the tempo danced whenever he got closer or whenever you held his hand or leaned into him.

He was sure his would be doing the same if it weren’t dead.

“Damn machine,” he repeated, making you chuckle.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I thanked you for saving me,” you started. “But how did you know where I was?” you asked. Seungmin smiled, looking down at your hand in his. “When you said you were going out with some friends, I decided to do the same and asked Wonpil to come out with me. I didn’t expect us to end up at the same club,” he admitted.

You looked up at him as he spoke. “But I saw you while I was talking to Wonpil and I saw that guy,” he continued, his expression shifting to anger as he recalled the way the man had grabbed your arm. “And I saw the way you defended yourself. But then you went to the bathroom alone and then I saw him follow and I just felt like something was wrong,” he added.

“So I followed you to the bathrooms. I got close enough, and then I heard you pleading,” Seungmin said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “So you broke down the door?” you asked, watching his face. He nodded. “How?” you asked, and Seungmin looked down at you. “How what?”

“How did you break down the door?” you asked, looking genuinely curious. “I kicked it in,” he admitted. You stared at him for a few minutes before speaking. “But it’s a metal door,” you replied. Seungmin shrugged. “I probably had adrenaline pumping,” he replied. “You can do incredible things on adrenaline,” he added.

You stared at him, eyes searching his face. For the first time since meeting you, Seungmin couldn’t tell if you were scared of him or not. “That’s one hell of an adrenaline rush,” you finally said and Seungmin laughed, nodding. “Yeah,” he said softly. He placed your hand on your stomach.

“I should probably go so you can rest,” he said, standing up. The way you looked up at him had him feeling like he couldn’t just leave without a proper goodbye. Against his better judgment, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As he pulled back, he met your gaze and before he could stop you, you grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him down and Seungmin felt on fire as your lips met for the first time. He couldn’t remember the last time he kissed someone. It had been ages but yet he didn’t seem to be any worse for it.

Your lips parted and Seungmin could hear via both the heart monitor and the pounding of your heart as his tongue slipped into your mouth. It was embarrassing how easily a kiss riled him up but he could smell how it affected you as well. He pulled back even though the man inside him wanted more. He rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry our first kiss was while you were lying in a hospital bed,” he said, a hint of amusement to his voice. You giggled, looking up at him as he pulled back. “Thank you again,” you said softly, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. Seungmin’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over and pulling your bottom lip free before he leaned in, kissing you again.

“Get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he added as he stood up. “You promise?” you called as he walked towards the door, he turned back and smiled, nodding. “But after you get out of the hospital,” he added as the door opened and Wonpil appeared.

“Goodnight Y/N,” Seungmin said before following Wonpil out of the room as he heard you call out.

“See you around!”

Seungmin chuckled to himself as Wonpil shut the door and rounded on him. “I told you to leave her alone,” he hissed as the pair headed for the exit. “The entire nurses station could hear her heart monitor!” Seungmin laughed a little louder as they reached the door.

“I’m serious,” Wonpil added, trying not to laugh as Seungmin came to a halt by the doors leading out to the lobby. “If you plan on leaving, don’t get involved with her.” Seungmin nodded, forcing his laughter down. “And go home,” he added.

It was clear what Wonpil was insinuating but there was no way Seungmin was going to let the creep get away with what he’d just done. Especially not to you. “The world won’t miss him,” he replied under his breath. “I’m simply taking out the trash.”

Wonpil glanced up at him before looking around. “Fine,” he said definitively. “Just make it look like an accident and be careful.” Seungmin didn’t need telling twice. He nodded once and said goodbye to his friend before exiting to the lobby. If he was going to do this, he needed to get back to the club.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the club and by the time he got there, the club had closed with the patrons spilling out into the street, calling for taxis and other transportation home. Seungmin hid amongst the crowd, keeping his eye out until he finally spotted him.

‘Found you.’

It had not been a good night for Darren. From having water splashed in his face and poured on his shoes, being assaulted in the bathroom and not managing to find anyone else to come home with him, he left the club dejectedly and started the walk home. He was fortunate that his apartment building was a few blocks away.

As he started to walk away from the crowd, he glanced around to get an idea of his surroundings and who might be walking the same direction as him. He continued on, one foot in front of the other as he walked further from the busy boulevard and down side streets and alleys.

