#are those tears in my eyes or is it just raining

[the-kr8tor]

250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

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Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

[aberooski]

Eyes On Me isn't about Julia and Laguna anymore, it's about Chazz and Atticus.

[save-mohamed-family]

To those with compassionate hearts only,

I reach out to you with my broken heart, asking for help from God and from you. We are on the brink of a harsh winter, and I live in a tent that offers no protection from the burning heat of summer nor the biting cold of winter. Imagine, the rain falling, the wind howling, and here we are in Gaza, without shelter, without a roof to protect us, shivering from the cold, fighting every night just to survive.

My life has become an unending nightmare, and my children sleep trembling from the freezing cold, with fear gripping our hearts every time the clouds gather in the sky.

I beg you to share my account and contribute anything that could save us from this winter, which we dread more than ever before.

Look at how my child was in the past, and how he is now. His face once radiated innocence and angelic beauty, but now it has changed completely. This little face, once full of life, is now suffering, fading before my eyes. Where are the compassionate hearts? Who will help me protect my child, to provide the treatment he desperately needs before it’s too late? The pain I see in his eyes tears me apart, and all I can do is hope in God and the kindness of your hearts.

My children are waiting for your donations, even if it's just $5. Please, I beg you for your help.

@nabulsi @sar-soor

@miametropolis

@gotchibam s @ragnarozzys

@troythecatfish

@heliopixels

@90-ghost

@dimonforever @i-am-aprl

@sayruq

@el-shab-hussein

@humanvoicebox

@faggotfungus @ghost-anatomy @three-croissants

@fairuzfakhira @ibtisams @ @vakarian-shepard @palipunk @palestinecharitycommissionsassoc @vakarian-shepard @northgazaupdates2

@tamamita

@stuckinapril

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

So Much Love in Oklahoma

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.

a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies

also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33

masterlist | twisters masterlist

What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.

(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)

Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.

So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.

It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.

Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.

You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.

"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.

"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"

You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.

"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.

"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.

"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."

With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.

"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"

You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.

If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.

"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.

"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."

I got you.

You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.

You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.

He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.

You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.

And then suddenly - there's nothing.

It disappears within seconds.

There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.

You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.

"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."

He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.

You don't move an inch.

You can't move.

You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.

The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.

"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."

You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.

You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.

And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.

"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.

He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.

You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.

Empty.

"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.

"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."

You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.

You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.

You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.

All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.

"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."

The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.

"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."

"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."

He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.

"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."

He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.

Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-

"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:

"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"

His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.

"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.

"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?

He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.

"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.

It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.

You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.

Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.

You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.

"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.

"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"

Ah, right, that part.

Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.

"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."

"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.

"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."

You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?

The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.

"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.

"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."

More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.

"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.

He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.

"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.

"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."

You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.

"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."

...

A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.

You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.

"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.

"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.

"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"

He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.

God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.

"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.

"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"

...

Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.

Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.

"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."

She glances down at your bare legs.

"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.

"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.

"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.

You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.

"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.

"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."

Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).

"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."

...

Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.

Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.

In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.

You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.

"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"

"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."

She shakes her head and waves you off.

"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"

...

It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.

"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.

"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.

"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"

"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."

"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."

You have to snort at that.

"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."

...

When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.

"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.

"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.

"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.

"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."

They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".

You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.

But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.

"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.

"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."

"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.

...

The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.

A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.

You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.

"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.

"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."

She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.

"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."

"Really, mom?"

You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.

"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.

...

The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.

Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.

It's Tyler.

Tyler Owens.

"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.

You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.

"Hi", you echo.

His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.

Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.

"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.

"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."

Tyler chuckles.

"Seems like a great guy."

"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."

Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.

"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.

"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.

Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.

"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.

"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."

...

Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.

You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.

"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).

He looks almost bashful for a second.

"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."

Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.

"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.

"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."

...

It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.

You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.

"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.

"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."

So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.

"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."

You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.

"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."

You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.

You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.

"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.

"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."

You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.

"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.

"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.

"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.

Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-

You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.

You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.

"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.

"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."

"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."

When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.

"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.

"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.

It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.

And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.

Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.

"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."

"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.

It lasts maybe another two minutes.

"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.

"Thanks", you mutter.

"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.

"She likes you too."

It's the truth.

Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.

"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.

"Yep", you say.

That's it for that conversation.

You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.

"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.

"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."

You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.

You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.

Right into your kiss.

Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.

And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.

[khioneee]

‘honey, i’m home.’

simon, presumed dead for the past five years, appears at your doorstep, very much alive.

the knock at the door cut through the quiet night like a knife, startling you from restless sleep. rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks. your heart pounded in your chest as you shuffled toward the door, dread curling deep in your stomach. no one visited at this hour. not anymore.

you hesitated at the door, hand trembling slightly on the knob. for a moment, you thought about ignoring it—letting whoever it was go unanswered. but something pulled you forward, a strange sense of familiarity, even though you couldn’t place it.

when you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

there, standing on your doorstep, was simon.

simon stood before you, drenched from the rain, looking like a ghost dragged back from the edge of the world. his hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his pale face, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. it had been five years since you’d gazed into those stormy eyes—five years of grief, heartache, and learning how to live without him. his familiar eyes, shadowed by exhaustion and pain, locked onto yours. his clothes were soaked, his body thinner than you remembered, like he had fought every step of the way just to stand on your doorstep.

your breath hitched painfully. ‘wake up,’ you said to yourself, heart racing. ‘please… wake up.’

but you didn’t.

‘lovie…’ simon whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. ‘i’m home.’

your mind swirled and shock paralyzing you. it felt like a cruel trick your mind had conjured. the world around you blurred, and your heart ached in your chest. it couldn’t be real. he couldn’t be here.

simon’s expression softened, and without a word, before you could react, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation, and the breath left your lungs. his grip was tight, desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. his cold, rain-soaked body pressed against yours, but you didn’t care.

he was here.

you froze for a moment, and then, slowly, your hands gripped the wet fabric of his jacket, your chest pressed against his. tears welled in your eyes, the disbelief crashing into a flood of emotions—relief, anger, and love. his familiar scent, rain-soaked, earthy, and undeniably him, flooded your senses, overwhelming you.

‘they told me you were dead,’ you sobbed against him, your fists clinging to his jacket as if that could keep him here. ‘they said your plane crashed. that you were gone.’

you clung to him, your heart shattering in your chest. he held you as if afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if his entire world depended on you being real.

simon buried his face into your hair, holding you tighter, his breath shaky. ‘every bloody day, i fought my way back for you,’ he said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he’d endured. ‘you were the only reason i stayed alive.’

you sobbed harder, burying your face into his chest, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. all the years of mourning him, the endless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the desperate ache of thinking you’d lost him forever—all of it shattered in his arms.

but then, simon’s grip on you faltered. something had shifted in the way he held you. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at your hand. his thumb brushing over the bare space where your wedding ring used to sit.

his body tensed. he pulled back slightly, just enough to glance down at your hand, and his breath hitched. the wedding ring you once wore was gone.

‘where’s your ring?’ he asked, voice quiet but edged with something fragile, as if the answer might break him.

your throat tightened, guilt and sorrow clawing at your chest. ‘simon…’ you started, voice cracking under the weight of it all.

his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked past you. that’s when he saw them—new photos hanging on the walls. the ones of you and him were gone, replaced by pictures of you and someone else.

it was like the air had been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenched, shoulders sagging under the realization. his face a mask of exhaustion and heartbreak as the weight of what he was seeing sank in.

you looked away, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. ‘i waited…’ you whispered. ‘even when they told me there wasn’t a chance you were alive, i tried.’

his face didn’t change, but the subtle pain and betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘i came back for you,’ he uttered softly, almost to himself. ‘i told you i’d come to you.���

‘i thought you were gone,’ you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. ‘i didn’t know how to keep waiting when they told me you’d never come back.’

simon’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. despite everything, his touch was tender, grounding. ‘i didn’t survive just to be a memory, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. ‘i fought every day to come back to you. and if i have to fight again… i will.’

you leaned into him, your heart breaking and mending all at once. the years apart, the lost moments—they still weighed heavy, but he was here. he had kept his promise, and that was all that mattered now.