He stopped in his tracks as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and turned, looking behind him, scanning the area. He saw nothing, indicating he was alone, but he didn’t feel alone. He shook the feeling off and turned back around to continue on. 

He’d only gone a few more steps when he felt it again. The feeling of being watched. He turned back around, hands balling into fists as he stood his ground against his shadowy follower. He squinted, looking into the dark crevices. Inspecting the best he could from a distance.

Nothing moved. There were no sounds. No crickets, no rats or other critters squeaking or chittering. There was no sound of fans or air conditioning units. Nothing. It was as if someone hit mute on everything. There was no sound of vehicles passing on the larger streets nearby.

He shook the creeping feeling across his skin and continued on his way again. He wasn’t going to let some paranoid feeling get the best of him. Picking up the pace, he continued walking, hoping to get out of this neighborhood soon and into the one where he lived. Where he felt safe.

He heard the sound of footsteps and the scraping of metal against concrete, like a can had been kicked. He spun around but was met once again with an empty alleyway. The various steps and stoops up to the front doors were empty. Not even a cat waiting to be let in for the night.

There was nothing. Just him and the alley.

Darren quickened his pace yet again, practically jogging now as he tried to navigate his way out of this alley and back onto a major street. He could hear footsteps against pavement and broke into a run, noticing the end of the alley drawing closer and soon he was back on the main street with other people. He stopped, glancing back into the alley where he swore he saw a pair of glowing red eyes.

This spooked him enough to light a fire under him and he hurried back to his building, ignoring the looks from strangers around him as he pushed past them without so much as an ‘excuse me’ or apology. He reached his building, a high rise with a doorman who greeted him, opening the door for him.

Once in the elevator, Darren felt much better. Safer even. The ride up to the nineteenth floor didn’t take long and soon he was putting in the code for his apartment, letting himself in and shutting the door quickly behind him, locking it and taking a few deep breaths.

He’d managed to make it home and he felt infinitely better in his familiar surroundings. He started to settle, removing his shoes before stepping up onto the floor and going about his usual routine. He moved into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and drinking it slowly as he thought about the events of the night.

Namely the man who came into the bathroom to rescue the woman who had splashed water in his face.

He’d never seen anything like it. The way the door was kicked in, almost like it had been blown in by a battering ram and then the way he stormed in. He moved so fast, Darren had no chance to react before he felt the man’s fist collide with his jaw. “Bastard,” he said softly as he reached up to massage the sore spot on his face. He knew it was going to bruise.

Darren finished his water before setting the empty glass in the sink and heading to the back of his apartment, towards his bedroom and bathroom. Inside the bathroom, he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could stand. Something to relax his tense muscles before bed.

He stripped, dropping his clothes in the hamper and stepped under the stream, closing the glass door behind him. The hot water beat down on him, steaming up the glass surfaces and obscuring his vision of the rest of the bathroom.

A sudden gust of cold wind hit him and he froze, looking away from the shower and quickly wiped the glass, squinting out into the bathroom and trying to see beyond the open bathroom door to his bedroom. He saw nothing and quickly opened the door, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

He stepped out of the shower, and started into the bedroom, the cool breeze still hitting him. Once inside his room he noticed that one of his windows was open. ‘What the hell?’

He hurried over and pulled it shut, latching the lock and looking outside to the city below. ‘How in the hell could that have opened?’ he wondered. He took a good look around the room but found nothing amiss. Nothing had been moved, nor did he see any sign of intruders.

Deciding he needed to just sleep it off, he headed back into the bathroom to finish his shower so he could go to bed. He hung the towel back up, stepping back into the glass case and shutting the door. He heard a scraping behind him against the glass and spun around.

There was nothing there. He turned to the door but again saw nothing. He turned the water off and shook his head. ‘You’re seeing things,’ he told himself and chuckled. “Man, you really need sleep.”

He turned to open the door and froze. Out of his periphery on the left side he could see a dark shadow. A figure. He turned to look at it, terror filling his veins as the figure didn’t disappear when he looked at it. Standing firmly beyond the glass was a dark shape, it was vaguely human.

“W-who are you?” he stammered, frozen in place. Darren could hear a faint buzzing and the light overhead started to flicker. He looked up at it quickly and then back but the shadow was gone. He turned back to the door and then everything happened in slow motion. 

He was confronted with a nightmarish creature. Black and red eyes, a grotesque pale face with a bat-like nose. The teeth. Each one was sharp and pointed and the creature's mouth was full of them.

It snarled and roared at him, causing him to jump and take a step back. Darren slipped, falling back in slow motion. His head collided with the tiled wall behind him, a sharp and intense pain spreading from the point of impact as he slid down the wall and onto the floor of the shower.

The creature, which had been hanging upside down, dropped to the floor, features shifting as it moved closer and knelt down, clicking its tongue as it did so.

“Tsk, tsk,” it said in the voice of a man. Darren looked up, his vision swimming in and out of focus. “You know, you really should have an anti slip mat in these things,” the creature turned man said and as his face came into focus, Darren’s eyes widened. “Y-you!” he stammered.

The man from before looked down at him coldly. His irises red as he glared. “I had told you I’d rip your fingers off one by one,” he said as he looked down at him. “But watching you hit your head and slowly succumb to the trauma is so much more satisfying,” he said, his voice full of malice.

“You can’t do this-” Darren choked out, fear taking over him as the man reached a hand down slowly. “Yes,” he replied. “I can and I will.” Darren felt the man’s fingers curl into his hair, picking his head up off the tiled floor before he gave him a cruel smile.

“I’ll teach you a lesson,” he hissed before slamming Darren’s head against the floor. As the man stood up, everything started to go black. “Wash this up,” the man said, turning on the shower, the water raining down on Darren’s body as his life ebbed away from him.

“Be glad I’ve given you this death. You deserve much worse.”

As his vision went black, the last thing Darren saw was the back of the man exiting his bathroom.

“In other news, authorities have said in a strange twist of events, a suspect in a serial rapist they’ve been trying to track down has died in an accident in his apartment. The suspect slipped and fell in the shower, hitting his head and dying from the trauma. Now let’s look at the weather.”

Seungmin looked up as Wonpil turned the television off. “I told you not to get involved,” Wonpil hissed as Seungmin sat perfectly still, staring back at him. “He slipped and fell,” Seungmin stated. “I didn’t touch him.” Wonpil narrowed his eyes.

“I guess his karma caught up to him,” Seungmin added, looking away from Wonpil.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It looks like an accident,” Seungmin added. Wonpil shook his head. “You don’t get to play judge, jury, and executioner,” he stated. “We’re not supposed to get involved in these things. Let them sort it out.”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes at Wonpil. “Let them sort it out? So you’re saying I should have let him force himself on Y/N?” Seungmin asked incredulously. “No!” Wonpil, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t say that! I just meant that this is what happens when you get involved.”

Seungmin scoffed, getting up from the sofa. “So, it’s my fault?”

Wonpil gestured to the tv. “A man is dead!” he replied. “A man who had assaulted many. A serial rapist,” Seungmin argued. “Or did you just ignore that part?” Wonpil glared at him, huffing angrily as his pager started to beep. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the screen.

“I gotta go. Hospital needs me,” he said, getting up and grabbing his wallet. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” Wonpil said as he headed for the door. “Oh, and one more thing,” he continued, turning back to look at Seungmin. “Stay away from Y/N.”

Seungmin glared at the door as Wonpil disappeared. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he fished the device out, seeing he had a text from you. 

Y/N: you said you’d come and see me after i got released but you haven’t come ):

Seungmin chuckled, quickly typing out a response. He’d finally gotten the hang of having a phone and had no problems sending texts anymore though he still occasionally signed them off before erasing them, remembering they weren’t emails.

Seungmin: sorry. It’s been kind of hectic on this end. I do want to see you (:

Your response was swift.

Y/N: how about dinner tonight? My place? I’ll cook for you (:

Seungmin stared at the screen. Dinner? At your place? Alone? He hesitated. Could he resist the urge? The urge to want to be with you? To want you in every possible way he could have you? He knew if he gave in to that urge, there was no way he could leave you. He’d be tied to you in some way.

Against his better judgment, Seungmin responded.

Seungmin: sounds good. Seven o’clock?