‘i told you i’d come back,’ he said, voice low but steady. ‘and i’m not going anywhere. not ever again.’

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[bi-writes]

you don't think ghost likes you very much. (part 2 of this, but can be read standalone) (18+, semi-dark content ahead, ghoap x fem!reader)

he doesn't like you. no matter what you do, what you wear, what you say, you know he doesn't approve of you, not really.

not like johnny.

johnny adores the ground you walk on. his lips are always on you. in your ear, along your neck, against your collarbone. his tongue is warm, and it slides along your jaw, around your fingers, sucking on your skin.

"what a nice gift, LT," he always says. "got the nicest pussy 'v e'er had." and then he puts those eyes on, those big, soft, blue ones, and he asks, "can i keep 'er, LT? can i have 'er?"

and johnny is so good. johnny does what he's asked of. johnny says yes, he never says no. johnny smiles and nods and does what he is told, and so johnny gets to have you.

johnny gets to keep you.

but you are a pet, and you are nothing more, and ghost never lets you believe otherwise. he doesn't even give you his name; it's ghost, and ghost only, and he never touches you. not the way the johnny does.

he competes with you, but it isn't a competition. johnny doesn't listen to you, not if ghost contradicts you. he will win, and he will win every time, and even though you are aware of this, he reminds you, all the time.

"johnny, please--" you sob, and he laughs, rubbing his stubble against your thigh gently. it's wet, because he's slobbered all over your cunt, and your hole pulses because it wants more. "johnnny...j-johnny, please--"

"oh, relax, my little lamb..." he sucks your clit into his mouth gently, suckling on the puckered bud. you whine at that, reaching down, pulling on the long strands of hair down the middle of his head, and he groans. "makin' a right mess..."

you're crying. tears falling down your face, pleasure like fire at the base of your spine and crawling up your back, and you reach up and squeeze the swell of your breasts, pulling on your nipples gently. johnny always gets you here--right at the top of a glorious fucking hill, and when you come down it, he carries you, keeping you high for as long as he can before he tries again and again and again--

"fuck are y' doing?" a rough voice growls. johnny's ripped off of you, his back arching as a gloved hand yanks on his head. johnny grunts, hissing, and you whine when you see ghost gripping him by his neck, holding the back of his head to his chest. "spoiled. you spoil her, johnny."

"she's so pretty, LT...i--"

"you spoil her." ghost tilts his head to the side, and you see his eyes narrow, a harsh glare at you from under the mask that makes you shake a little. "spoil her fuckin' rotten."

he doesn't let you come. he's a selfish motherfucker.

you don't know why he doesn't like you. for all intents and purposes, he chose you. and he had all but asked you to leave. tortured you, yes, but he hasn't asked you to leave. he still wants you here, doesn't he? if he hated you, if he was jealous, if he really disapproved of you, a man such as he would just kick you out, wouldn't he?

johnny and ghost are gone today. you're alone, and you've decided to occupy your time by cleaning. you put away the clean dishes, fold the laundry that was stuck in the dryer, pick up around the kitchen. ghost keeps the place very clean--but they were pressed for time in the morning, so johnny left you with the softest kisses, and ghost with just a grunt.

you're arranging fresh flowers in the living room when you hear the front door shut. you bounce into the hallway, a big smile on your face ready to greet johnny, but you freeze when you see only one big shadow shrugging off his rain jacket.

ghost is by himself, and he rolls out his neck as he toes off his boots. he hangs up his jacket, still not looking at you.

"wot?" he snaps. "cat got your tongue, little rabbit?"

you swallow, shaking your head.

"sorry...i thought...thought it was johnny."

"yeah? and wot? just 'cause it's not johnny, gonna not greet me like y'should, yeah?" he bites. you stand still for another minute before coming towards him. you lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek, but when you pull away, he reaches down and grips your ass tight, forcing your pelvis against his and rumbling low. he snarls a little, and you tilt your head back as he presses the front of his mask against your lips, kissing you through it. "tha'sit. good girl."

a soft sound comes out of you, a moan, a whimper, you aren't sure, but he smacks your ass gently, nodding his head.

"go on," he mutters. "on the couch."

he eyes you as you walk away.

"'n why the fuck are y'wearin' all those clothes?"

your insides warm at that, and you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

"oh. sorry." you slide your sweats off and toss them aside. it's then that ghost realizes you're wearing his shirt. he runs a hand over his taut stomach, adjusting himself shamelessly in his jeans as he watches you bend over to get onto the couch. you wear no panties, and he hums under the mask, tilting his head to the side.

"johnny got held up on base," he murmurs, coming into the living room. you take a seat on the couch, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs together.

"so...we're all alone?" you ask. this is your chance. this is the opportunity you have been waiting for. with no johnny to distract him, all he has is you, and he can't ignore you. not this time.

"all alone, sweetheart."

you swallow hard. "why don't you like me?"

the question is blunt and clear. ghost clicks his tongue under the mask, focusing on you, and he shakes his head.

"tha' isn't wot it is."

"then what is it?"

he just stares, and you shake your head. you need answers. you need to know what you're doing wrong--you want to be good.

"not you, luvie. it's my boy, my poor johnny..." you watch as he grips himself through his jeans again, visibly hard as he squeezes his cock over his zipper. "fuckin' annoying when he isn't the center of attention. my attention. you understand, right?"

you watch him, licking your bottom lip.

"b-but...but--"

"turns into a bloody muppet. pouts like a baby." ghost comes closer, leaning over you, gripping your chin gently. "wot, huh? thought i didn't want y'around?" you whimper when he squeezes your face between his big hand, squishing your cheeks. "'n how could i not, yeah? look at ya..."

he growls under the mask.

"y'wet, sweetheart?" he asks, and you lean back, spreading your knees, and he grunts when he sees between your thighs. the skin is wet, soft and slick, and he hums lowly when he sees how you clench around nothing. "wanna taste, luv. give it t'me."

you reach down gently, sliding two fingers through your folds. you whine a little, scooping a nice handful of slick, and then you pick up your fingers for him. he pushes his mask up, and you shiver when you see the wicked grin on his scarred face. then he takes your fingers into his mouth.

he leans over you. his mouth his hot, and you shake a little when his tongue slips over your fingers, warm muscle swallowing as he tastes you.

"fuckin' hell," he murmurs when he lets your fingers go. "know why johnny spends all his time down there, yeah?"

you giggle, arching your back a little, pulling his shirt up.

"ghost...why dont...why dont you come here?" you reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging gently, and he falls over you on the couch. you meet his eyes as you start to unbutton his jeans. "i want you to spend time here, too, y'know."

"tha' right, sweetheart?"

you smile, "y-yeah." you unzip his pants, your jaw falling open when you pull him out. he's so big, nice and girthy and pretty, and the tip is so pink, dribbling precum and just aching for your tongue to taste him. you rub your thumb over the tip, and he hisses. "and...a-and i love johnny..." you look back up into his eyes. "b-but...i..."

he reaches around and fists your hair, growling against your lips.

"need a right beast to fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? need someone to--" you cry out as he yanks your head back, exposing your neck to him. "--fuckin' ruin ya."

you squeal, arching your back, and he chuckles, but it's mean. you wrap your arms around his neck, and he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

"yah, luv, y'r mine, just as much as johnny--" you gasp when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, "y'belong to me. gonna write my name across your fuckin' cunt, sweetheart, fuck that idea right into your pretty head--"

you cry when he fucks you. when he sits up on his knees, gripping you from under your thighs, fucking into you with a reckless rhythm that leaves your thighs shaking and warm tears coming down your face.

"look at you..." ghost hisses, and you cry more, keening as he stares down at where you're connected and the squelch of you dribbles down his thighs. "bloody hell..."

your back bows, your thighs clamping around ghost's hips as he fucks you into the mattress. you can barely think, the only sensation you can really absorb is the way his thighs smack against your ass and the feel of his big, gloved hands spreading you open.

"just needed me right here, yeah?" ghost grunts, slowing his pace as he nestles his pelvis right against yours. you whine; he's so deep, it hurts, but it hurts so good, you don't tell him to stop, you can't. he's so much bigger than johnny, in every way, and you feel suffocated, but if this is how you die, so be it. getting fucked brainless is not the worst way to go, not like this. you gasp when he smooths a big hand over your stomach, pressing the pad of his thumb to where you know the tip of his cock sits. "right there, luv, tha' place is for me, yeah? 's mine, my spot--"

ghost leans down, growling against your neck, a firm grind of his hips punching your cervix again. you claw at ghost's back, and it's painfully obvious how desperate you are--you nearly rip ghost's shirt in pieces.

"this place is for me," he murmurs, spreading his fingers. he grips your waist in both hands and gives you a hard thrust, leaning his head back as he feels you clench hard. you like it when he talks, he can tell--the sound of his voice has you that much wetter, and he clicks his tongue as he leans back, rubbing a gloved thumb over your pretty little clit. "wanna live here...want ya to be my little pet..." he smirks under the mask when you cry, so sensitive. "whenever i want, want you bent over, spread nice 'n wide f'me." he hums low, "whenever i want, yeah?"

he talks like you aren't there. like he isn't cock-deep inside of you, molding the soft places of your pussy to the shape of him. ghost, despite being a little breathless, has no tremble in his voice despite how hot he feels, and he knows, suddenly, why johnny fawns over you. there is nothing that compares to this--there is nothing quite like fucking this pretty princess, watching her tits bounce, her thighs shake, feeling how soft and lovely she is when he gets her right where she belongs--stupid and cumming.

"a princess ya are, yeah?" ghost chuckles. "a right spoiled one, innit?"

and maybe you are a little spoiled. you had no idea you would be getting two for one--johnny and his looming shadow.

you grip ghost's shirt from the front tight, balling it up in tight fists and pulling him close.

"please!" you squeal. "please, please, please--" you moan and sob against the front of his mask. "w-wanted you for so long--w-wanted--"

"ya did?" ghost tilts his head to the side, picking up the pace. he cradles your head between his arms, pressing his face to yours. "even though i was a bastard?"

you mewl, nodding, reaching down and gripping his lower back as he grinds mercilessly. the curls at the base of his cock are rubbing against your clit now, and you angle your hips to catch the feeling every time, and you know you're getting close. you're there.

"almost said your name--" you gasp. "w-when...when he..."

"poor thing--" he chuckles. "thought johnny was what you wanted?" he knows you like the way he's fucking you, and he slows down, wanting to see your face and every expression you make. "what you needed?"

you nod. "i need him," you whisper. "but it isn't enough."

"no, you're such a greedy bunny--" he grips your face tight, sitting up, and you cry when he fucks you. he's an animal, he's lost control, and you are helpless under him. all you can do is spread your knees wider and moan. "johnny can't tame you, but i can, yeah?"

you meet his eyes, big and soft and wet, and he hisses. the look in your eyes, he cums instantly, falling over you and barely having enough time to put his hand out and catch himself. you gasp at the feeling, reaching down, and with a few soft circles of your fingers, ghost lets out a strangled sound as he feels you tighten and cum. the front of his thighs are soaked, and he nudges your chin up with his nose as he breathes in the scent of you from your neck.

"don't say of word of this to 'im, yeah? got ourselves a jealous little bastard," he murmurs against your ear. you nod, and when he kisses you, you can't help the way you relax. cupping his scarred face, licking into his mouth--ghost is your keeper, and he's johnny's keeper, and you know suddenly why johnny does whatever he says, whenever he wants.

ghost is in charge. he just is, and even though you're just a little, innocent civilian, ghost has given you orders, and you will follow them. there is a soft, aching place inside of you that wants to please him so badly--wants to impress him, show him how good you can be. and you imagine, wonder, if johnny has that same feeling in him, that same little press on the inside of his ribs that screams, be a good boy, a good girl, do just as he says, he'll give such a nice reward.

and when johnny comes home, there you are, all soft smiles and tender touches and little giggles that make his belly hurt so nice. and when he tells you he's hungry, you spread your legs, using two fingers to show him your pretty, wet cunt. and he dives in, like he always does, because one of his favorite places is feeling the rub of your thighs against his stubble and your fingers tugging his hair.

his tongue spreads your folds, and he hums with delight when you fall onto your back, pliant and soft and warm. and then he tastes you, and he swallows, and his eyes flicker when there is something else there, something that he knows.

johnny's eyes dart up, looking over you, and he can see ghost lingering in the doorway, watching, and then johnny understands what it is he tastes--and why he likes it so fucking much, and why it tastes like something he knows.

he meets ghost's eyes, and they look at each other, and johnny knows what it is that he's done, what it is he's eating out of you. but ghost knows johnny is a good boy, and he won't pull away, he won't make a scene. no. johnny pulls back a little, wiping his face.

he smiles. and then he leans in for more.

[katsu28]

rain, rain, (don't) go away

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: you put your trust in a handsome stranger in the midst of a bit of bizarre wet weather. what could go wrong? (4.6k)

warnings: minimal swearing

a/n: not quite the summer lando series i've been working on but the idea for this came to me in a dream a while ago lmao

It doesn’t often rain in Monaco. Especially not during the summer. 

So when you feel a drop splash against your forehead, then another, you’re wildly unprepared. You squint up at the rapidly darkening sky like it's personally wronged you, and you’re met with another raindrop, this time in your eye. 

Part of you wonders if you could try and make it home before it starts to pour. The other part knows it would be an impossible feat given your lack of a car and how far you’d have to run in such a short amount of time. Even as you ponder the thought, the occasional drops turn into a heavy drizzle. 

You barely make it under the nearest awning before it really starts to come down. All around you are people scrambling to get out of the rain and somewhere dry, caught off guard by the unexpected downpour like you are. 

“Crazy rain, huh?” You startle at the sound of a voice from next to you, gaze snapping to your left to see a man huddled under the same awning, most likely having come up with the same idea you did. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologizes, holding his hands up in surrender. “I take it you weren’t expecting rain when you left the house today either?” 

You scoff, chuckling. “Was anybody?” 

You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at him once more, and to say you’re pleasantly surprised is an understatement. 

Your awning buddy is awfully attractive, and looks to be around your age too. A form-fitting black sweater stretches across broad shoulders, paired with baggy blue jeans that might not have worked for everyone, but definitely suits him well. He’s smiling at you too, a lopsided grin that has you intrigued by him. “The one time I didn't check my weather app before I headed out.” 

“You actually check the weather app?” He chuckles, tilting his head. 

“You don’t?” 

“Can’t say that I do. Usually I just trust the vibes when I look out the window. Didn’t really work out today, though.” He holds his palm out from under the makeshift shelter, letting the rain pool in his hand before dumping it on the ground, flicking his fingers to rid them of the excess drops with a scrunched nose. “Is this your first time in Monaco?” 

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I live here. You?” He bobs his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s never rained like this though, especially this time of year.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I reckon it’ll stop soon. It’s usually pretty quick—” 

A bolt of lightning flashes through the sky right at that moment, followed by a clap of thunder not five seconds later. If it continues on like this, you might be stuck here forever. 

“Huh! Maybe not.” The man sounds amused, aiming a sympathetic smile at you. You can’t help but chuckle, and you notice it makes him perk up a bit, looking pleased with himself. “Hope you don’t have anywhere to be.” 

“Honestly? I don’t. But I’d rather not be standing under this awning til the storm lets up. Could be ages, by the looks of it.” 

A stream rushes its way down the street, carrying a sad swirl of leaves down the storm drain at the corner along with it. It seems everyone else has come to their senses and found somewhere warm and dry to wait out the sudden storm because when you look around, the two of you are the only ones still outside. 

As if the man can sense what you’re thinking, he speaks. He’s smiling hopefully at you, head tilted invitingly. “There’s a cafe down the block that was open before it started to rain. Care to join me?” 

Normally, you’d be wary about a handsome stranger inviting you to an unknown location. This seems like one of those situations you’ve been warned about, but right now you can’t find it in yourself to care. It’s about time you put yourself out there, take a chance for once. You’re pretty sure he won’t try to kidnap you. 

“I’d love to.” You reply. You peer out at the dreary grey sky again, lips twisting into a grimace. “Is it just me or does it seem to be raining harder?” 