Y/N: seven o’clock sounds perfect. I’ll see you soon (;

Seungmin chuckled at the winking face you’d sent as he locked and placed his phone in his pocket, checking the time on his watch. He had about an hour to get ready and head to your place. He wrote a note for Wonpil, letting him know that he wasn’t going to listen and that he was going to give in for once before grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

The walk back to his place took half an hour as he had to weave between busy pedestrians without drawing attention. He raced to his apartment as soon as the elevator doors opened and once he was inside, he changed at top speed, rushing through the apartment.

Once he was ready, he headed back down and had about twenty minutes to get to your place before seven. He stopped on the way, grabbing a bottle of wine and a small bouquet of flowers. Nothing overly fancy. More of an “I’m thinking of you and hope you’re well,” kind of thing.

He arrived at your building with five minutes to spare, taking the buttonless elevator up to your floor. He watched as the counter stopped on the twentieth floor and he got off, heading to the unit number you’d instructed. Standing outside 2091, he felt like an idiot but he knocked regardless.

It took only a few moments for you to answer the door, opening it with a smile on your face as you greeted him. “Hey, come on in,” you said softly and stood aside to let him in. Seungmin stepped over the threshold. The notion that a vampire could not enter unless invited was garbage but he liked that you still invited him in.

“These are for you,” he said, handing the flowers over. You smiled, taking them with a thank you. “They’re lovely,” you added as you headed into the kitchen. Seungmin slipped off his shoes and followed you, glancing around your studio apartment. 

It was every bit uniquely you as you had described it to him. You had taken a singular space and turned it into three. The bedroom area was closed off by a hanging curtain and cubby shelves. The plants and string lights made it feel cozy and magical. Almost like a forest.

You’d turned the space near the door leading to the balcony into your living room, sectioning the space off but it didn’t feel cut off. Everything flowed nicely. The last space was against the wall on the other side of the living space. A small dining table and three chairs stood, all bar height.

Seungmin turned to you as you placed the flowers in an empty vase, setting the vase aside and turning to him. “Wine as well?” you asked, nodding at the bottle in his hand. He handed it over and you turned to your fridge, placing the bottle inside.

“I didn’t want to show up empty handed,” he answered. You turned back to him before moving to the kitchen counter. “So,” Seungmin said, moving to stand beside you. “What are you making?” he asked. “A stirfry,” you answered simply, cutting the vegetables.

“For me anyway,” you replied. Seungmin looked up at you, meeting your gaze.

“You don’t eat,” you said plainly. Seungmin was certain if his heart was alive, it would be pounding. Were you onto him? He broke into a smile, laughing. “What are you talking about?” he asked, chuckling. You moved to open the cabinet.

You pulled out a wine glass. “Do you want one?” you asked, looking at him. “For the sake of appearances?” Seungmin’s smile fell. “What are you talking about?” he asked as you moved to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of your own wine and pouring yourself a glass.

“Are you a vampire?”

Your question caught him completely off guard, knocking the wind out of him as he processed what you’d just asked. Had he imagined the whole thing? He didn’t even notice you pour another glass of wine and push it towards him.

You had asked him so nonchalantly. Like you were asking about his job or the weather.

‘Are you a vampire?’ Your voice echoed in his head. How was he supposed to answer? Did he lie and laugh it off? Did you already know for certain? Would denying it just make you mad and push you further away? That was the last thing he wanted.

“Well,” you said suddenly, pulling Seungmin from his thoughts. “Are you?”

He looked from your questioning gaze to the glass of wine sitting in front of him. He grabbed it, swirling the red liquid as he carefully thought about his answer. He wondered when you pieced it all together. Was it when he’d saved you from the creep in the club bathroom? Or perhaps it was before then. Had you known since the moment you met him when he was contemplating throwing himself from the cliff?

But if so, how could you have known? In all his years, he’s never met another person who deduced his true nature who wasn’t already a supernatural being themselves. Maybe he had you all wrong? Was there more to you than met even his eyes?

“Am I what?” he finally spoke, looking up from the crimson wine, through his lashes to meet your gaze.

“A vampire?”

Seungmin held his breath, staring you down. Normally when he made eye contact like this, everyone would shy away from his intense gaze, everyone except you it would seem. You held his gaze, staring back almost challengingly. “What makes you think that?” Seungmin asked softly, still staring back at you.