“I say we make a break for it. Run like hell on three.” He says firmly. You nod and he does the same, holding out his hand. You slip your fingers through his without a second thought. “One, two, three—go, go, go!” 

You both take off in a wild sprint down the sidewalk, splashing through puddles on your way. He giggles the whole time, peals of laughter bouncing off the cobbled street that sound gleeful. You’re laughing too, because who would’ve ever thought you’d be running through the rain hand in hand with a guy you’ve only just met?

He tugs you along, leading the way to your destination confidently. Well, as confident as one can while being half-blinded by a torrential downpour. 

You nearly slip as you make a poor attempt at a sudden stop when he finally slows, and you probably would’ve ended up flat on your ass if he hadn’t grabbed you by your forearms, steadying you with an infectious grin that you can’t help but return. 

The bell above the door rings when the two of you stumble inside, soaked to the bone even in the very short time it took to get down the road. But you know what they say, when it rains, it pours. 

He shakes the rainwater from his hair not unlike a dog would shake out its fur, and in the process splatters you with the droplets. Normally you wouldn’t be too happy about it, but you’re already drenched and he’s very cute, so you don’t mind. 

The place is pretty much empty when you look around, save for a handful of other patrons doing their own things. It’s cute though—cozy and warm, the smell of coffee beans and something sweet floating through the air. You never noticed it before, but it’s exactly the kind of cafe that you love. 

The man seems to notice that you’re still holding hands, because his cheeks turn pink and he drops it, smiling rather bashfully. 

“Sorry. I’m Lando, by the way.” He introduces himself softly, rubbing the back of his neck. You tell him your name and he repeats it, testing it out on his tongue. You’re not ashamed to admit you like the way it sounds when he’s the one saying it. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

“I’m gonna go order something so they don’t think we’re loitering. Preferably something hot, because I’ve got water in places water definitely shouldn’t be.” He shudders, pulling his soggy sweater away from his torso as proof. “Do you want anything?” 

You ponder for a moment before responding. “A latte sounds amazing right now. I’ll pay you back, of course.” 

Lando shakes his head, backpedaling towards the counter. “My treat. You just sit there and look pretty.” You roll your eyes playfully at him, but smile nonetheless. “Oh look, you’re doing great already!” 

That makes your cheeks grow hot. You’ve just met Lando and he’s flirting with you, and you don't mind at all. In fact, you have half a mind to flirt back. 

He finds you at a table soon after, balancing two cups and a concerningly large paper bag. You pop to your feet, carefully grabbing the bag to ease the load, and peer into it. There’s at least five different pastries inside, all of them looking absolutely mouthwatering. 

“I hope you’re hungry. Got convinced to buy a few things by the lovely old lady at the counter.” Lando says sheepishly, sliding into the seat opposite you. “Very persuasive, she is.” 

You shrug. “I could eat.” 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, chatting with each other like you're the only two in the world. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to him too. He’s funny and quick-witted and he talks very animatedly with his hands, you notice. You find it cute. 

Lando tells you about himself, asks about you and your life story, and you find yourself settling in nicely with his friendly nature. This isn’t a date by any means, but he makes it feel like one by the way he truly pays attention to you and what you're saying, nodding along closely with rapt attention. As far as listeners go, he's a fantastic one. 

You’ve also learned a lot about him. He was born and raised in the UK, but moved here a few years ago for work. What exactly did for work, he wasn’t too forthcoming with, but you don’t pay it any mind. You’ve just met, after all. You’re not expecting him to tell you his whole life story. 

But it also doesn’t feel like you’ve just met. You aren’t sure why, but Lando has this way of making you feel like you’ve known each other for ages, of making you feel comfortable and at ease with every word out of his mouth. 

Your clothes and hair have just started to dry out a bit, and you’re having a great time. Such a nice time, you don’t even notice the girl approaching your table. Lando sees her before you do, and he smiles politely. 

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you guys, but are you Lando Norris?” She asks hopefully. She looks young, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Her eyes flick to you, and you can tell she’s nervous, so you smile back. You’re confused to say the least, but you remember what you were like at her age. She reminds you a bit of yourself. 

Lando nods. “I am, yeah. What’s your name?” 

“Valeria. But everyone here just calls me Val. I’m the owner’s granddaughter, so I work here all the time.” 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Val.” 

She looks positively starstruck now, hands trembling as she holds up her phone. “Would you mind if I got a photo with you? You can totally say no if I’m interrupting something, I—” 

“You’re alright, love, don’t worry.” Lando stands, moving into selfie position next to her. The poor girl’s arm shakes so much you’re positive the photo won’t turn out clear at all, so you slide out of your seat too. 

“Here, let me.” You take the phone gently, motioning the two of them to scoot closer to get them in frame with each other. 

Val looks a combination of relieved and grateful, while Lando gives off nothing but a cool, albeit reserved, confidence. The same kind of confidence a celebrity might have when approached by a fan of theirs. But certainly Lando couldn’t be famous…right? 

You shake away the idea, snapping a handful of photos before passing it back to her, figuring there can never be too many to choose from. She beams bright, hugging him quickly, then to your surprise, gives you a hug as well. 

“Thank you so much! I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy your food!” With that, she hurries away with a bounce in her step, disappearing into the kitchen. 

You turn to Lando with arched brows. “That was interesting.” 

“So interesting.” He echoes, but his tone makes it sound like he doesn’t quite agree. 

“What are you, famous or something?” You mean it as a light jest, but Lando looks guilty for some reason. He beckons for you to take your seat again, sliding back into his own before offering you a sheepish smile. 

“Um, there might be something I haven’t told you yet.” 

“Shit, are you actually famous?” 

“...Yeah, kinda.” You arch a curious brow, and he sighs, but not in exasperation. “I’m a Formula One racing driver. For McLaren.”

Formula One…racing…it all sounds slightly familiar, but you can’t quite place it. Then it dawns on you. 

Lando isn’t just a local celebrity—he’s literally world famous. 

You’ve heard your friends talk about the races before, a few of your relatives who keep up with the sport, but you’d never paid it any mind. It just wasn’t something you could see yourself being interested in. That really famous race that takes place here in the streets every year that makes traffic an absolute fucking nightmare the whole week, Lando drives in that race, and countless others around the world, if you recall your limited knowledge correctly. 

He’s…cool. And he’s sitting right here with you in a tiny cafe, and you had no idea who he was. 

“Oh my god, you must think I live under a rock or something! This is so embarrassing, I—” 

“No, no! I’m not—I don’t go around expecting everyone to know who I am, I swear. It’s just that most people usually do recognize me, and it saves me the whole ‘having to tell them I’m famous’ thing, which always just makes things really awkward, and…yeah.” 

“Things don’t have to be awkward.” 

“No?” 

“No. We don’t even have to talk about it.” 

“We don’t?” He sounds a tad wary, but when you nod, the tension in his posture melts away. Relief floods his features at once. “Thank you. It’s actually quite nice to meet someone who has no idea what I do. Makes me feel normal for once.” 

“Glad my lack of sports knowledge makes you feel like a regular guy,” You joke, nudging his foot with yours under the table. He gives you a light kick in return, infectious smile back in full bloom once again. You quite like it when he smiles. 

You’ve just moved on to a new topic that has nothing to do with Lando’s job when his phone buzzes, making him jolt in surprise. He digs it out of his pocket, and when he sees the name flash across the screen, his eyes go wide. 

“Sorry, hang on. I’ve gotta get this.” He says, hitting the answer button. It’s a quick phone call, and you try your best not to eavesdrop, but whoever is on the other line has Lando worked up when he hangs up. 

“Everything okay?” You ask lightly. Lando bobs his head quickly. 

“Yeah, it’s—I, uh, I’ve gotta go. I forgot about a work event, apparently. That was my press officer, wondering where the hell I am and how fast I can get there.” He sounds disappointed, smiling almost sadly. “So much for feeling normal.” 

You try your best not to let your face fall when you nod. “I should get going too. Get home before the next freak summer rainstorm.” 

It’s nice when you step outside. You tilt your face up towards the sky, feeling the sun warm your face. This is the Monaco you know and love. Though if it hadn’t rained, you would’ve never met Lando. 

He turns to face you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for the nice afternoon. I had a good time.” 

“Me too.” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

“Maybe you will.” 

“I certainly hope so.” He says softly. You shift slightly on the balls of your feet, suddenly feeling awkward. You’re not sure how to leave things with him, and it looks like he feels the same by the way he mirrors your actions. “Um, I really should leave, so…goodbye, I guess?” The look on his face tells you that leaving is the last thing he wants to do, but he has to. 

“Bye, Lando.” 

“Bye.” He echoes, one more time before turning away from you to head down the street. 

You can only bring yourself to wait a few seconds before you call his name again. He turns around instantly despite his hurry, meeting your gaze. You want to say something to him that’ll make him remember you, because chances are you’ll never cross paths again. If you were brave enough, maybe you'd even ask him for his number. But you’re not, so you don’t. Instead, you just smile at him. 

“Thanks for the latte.” 

If he’s disappointed, he hides it well. He smiles back at you, warm and bright like the sun beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. “Of course.” 

You watch him walk away, fighting that pesky little feeling in your gut telling you that you’re making a mistake by letting him go. It’ll go away soon, and you’ll go on with your life like you’re meant to. 

-------

You find yourself going back to the same cafe often, whenever you're out and want a little treat before you go home. The pastries are always still as delicious as the first time you had them, and you’ve become well acquainted with the staff as the time goes on. 

Oh, and that feeling you had when you let Lando leave without a word? 

It never went away. It’s still here, worming its way into your thoughts every chance it can get. 

You’re a little embarrassed to admit that every time you walk into the cafe, you hope you’ll see Lando. It’s wishful thinking more than anything, hoping he’ll be there when you go. He’s probably busy doing his thing anywhere but here, busy racing around in the world to the tune of thousands of screaming fans. You’re not sure if he even remembers you, or the afternoon you’d spent together. 

Why would he? In the world of Lando Norris, world famous Formula One driver, you’re probably just a speck of dirt in his rearview mirror. 

The thought gets pushed to the back of your mind as you step up to the counter to order. Val beams at you from behind the register. 

“Hey, Val,” You greet the young girl warmly, returning her smile. You’ve become quite fond of her and her youthful energy, and she always brightens your day. “How’s business going?” 

“Oh you know, same old.” Val waves an absentminded hand in the air as she keys in your usual order with the other. Her smile turns mischievous at the same time, like she knows something you don’t, and you narrow your eyes at her, already knowing what she's going to ask. “Have you heard from Lando?” 

“No, I haven’t. How’s summer school going?” 

She makes a funky face at you, rolling her eyes. “Boring. Way to change the subject though.” Before she can press any more about Lando, someone calls her name from the kitchen. “Ugh, I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfy, wait for your order, you know the drill!” 

You chuckle to yourself, heading straight for your usual table by the window to wait for your name to be called. 

You like to sit while you enjoy your food and drink, watching the people and cars go by outside. The streets of Monaco are always busy and bustling, but being in here feels like a pocket of peace. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

Your brow crinkles at the sudden voice, because you know for a fact there are at least four or five other empty tables available other than the one you’re currently sitting at, but this person chose to to ask you. 

Pocket of peace…disrupted. 

You let out a short sigh through your nose, turning your head from the window to politely tell them to find another seat, preferably at a table that isn’t yours, and that’s when you see him. 

Lando is grinning at you when you look over, lopsided and endearing just like the first time you met him. 

“Oh fuck!” You can’t help the expletive that falls from your mouth at the sight of him, even though there’s a thousand other things you’d told yourself you’d say to Lando if you ever saw him again. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet slightly like he’s nervous as he waits for you to do something other than curse at him. “Lando! I—you—hi.” 

“Hi,” He echoes, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. All you can do is stare at him, wide eyed in disbelief. “Mind if I sit?” 

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, you can sit.” You fumble over your words like you’re not used to speaking, feeling your cheeks flame embarrassingly hot. Lando just chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you. “Um, so how’ve you been?” 

He rubs at the back of his neck, bobbing his head. “Good! Bit busy. We had a triple header the last three weeks, so it’s just nice to be home again.” 

“Oh, I bet. I don’t think I’d be very good company if I couldn’t sleep in my own bed for three straight weeks.” 

“That’s fair. Though to be honest, I’ve gotten scarily good at falling asleep anywhere. If it’s a flat surface, I can nap.” 

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned.” 

“Impressed would be mint. Otherwise I just sound like a dumbass.” 

You laugh at that, and in this moment, you realize just how much you’ve missed Lando. No matter how many times you’ve tried to convince yourself to forget about him, to convince yourself that there was no point in pining after someone you’d only spent a few hours with, it all came back to this. You missed him because you like him. 

“I need to tell you something.” He blurts suddenly, bracing his elbows on the table. 

You nod, expression turning thoughtful. Whatever thoughts you’re having about liking Lando can wait. “Sure, go ahead.” 

“This is gonna sound unbelievably weird and maybe even a little bit creepy, but I need to get it off my chest or else I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Lando looked nervous. The bouncing of his leg you can feel under the table and the way he plays with his fingers supports your theory. 

You cock your head at him, reaching across the surface to steady his fidgeting with a hand over both of his. His gaze snaps down to your touching hands, and you can see him visibly gulp. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay, is something wrong?” 

He shakes his head quickly. “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything is…the opposite, really. Everything is right. Meeting you, finding my way back to you—here of all places. I don’t believe in fate or anything like that, but this sure feels like something along those lines.” 

“Lando, I—”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that afternoon. I tried everything. Nothing worked. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He confesses. His fingers curl around yours gently, thumb stroking over the ridges of your knuckles. “If I’m being completely with myself, I think it’s because I didn’t want to get you out of my head. And I just got off the plane an hour ago, but instead of going home and passing out like I usually do, I came here, hoping that somehow, you’d be here too.” 

“Can I say something now?” You ask lightly, stifling a giggle. 

His cheeks flush an embarrassed pink, and he motions for you to go ahead. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. I talk too much when I get nervous. I’m working on it, I—fuck, sorry again. You go. I’ll shut up.” 

“I still think it’s cute.”

“Is that the only thing about me you still think is cute, or…?” 

That gets another laugh out of you. You chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze. “Not at all. I still think all of you is cute, and…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you either. We haven’t known each other long, but I really like you, Lando.”  

“I could kiss you right now.” 

“What’s stopping you?”

You don’t have time to second guess your newfound confidence before he’s leaning across the table, sliding a large hand over your jaw and pressing his lips against yours. Lando kisses you softly—gentle, like he’s worried you’ll pull away if he’s too forward with it. 

You’re fully aware that you’re smiling like a madman against his lips, but in your defense, he is too. His eyes open slowly when you pull away, almost tentatively as if he’s not quite sure what just happened actually happened. 

He leans back just enough to study you, letting his gaze flit around your face, taking in every detail he possibly can. All while he grins larger than Cheshire cat, like he’s a kid whose parents just told them they could get whatever they wanted at the candy shop, instead of kissing you for the first time. 

“I was gonna be nice and bring you your order, but it looks like you’ve already got something sweet.” Val’s voice cuts through the moment, and when you look over at her, she looks over the moon. 

“Lando, you remember Val, right?” 

“Uh huh,” Lando hums, holding out his hand for a fist bump that she happily gives him. “Thanks again for the heads up.” 

“Hold on, what? What heads up?” 

The two of them share a look, like they’re debating whether or not to tell you their secret. Then Lando sighs, giving her a go ahead nod, and she squeals, setting your food down. 

“Okay, so you know how you come in here all the time after work? Well me, being the keenly observant, brilliant young mind I am, noticed a pattern. You come on the same days, at the same time, and you never stray.” She explains excitedly, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet. You aim a questioning glance over at Lando, who just gives another amused nod.

Val continues excitedly, “So I’m expecting you today, right? But then the door opens and guess who walks in? Lando! He asks me if you’ve ever come back here after that one day and I’m like oh my god, you have no idea! So I tell him to wait a half hour for you, and now you’re both here and my matchmaking skills can be put to rest.”

“Are you being serious right now? Really, I can’t tell.” 