“Just a hunch, I guess,” you replied, looking away from his eyes momentarily to take a sip of your wine before glancing back up again. “I thought about it when I first saw you,” you explained. “You looked so… tormented and lonely.” Seungmin continued to hold his breath as you spoke.

“Not to mention those stories you told me when we first met on the cliff that day. So much history. So many tales,” you continued, a small smile appearing on your lips. “And then when you seemingly knew where I was at the club when that… man--”

“Monster,” Seungmin interrupted, catching you off guard as you looked back up in shock.

“That wasn’t a man,” Seungmin continued. “That was a monster.”

You tilted your head curiously. “If he’s a monster, what does that make you?” you asked softly, setting  your glass on the granite counter. Seungmin let out a dark chuckle. “Never said I wasn’t one, too, sweetheart,” he countered, taking another sip of his wine, watching the line settle as he set the glass on the counter as well, looking up to meet your gaze.

He tried to discern the emotion behind the look you were giving him now. He thought perhaps by now your flight or fight response would have kicked in but alas, you were looking at him more out of concern than fear. Were you concerned about what he could do to you? Or were you concerned for him?

“You know,” Seungmin said, chuckling as the notion crossed his mind. “I’m not a mind-reader,” he added. “I’d like to know what’s going on in your head.” He waited while you gathered your thoughts, waiting for you to say something. To say anything.

“Did you kill him?” you asked suddenly, catching him completely off guard. “What?” he whispered.

You tilted your head to the side, still maintaining eye contact with him, like you weren’t staring a predator in the face. “Did you kill him? The man from the club, the one you said is a monster.”

Seungmin hesitated. It seemed you’d already made up your mind about the nature of his being yet neither of you commented on it. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he answered finally, lifting his glass but hesitating when you spoke, the glass barely touching his lips.

“Spare me the evasive act. I’m not an idiot,  Seungmin. I know danger when I see it. Everything in my body is telling me you’re dangerous just like that man. The only difference is that the danger I felt with him is learned. The danger I feel from you is primal. It’s ingrained in my brain. Hardwired because you aren’t human. You’re something more.”

Seungmin looked past the glass at your slightly distorted figure before lowering the glass to peer at you over the rim. “Then why did you invite me here?” he asked before downing the rest of his wine, setting the glass aside and getting to his feet.

You watched as he slowly stalked around the kitchen island towards you. His eyes locked on you as he moved, you felt suddenly like prey caught in the gaze of a predator and for the first time since you met him, you felt like you were truly in danger. 

You were certain Seungmin was a vampire. You knew he was more than a simple man. The way he carried himself and sometimes spoke was like he was pulled straight from one of Jane Austen’s novels. He was from a different time period and although his face didn’t show his age, his eyes certainly did.

He may look like a man in his mid twenties but his eyes were that of a being that had seen hundreds of years. You watched as he approached, closing in on you, backing you up against the wall behind you. Your back met the hard surface as he rested his hands against the wall on either side of your head, eyes inspecting your face as he leaned closer.

Your breathing had sped up, heart racing as he approached, eyes fixated on you as if he was about to pounce and deliver a killing blow. Your eyes flickered between his, noticing up close how red they were. Not the sclera. His irises were a deep blood red. From a distance, you’d assumed they were brown but now you saw the true color and your mind was made up for you.

Seungmin was a vampire, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind.

Seungmin’s eyes scanned your face, from your eyes, down to your lips before they dipped down to your neck and then back up to meet your gaze.

“I can hear your heart racing,” he said softly, his voice barely audible of the ticking of the clock hanging above your head. He tilted his head to the side, a smirk forming on his lips. “I’m fine,” you whispered. Seungmin chuckled. “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” he replied.

One of his hands moved, fingers brushing against the skin of your neck, just over your pulse point. An involuntary shiver ran up your spine. “Why are you shaking?” he asked, leaning closer, his lips mere inches from yours as his eyes searched yours. “You’re not scared of me are you, little rabbit?”