She tilts her head, popping a hand on her hip. For the same girl who’d been so nervous to meet Lando just weeks ago, she’s got a surprising amount of sass in his presence today. “Why would I not be serious? I’m basically a genius, and I expect to be invited to the wedding. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

“Alright, that’s enough, cheers, Val!” Lando blurts, shooting her a pointed look. 

“Can I get paddock passes for making this whole thing happen? Preferably Monaco but I could probably make it to Monza too. Imola is a little far.” 

Lando blinks at her for a few moments, probably seeing if she actually means it. When all she does is raise her eyebrows, he concedes. “Maybe. I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.” 

“Fantastic. Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone!” 

You both watch as she all but skips happily off, then turn back to each other. 

“She’s…definitely something,” You sigh, shaking your head. Secretly, you owe her everything. 

“Eh, I dunno. Kid’s growing on me.” He reaches across the table, lacing his fingers through yours with a fond twinkle in those pretty eyes of his. 

“How serious are you about those paddock passes?” 

“I mean…she did help me out massively. I’d have missed you if it weren’t for her.” Lando shrugs, rubbing an absentminded thumb over yours. “I hope you know I would’ve come back until I found you again. Everyday, if I had to.” 

“Me too.” 

If you’d told your past self that a bizarre summer rainstorm in sunny Monaco would’ve led you to where you are right now, you wouldn’t have believed it. But now, as you sit here with Lando, smiling at each other like complete and total idiots, you’ve never been more grateful for a bit of unexpected rain.

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[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knee deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[tmpestuous]

someone to stay

summary: bucky offers you solace as your mental fatigue rears its head.

pairing: boyfriend!bucky x reader

warnings: angst, reader anxiety/depression, fluff, non-sexual nudity, a comforting buck <3

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this was inspired by my own issues right now because i definitely need it at the moment :’) 

Getting out of bed was always the most difficult part of your day. Even when you were feeling okay, even when nothing was immediately wrong. You would wake up and stare into the void, blankets smothering your body and eyelids still heavy from the bit of sleep you’d managed to get.

There wasn’t anything pressing your anxiety, but having been out of your routine for a few weeks always left you feeling unmotivated. After having been sidelined from missions for a multitude of reasons—injuries, mental stability, and a dwindling success rate—you had nothing to do. None of your side hobbies entertained you long enough to keep you busy, so you fell into the same cycle. You sometimes wished you could sleep all day or even just stay stagnant in bed, but you knew it’d only make the fatigue worse.

Today, however, was not one of those days where you pushed yourself out of bed. Not bothered to check the time, you closed your eyes again. It was raining outside anyways, the perfect weather to stay cuddled in bed for. Soon enough, you found some sleep again, even if you’d regret it later.

Bucky, who was not sidelined from missions, had just come back from one, more than eager to see you. He was back earlier than expected, so he only figured you wouldn’t be in your usual spot waiting for him in the hangar of the compound. It was a bit past noon, so he assumed you were keeping busy elsewhere.

After a quick debrief, he made it to your shared room, only to be led to confusion at the curtains still drawn and all of the lights off. He knew how much you hated sleeping in too late, only ever sleeping past 9 if you were really exhausted and/or hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Even then, you never let it get past 11 before you were up and out of bed.

Bucky knew you were taking your suspension a bit rougher than expected. He hated seeing you upset and he was even willing to skip out on a few missions to stay with you, but you’d insisted otherwise, saying “the bad guys don’t take breaks.” 

He never liked leaving you. Most of your missions had the two of you together, SHIELD thinking you worked well together even outside of your relationship. Going on missions without you meant he was always stuck with some reckless, inexperienced agent who wasn’t half as skilled as you a lot of the time. It was why he only liked the ones where he was with Sam or Steve, at least not having to stress about saving anyone.

He missed you on every single one. Your quips, how satisfying it was to see you kick people’s asses, and how swiftly you did just about everything. But Bucky also knew you needed a break. Your anxiety was more rampant lately, and it was affecting all of your skills on the field. The decision to bench you didn’t come easy to anyone, but especially not you.

You honestly had little to no idea what had you so anxious to start with, but anything else that triggered your anxiety only amplified it. Bucky was so reluctant to let Steve suspend you, but after you got seriously injured on a mission for lack of attention, he couldn’t argue against it anymore.

“You can’t be serious,” you said to Steve, tears in your eyes. “I’ve been injured so many times, why does that even matter?”

“It’s not just the injury,” Steve countered. “You’ve been off your game. I can’t risk losing one of our best members because you’re distracted.”

“I’m not dis—”

“You being distracted is how you ended up with a broken arm and a head injury,” he cut you off, making you look away from him. “You’re gonna end up dead if you keep on like this. I can’t deal with that loss, and neither can Bucky.”

Snapping your gaze back at Steve, you scoffed.

“So this is about Bucky?”

“This is about you, Y/n,” Steve said, his tone slightly more irritated. “He begged me not to bench you, said you just needed some time but even he knows putting you on the field again is risking your life.”

Wiping your tears away, you said nothing in response. You knew he was right, but the last thing you needed was to give in. It’d make you crumble, it’d make this whole situation real and you knew where you’d end up. 

Your conversation ended when Bucky walked in the room.

It was the right decision after all. However, Bucky’s chest ached knowing how low you were feeling. Knowing that you were doing everything just to get by, yet nothing at all. He hadn’t seen you in a melancholy state for years, but it always scared him. He barely made it out of his own episodes sometimes, panic manifesting through his bones. His worry only worsened at the thought of not being able to pull you from the darkness, the way you’d done so for him many times. 

Seeing you under the sheets, sound asleep past noon didn’t settle Bucky’s own anxiety. He was out on this mission for eight days, but you’d sounded okay when you spoke to him over the phone every night. 

Were you not getting any sleep? Were you falling asleep really late? Or was your current funk really getting to you?

Bucky set his duffel bag on the floor, shutting the door behind him. He decided against opening the curtains until you were awake, sitting on the edge of the bed next to your sleeping body, placing his flesh hand on your cheek gently.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning down and kissing your forehead a few times. “Let me see those pretty eyes, doll.”

Furrowing your eyebrows before peeling your eyes open, you were greeted with your favorite super soldier, a smile creeping on your face.

“Hi,” you said groggily, Bucky kissing your forehead again. “You’re back early.”

“Got the job done quickly,” he fed your curiosity. “What are you still doing asleep, doll? Are you okay?”

“What time is it?” You said, still unmotivated to get up from your lying position. 

“Almost 1,” Bucky answered before your eyes widened and you sat up, frantic about how the morning got away from you. “Hey, hey,” Bucky placed his hands on your shoulder, easing the tension a bit. “It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with oversleeping once in a while.”

You shook your head, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as you rubbed your eyes. “I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, then pulled your hands away from your eyes. The bags under them didn’t go without notice, Bucky getting more worried than earlier. He knew you weren’t sleeping well, and him not being here to soothe you must have made it worse.

“Is everything okay?” He asked again, never getting an answer from you.

You sighed. “I don’t really know, I’m just- I’m always tired and don’t wanna do anything even though I know I shouldn’t just stay in bed. I was gonna wake up early today to see if I could get moving but then I barely slept and thought a few more hours could be useful but now—”

“Shh,” Bucky said, pulling you into his embrace, rubbing your back softly. “There is still a lot of time left in the day, but I don’t mind sleeping this Sunday away with you after the mission I just had.” He kissed the top of your head a few times. “We can shower then eat and then rest. Sounds good?”

You nodded, with a muffled ‘okay’ into his chest before pulling away, Bucky standing and grasping your hand in his to head to the bathroom. 

Bucky turned the shower on, letting it run to get warm before turning back to you. After you helped Bucky take his tac suit off, he helped you shed your pajamas. The both of you took your underwear off, Bucky checking the water before you stepped in. 

You always enjoyed showering with Bucky, most after a mission when you were both tired. Though this was different since you weren’t the one coming home, the sentiment of being tired remained the same.

Bucky could tell you were tense, that something was still bothering you. He never wanted to pry, so he massaged the tension out of your shoulders, getting you to relax your posture a bit. You both worked your way around lathering each other with soap, your eyes doing their usual routine of scanning Bucky’s body for any cuts and bruises. Bucky decided to wash your hair, finding any means of making you feel relaxed. You sighed under his touch, leaning your head forward to rest against his chest as he rinsed your hair.

“Steve mentioned you going back on the field again,” Bucky eased into the conversation. “You feeling up for it?” Much to Bucky’s surprise, you shook your head, prompting him to lift your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You know you can talk to me.”

Sighing again, you leaned into his touch. “I’m not ready.”

“I thought you wanted to get back,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“I do,” you nodded. “But I just feel so… out of it. Like my mind is out of fuel and it’s putting my body on pause. I have no energy lately, I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky looked at you, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He’d been there, where his body was craving one thing but his mind just never allowed him to satisfy any of his desires. Depression didn’t always look the same, but he could tell when it was starting to consume you.

The restless nights, the fatigue, the lack of energy and motivation. It was a stark contrast to your usual, productive self. Sometimes Bucky would have to slow you down for doing too many things at once, so it pained him to see you not want to do anything at all. 

He decided right then and there he’d take a pause from any missions until you were okay. Until he could see the spark in your eye again, the pep in your step. The energy being revitalized.

“It happens, baby,” he reassured. “You’ve helped me through some of my funks, so let me help you out of yours, hm?”

“You don’t have to, Bucky,” you shook your head, but he shushed you, a chaste kiss placed on your lips. “I’m serious, you don’t have to pause your life for me. People still need help and I’ll get out of my fatigue stint eventually, so—”

“You know you’re not gonna convince me otherwise, right?” He shut you up again, offering you a smirk and another peck to the lips. “I would drop everything for you. At any time, on any day, at any given moment. You are my world, doll. If you’re not okay, then my world isn’t okay.”

“But what if they really need you—”

“They won’t,” Bucky grabbed the comb to detangle your hair. “Now come on, let me help you ease your mind, hm?”

Knowing you couldn’t say no to him, you turned so your back was facing him, Bucky smoothly getting any knots out of your hair. 

He knew how much you loved it when he did your hair, knowing the process was super long and you didn’t want to do it half of the time. When he first heard you complain about having to do it, he made you teach him your whole routine for whenever you were feeling unmotivated to. It was one of many things he eagerly learned for you, always wanting to pamper you. 

Feeling a bit overwhelmed over the fact that you had him back, here with you as he did everything in his power to clear your head from the anxious thoughts, you couldn’t help but tear up. 

When he finished detangling your hair, holding it up with a clip, he saw you crying, quickly pulling you in his arms, kissing you everywhere he could. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once he let you return the favor of washing his hair, you made him sit on the built-in bench in the shower so you wouldn’t have to reach up the whole time. 

Bucky loved touching you, but he swore to everything that he loved your touch even more. Your hands were so soft and gentle, with each lather and rinse of his head.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” you said, running your fingers through Bucky’s brown locks, the length now passing his ear. “Are you gonna cut it?”

Bucky shrugged, his hands finding comfort in your waist as you stood in front of him. He placed a kiss on each of your hips then your stomach before looking up at you.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered before standing, kissing your lips again. He knew how much you liked his short hair when he first cut it, but deep down you loved his long hair too. You just never forced him to keep one or the other, knowing how many memories his hair held.

Bucky loved how well you knew him, how well you understood him. It was the main reason why he took his time to do the same for you.

Once you were both out of the shower and dressed, Bucky picked up his phone to order some food. You’d told him you were craving Chinese the night before on your phone call while he was away, so he ordered all of your favorites as you finished drying your hair in the bathroom.

After eating dinner, Bucky slid under the covers of your shared bed, extending his metal arm for you to grab as you slid in next to him. Your head found its usual spot on his chest, both of his arms encasing you in the pressure you sought so many times, your left leg over his right one. 

“Thank you,” you said softly as Bucky rubbed your back just the way you liked it. “For never judging me.”

“I would never plan to,” he said, using his right hand to lift your chin up. “We’re human. We have our moments where we need a break, a reset. You taught me that when I needed to hear it. Don’t think that it excludes you, my love.”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss that said more than enough. 

Pulling away, you looked into those blue eyes that meant the world to you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Force yourself to do your hair routine every week,” Bucky joked, making you roll your eyes playfully with a smirk.

You pressed a kiss on his chest before laying your head on it again. “I love you.”

“I love you more, doll,” he said, massaging your scalp to soothe you until you fell asleep.

Bucky could watch you be this peaceful forever, vowing to spend the rest of his days making sure you were okay. He always knew you’d return the favor, enjoying every moment spent with you like this, comforted best in his arms.

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 10

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 11 is here!

You dont know why you're crying.

No.

You do know why you're crying. You dont understand why you're crying for that reason.

You've been sitting out on the balcony after Mehmed confessed to you, crying like a child who'd been yelled at by their favourite teacher- quietly and shamefully.

"Y/n?" You quickly wipe your tears away as you hear him.

Ibrahim tilts his head as he walks in front of you, his concern growing as he sees your teary eyes on your veiled face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

You sniffle, shaking your head.

"Then?" He notices your mismatched niqaab, the red color reminding him of the torn shirt of Mehmed he saw earlier. "Did something happen with Mehmed?"

You freeze, then nod.

He takes a deep breath before sitting beside you, keeping a respectable distance between you two.

"I know you might be thinking that he's a prince so he wont get in trouble for what he did, but I'm the grand vizir and the sultan's closest friend." He looks at you. "I can help you if you tell me what he did to make you cry."

"I... I am not crying because of Mehmed." You pause. "Mehmed confessed his love for me."

"And you're overwhelmed? Or do you not want his love?" Ibrahim asked cautiously.

"Of course I dont want his love, its just- it reminded me of someone." You close your eyes and immediately those blue orbs flash to your mind. "Someone from... the past."

"Did you love him?" Your eyes snapped open.

"What?"

"This person you talk of... did you love him?" Ibrahim asked.

"I..." Did you? Did you really love him? Even after what he did to you, did you still love him?

"I used to." You sniffled. "You dont love him anymore? Then why are you crying?"

Yeah. Why am I crying if I dont love him anymore?

"I guess... I just miss him. And the memories we made, the way he made me feel." You whisper.

Ibrahim looked ahead at the dark sky, clear and filled with stars. "Go to him then."

You shake your head, frowning. "I cant." You wipe the tears from your eyes. "Pasha, how do I... how do I stop Mehmed? I cant, I cant be with him. In any capacity."

"I'm working on finding a way out for you, Y/n. I promised I'd keep you safe, didnt I?" Ibrahim's determined face put you at ease somewhat.

"Just tell me."

"In due time." He looked back at the sky. "The weather is nice tonight, not humid like yesterday."

You follow his gaze to the sky. "It rained earlier." You take a deep breath, trying to inhale the sweet earthy smell of rain.

There's a word for it. Petrichor.

You looked at the man beside you when you felt movement. Ibrahim had removed his turban and loosened the collar of his kaftan. He ran a hand through his thick hair with his eyes closed as a breeze of air passed, and you saw his shoulders relax.

The wind blew your niqaab as well, lifting it just long enough for you to smell the cool air.

"You should feel air as well." He said with his eyes closed. "It'll relax your mind."

He was referring to your veil and hijab. "You have the privilege to do that. Dont show off." You smiled.

He opened his eyes and stared at you. "I'm all relaxed now. You can enjoy the privilege now." He wore his turban back and fixed his collar. "Go ahead. I'll keep a look out." He stood up before smiling down at you with... warmth. Kindness.

"Enjoy these moments when you can, Y/n. They're rare."

You watched Ibrahim walk away and true to his word, he turned away from you and kept guard while you cautiously removed your niqaab first, and then loosened your headscarf.

You closed your eyes as the cool air hit you gently. You couldnt help the sigh that escaped you when you felt it on your neck, cooling it. And how long had it been since you felt the air breeze in your hair?

Too long.

After a few more moments in silence, you finally stood up after wearing your hijab and veil and turned to him.

Ibrahim turned around when he felt your presence behind him.

"Feeling better?" You nod. "Significantly. Thank you, pasha."

He gave you a courteous smile with a slight bow of his head.

Ibrahim escorted you back to your room and bid you good night before returning to the balcony.

He sat down on the same bench as the cold wind breezed, and he closed his eyes, your face haunting his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the dark clouds in the sky. A few moments later, it began raining again.