You shook your head. “No,” you whispered, knowing your soft voice was giving you away. Seungmin’s hand slipped behind your head, fingers pulling at the hair at the base of your neck. “Don’t lie to me, pet,” he retorted, eyes scanning your face, dipping down to your throat and back up. Had you not been watching, you would have missed the way he licked his lips and swallowed.

“Does it bother you?” you asked softly, drawing his attention. “Hmm?” he hummed in response. “Being so close to a source,” you continued. Seungmin narrowed his eyes, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. “A source? Of what?” he asked, knowing what you were about to say.

“Blood.”

Seungmin froze, staring at you. Before he had a chance to answer, to defend his secret, you spoke again.

“I told you I’m not an idiot, Seungmin,” you said. 

He pulled back slowly to look in your eyes. You could see the color had shifted to red. Just like that night outside the club. That was when you truly knew what you were up against. What kind of danger you were in every time you saw him. Every time you leaned in to kiss him goodnight.

At any point, he could have snapped and killed you, drained you of your blood but you wanted to know why he didn’t. Why didn’t he eat people? ‘What a weird question to contemplate,’ you told yourself.

“But I do have a question,” you whispered. Seungmin hesitated, waiting for your query.

You licked your lips before speaking. “Why don’t you feed from humans?” you asked before realizing you had made an assumption. Perhaps he did feed from humans. “Sorry.” you said quickly. “I’m making assumptions.” Seungmin smiled and shook his head. “It’s quite alright,” he replied.

“Your assumption is right. I don’t feed from humans. I don’t even feed from animals. Not directly anyway,” he replied. “What do you feed from?” you asked softly. “Blood bags,” Seungmin admitted. “It’s a more lowkey way to feed,” he explained.

“Where do you get them?” you asked softly, watching as he tilted his head to the side, studying you. He was hoping you’d do the math and figure it out and as you wracked your brain it hit you.

His friend. “Wonpil,” you whispered. You met his gaze. “Is he a vampire, too?” you asked. Seungmin hesitated but eventually nodded his head. “Yes,” he replied. “He gets the blood bags for me. It really pays off, having a doctor friend,” he added. You shook your head in disbelief.

“How does he do what he does?” you asked. “With all the blood,” you continued. Seungmin smiled and nodded. “Sounds very Twilight of him,” he noted. “Doesn’t it?” Chuckling again when you nodded, Seungmin continued to explain.

“He used to be a doctor. In fact, he was a highly sought after royal doctor back in the day,” he continued. “And then in the army, he was a combat medic. That’s how we met,” he added. “On the battlefield. My squad took heavy fire and he was sent in to assess and do what he could but when he saw I was completely unharmed, he knew immediately what I was and I knew what he was.”

You stared back at him as he explained more of his background. “We’ve been friends ever since. He’s the only person I’ve ever leaned on or trusted,” he continued, before glancing down at you. “Until now at least,” he added, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.

“You trust me?” you asked softly. Seungmin nodded. “I do,” he replied, eyes dipping to your lips and back up. “Do you trust me?” he asked. You hesitated only for a moment before nodding. “Yes,” you answered, bringing your hand up to place over his. “I trust you.”

Seungmin closed the distance, kissing you passionately as he pinned you against the wall. You moaned into his mouth as he grinded against you, eagerly swallowing the sounds you made under his touch. “Tell me you want this,” he said softly, resting his forehead against yours as you panted heavily.

“Tell me you want me,” he continued. You moved one of your hands up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. “I want this,” you replied. “I want you.” Seungmin let out a small growl, grabbing your hips and pulling you away from the wall, guiding you over to the kitchen island.

You let out a squeak of surprise as Seungmin easily lifted you, turning and depositing you on the counter. “If I was more patient, I’d make you run,” he murmured, leaning in, his lips inches from yours, nose gently bumping yours. “If I was more patient, I’d take my time with you,” he continued, his hands moving down to the hem of your sweater, fingers gently toying with the material.

“Then why don’t you?” you asked, eyes searching his. He smiled in response, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his fangs. “Because I’m not a patient man,” he answered before pulling back and lifting your sweater, tossing it aside. He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss, his tongue slipping past your parted lips.

You let out a whine as you felt one of his fangs graze against your bottom lip. “Are you going to feed from me?” you whispered when he broke the kiss. Seungmin chuckled, hands moving down to your jeans, undoing the button and zipper. “No,” he replied. “Not unless you want me to,” he added, tugging your pants down past your hips. You lifted your butt to make it easier for him.

Your jeans joined your sweater on the floor, leaving you in your underwear. The granite countertop was cold against your skin as Seungmin peppered kisses along your collar. “Will that kill me?” you whispered, heart racing as he kissed down your sternum, pushing you onto your back as he continued kissing down your stomach. “No,” he said with another amused tone.

“I’m not going to puncture your jugular,” he added. “I don’t feed from that high,” he added. “Not unless I’m trying to kill you.” You swallowed thickly as he continued to kiss down, his lips meeting the hem of your panties. “May I?” he asked softly, raising his head to make eye contact. You nodded wordlessly, watching as he slowly pulled your panties down your thighs, discarding them along with the rest of your clothes.

“Seungmin,” you breathed out as his lips trailed down the inside of your thigh. “Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, raising his head slightly. “I want you to feed from me,” you murmured, cheeks burning as his gaze bore into yours. “Are you sure, doe?” he asked, tilting his head. You nodded silently, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth.

You watched as he lowered his head, nipping at the skin of your inner thigh. You let out a gasp at the sensation. “Wait,” you said suddenly, propping yourself up on your elbows. “This isn’t gonna turn me into a vampire, right?” you asked. Seungmin chuckled again.

“No,” he answered. “You would have to feed from me to become like me,” he added. Your eyes widened at the thought. “Feed from you?” you asked, to which he nodded. Your head fell back as you felt his tongue against the skin of your thigh. “Just don’t kill me, please,” you mumbled.

Seungmin chuckled to himself before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh.

You let out a cry of pain, followed by a gasp as you felt his thumb brush over your clit. “Oh shit,” you groaned. You could feel blood leaving your body through the wound to your thigh. It was almost like having someone sucking a hickey but more intense.

“I knew you would taste so sweet,” you heard him groan. “Seungmin,” you started, lifting your head but letting out a moan, head falling back as you felt his tongue against your clit, his fingers toying with your slit. “Oh fucking hell,” you gasped as he teased the nub with the tip of his tongue.

“M’gonna cum,” you moaned, thighs shaking as your high approached only for Seungmin to pull away. “Not yet,” he purred, his breath hot against your sex. “You’ll cum when I let you,” he added. As your orgasm slipped away, you felt his fingers ease into your entrance slowly, two at a time.

He set a steady pace, watching the way his fingers disappeared into your tight heat. “I can’t wait to fill you up,” he said softly, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you. “Please,” you moaned as he sped up slowly. Your orgasm was just out of your reach.

It was beginning to get frustrating. After weeks of nothing from him. Weeks of wanting this man, you finally had him and you were even more frustrated that your orgasm was evading you. Each time he toyed with your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge but not enough for you to topple over it.

“Seungmin,” you begged. “Please fuck me.”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he said as he pulled away, licking his fingers clean. You pushed yourself up as Seungmin shrugged his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor. You pulled him into a kiss, his hands fumbling with his buckled and zipper, undoing his pants and pushing them down.

You moaned as he pushed into you easily, your walls stretching to accommodate the intrusion. “Shh,” he hushed you, smoothing your hair and cupping your cheek. “Look at me,” he said softly. You looked up at him, meeting his blood red gaze.

“That’s it,” he cooed, pulling back and giving you a shallow thrust. “F-fffuuuck,” you groaned as he set a steady pace, cock dragging against your walls with each push and pull. “Seungmin,” you whined as he held you up. “Feel’s so good,” you groaned, moving your hips to meet his.

“Shit,” you heard him hiss. “That,” he instructed. “Keep doing that, sweetheart,” he groaned, thrusting harder, the sound of skin hitting skin being the only thing to fill the space. “I need to cum,” you whined, unshed tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“And you will,” Seungmin replied. “But only when I say so.”

“How’s the bite?” you asked suddenly. Seungmin glanced down at your thigh. The bleed had stopped already. “It’s fine,” he huffed. “Don’t worry about it,” he added. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling his head towards your neck.

“Y/N,” he warned. “Please,” you breathed. “Please Seungmin.”

Something Seungmin prided himself on was his unfaltering and unwavering quality. His ability to put his foot down and say no but he was finding it harder and harder to say no to you. He sighed, groaning as your walls gripped him tightly.

“Fine,” he said softly, lips brushing against your skin. “But just a small one,” he replied before sinking his teeth into the base of your neck. You let out a moan, walls clenching around him, fingers tightening in his hair. “Oh shit,” you cursed. “Fuck me,” you groaned.

Seungmin pulled back, lips tainted red from your blood. “I already am,” he joked before rolling his tongue over the bite wound to your neck. The taste of you on his tongue he pulled back, bringing one hand up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste iron on his tongue. Blood. Your blood.

You moaned into the kiss, nails scratching against his skin.

Seungmin pulled away, returning to your neck, licking at the wound. “I’m not gonna bleed out, right?” you asked weakly, your orgasm slipping away for the nth time as Seungmin slowed his movements. “You’ll be fine,” Seungmin murmured, still occasionally licking at the bite on your neck. “It’s almost done bleeding. It’s coagulating,” he added.

“F-fuck,” you hissed. Seungmin chuckled, giving you a sharp thrust. “And you p-promise I’m not gonna -hng- bleed out?” you asked, a moan slipping out between your words. Seungmin nodded, his free hand cupping the back of your neck. “I promise,” he replied. “You’ve already stopped bleeding,” he added.

You opened your mouth to respond, only moaning as his hips set a steady, even pace. M’so close,” you whined, head falling forward, your forehead resting against his. “Already?” he teased. “Before I’ve even properly fucked you?” You whined in response, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“My bad,” he joked. “I might have gone a little overboard earlier,” he added, placing his hand against the counter, his hips hitting yours with each thrust. Your vision blurred, tears filling as the tension in your body built up again. One hand tangled in his hair, the other reaching around to hold onto his shoulder as you buried your face in his neck. “M’ gonna-” your words failed as your orgasm crashed over you unexpectedly.

“That really was quick,” Seungmin chuckled as he helped you ride it out. As you fell limp in his hold, he pulled out of you, carefully guiding you down off the counter before turning you to face it, pushing you over as he guided himself back inside your tight heat.

“Now it’s my turn,” he said, taking both hips in his hands and setting a punishing pace, making you cry out, the tears in your eyes finally falling. “Are you crying?” he asked breathlessly. “Does it feel that good?” he mused.

You were unable to speak and respond to his question, instead answering only in jumbled words, moans, and chants of his name. Seungmin’s hand moved up to your shoulder, pulling your back up as he leaned over, lips next to your ear. “Crying only makes me want to ruin you more,” he said, his tone dark. “It’s not gonna make me go easy on you.”

You cried out as his thrusts increased, hips hitting your ass repeatedly with the same slapping sound.

The sounds of your cries only spurred him on, your sniffles and sobs fueling his desire to wreck you. “Almost,” he groaned, his own orgasm approaching. “Fuck, m’close,” he announced. “Where you want it?” he asked. You lifted your head weakly. “I-inside me,” you moaned.

Seungmin groaned, hips stuttering. “You sure?” he asked and you nodded. “Give it to me,” you whimpered. “Cum inside me, Seungmin, please.” 

That was all he needed to hear, groaning into your ear as he released inside you, painting your insides with cum. “Oh shit,” he cursed, hips slowing as he fucked his release further into you. “Oh god,” you  groaned, feeling his cum fill your cunt as he pulled your back against his chest.

“That’s it, little rabbit,” he grunted. “Take all of it.”

His hips stilled and you whined, falling limp in his hold. Seungmin leaned over, one arm around your chest, the other holding the both of you up over the countertop. “Shit,” you heard him hiss. “You’re going to need a shower,” he said softly.

You whimpered as he pulled out of you. “Or we both might need one,” he corrected. You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Are you staying?” you asked, looking at him with those expectant eyes. How could he ever think to leave.

He’d spent most of his immortal life jumping from identity to identity. He’d grown bored and weary of that life and now he had the chance to do something new and exciting. He smiled at you and nodded. Sure, you assumed he meant he was staying the night but deep down, he was agreeing to stay for the foreseeable future.

And who knows. Maybe, just maybe he’ll stay for eternity if that means he gets an eternity with you.

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