Ibrahim raised his hands to make a prayer, after all- it is said in hadith that supplication made during rain is not rejected.

With sincere intention, he made a silent prayer in his heart.

"Oh Allah, make space in Y/n's heart for me.

I would like to reside eternally in my home country.

Amen."

-

The next two weeks went by... not uneventful. You tried your best to avoid the royals, but with Mihirmah bringing in Mehmed everytime you came to teach her, and Mustafa bringing you more broaches (which Mihirmah took from you everytime) because he thought they suited you (you're pretty sure this is his way of staking his claim on you, there's no way he doesnt know Mihirmah is the one taking them when she openly flaunts them in his face.)

Baris has been as annoying as ever, pestering you for gossip and to tell him "which prince you like more so that he can win the bets".

"So what exactly did you say when sehzade Mehmed said "I love you?" Baris asked as he looked through your closet.

You were looking out the window. "Thank you."

"Thank you? You said "thank you?" God, how dumb are you?" He shook his head while you smiled, looking outside but your mind was somewhere else, somewhere behind in time.

"I love you." He repeated, eyes still twinkling at how you continued to become flustered.

You opened your mouth and then closed it like an idiot, not knowing how to reply.

"Thank you." You finally said, looking anywhere but at him. He burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh god- I tell you- I love you and you say "thank you"? You really are something out of this world!" Baldwin teased you, making you huff.

"Y/n!" Your head whipped around the annoyed eunuch. "What?"

"We have to go to the harem." "Harem? Whatever for?"

"To make you learn a sensual dance for the princes- what do you think?! Its Friday! The sultan and sehzade have gone to the mosque for the Friday prayer- they'll be coming back soon and we have to welcome them." You scowled but followed him outside before halting.

"Both of the sehzade are gone?" Baris nodded.

Oh good. "Baris, you go ahead. I'll join you later." You turned around to leave but he grabbed your forearm.

"Absolutely not! Where are you going? What are you upto?" He gave you a pointed look.

You tried to pull your arm away. "Baris please-"

"No." He tightened his grip. "You might as well tell me because I'm not letting you go alone."

Your shoulders slumped.

"I have to find something." He raised a brow. "Do you remember that room where you found me and sehzade Mustafa? The one where his loot from his last conquest was present?" He nodded.

"Well, I need to go there again." "Why, exactly?" You resisted the urge to inhale as you told him your excuse.

"Because... I have to look for a present for Mustafa."

"What?" His grip on your arm loosened.

You shrugged. "You were right. I like Mustafa and if I plan on marrying him one day, I need to find something to impress him. So if I were to look at his loot, perhaps I'd be able to find what he likes."

Baris studied your face for a few moments before grinning. "I knew you were a just keeping this pious woman charade for personal gain." You frowned at his statement. "Fine. But I'm coming along."

"No, you dont need-"

"I wasnt asking." He began walking ahead of you. "Besides, the loot was moved from that room."

You followed behind him. "Moved where?"

The corner of his lips quirked up. "To sehzade Mustafa's room." He turned to look at your drained expression, and waved you off. "Its fine. I'm with you, arent I? The guards will let us pass through and everyone in the family is busy getting ready to welcome the sultan. No one will catch us."

True to his word, none of the guards or servants stopped you two from entering the Mustafa's wing of the palace. They all seemed to either respect Baris a lot to let you two breeze past them, or they feared him. And knowing Baris and his knowing eyes that probably have dirt on everyone, you knew the latter was true.

"Baris." You stopped him from following you inside Mustafa's room. "You stand here and keep watch. I'll go check."

"Keep watch? What are you- trying to steal his undergarments-" You slapped a hand on his mouth. "Do you ever shut up?" You snapped at his amused eyes. "Stand here and keep watch." You ordered before entering the room.

It was true that you did indeed need Baris to keep a look out for anyone walking in on you, as it has happened way too many times now, but you also needed him out of sight when you got rid of the stupid portrait.

Ah yes, your portrait that Baldwin had so lovingly commissioned and had managed to survive over 400 years and you needed to get rid of before it became a part of history permanently.

You looked around his large room, spotting a cloth covered pile in the corner. You marched to it and lifted the pile, recognising the loot. However, you didnt find your portrait in it.

Where is it?

You turned around to leave, only to freeze at the sight of the person standing there.

Mahidevran sultana.

All the other times you'd been caught, by Suleiman, by Mustafa- you always dropped your head into a courtesy. But now, with Mahidevran standing there with no expression on her face yet the daunting aura coming off her in waves- it had you frozen in spot.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

What do you say when you're caught red handed in a prince's chambers?

Mahidevran took a deep breath.

"Have you stolen it?"

You blinked.

"S-sultana?" Stolen what?

She raised an eyebrow, clasping her hands as she continued to put you under her sharp gaze.

"Have you stolen what you came for? What exactly were you looking for? Mustafa's gold? His jewels?" She tilted her head. "Dont try to deny that you didnt come here for nothing-"

"I did." Your throat went dry as her eyes narrowed. "I did come here for something. But I'm not stealing anything. I... am trying to earn it."

"And what exactly would be that?"

"Sehzade Mustafa's respect." God, where do I come up with such bull-

It was Mahidevran's turn to blink. Earn Mustafa's respect?

"I... dont know if I love the sehzade, but I do admire him. A lot. He has been very kind to me, very civil to me and... he's gifted me a lot. Not just with his expensive jewels, but also with his company. I just thought- I just wanted to return the favour. And I came here to learn more about him- to find out about his likes and dislikes."

At the end of your explanation, a small smile formed on Mahidevran lips.

"Then you should've just come to me." She walked upto you, her eyes much gentler than the hostility they held just moments ago. "Who would know him better than his own mother?"

You could only offer her a courteous smile and nod in agreement.

"Come now. I will teach you everything there is to know about Mustafa. I know him better than I know myself." She beckoned you to follow her, her heart beaming with pride at you finally making a real effort to pursue her son. Soon everything will fall into place, Mustafa will marry you and you'll give him his heirs and Suleiman will make him the next sultan and then finally, Mustafa will kill his brothers and Hurrem's reign will end.

As you walked out of his chambers, you saw Baris smirking and you knew instantly he didnt alert you about Mahidevran's arrival on purpose. He set you up. Just like Isabella, he will betray you every chance he gets.

But... where did the portrait go?

-

"Would you like to go out today?" Mustafa had decided to take you out of the palace, after Mahidevran told him to spend more time with you. He knew taking you out would make you happy, at least you dont seem to be so tense with him. With his father's permission, who was more than happy to accompany Mustafa to his province- Manisa for a few days. After all, you did deserve a short break from teaching his little sister.

And with Mehmet gone on a conquest, it was hard for Mihirmah alone to stop either of you from leaving and spending time together.

You happily agreed, at least this would give you more freedom to explore escape routes and fix your time machine?

Once again in disguises, Mustafa gave you a small tour of his province and you had to admit, he did a fantastic job managing Manisa all by himself. You definitely saw his administrative skills, how he improved the economy and even prepared the province for any future disasters.

After handling some official matters, Mustafa was surprised to see you waiting for him at the stables.

"Would you like to go hunting?" You asked, brushing the horses's mane.

Hunting? As a woman?

"You know how to hunt?"

"No."

"Then...?"

"I may not know how to hunt, but you do. So... shall we?" You asked patting the horse.

Mustafa helped you up on the horse. "Are you sure? Its not season yet, so it'll be hard to find any animals to hunt."

"Who said anything about animals?" You chuckle before galloping away.

It took him a few moments to shake out of the shock to understand your challenge. And then he mounted his horse and sped off after you.

Mustafa had never chased after anyone, much less a woman, but he had to admit- this was fun. And more than that, he was actually surprised at how good you were at riding. Your head leaned down into a straight line with your back, your calculated decisions when to stand and when to sit, you were far ahead of him. And he understood it wasnt your first time on a horse either.

Fortunately for you, you had both practical knowledge of physics and streamlining, as well as hours- DAYS of horseback riding from your time in Jerusalem. Just about four centuries ago?

However, Mustafa was still more skilled in horse riding and after finally catching upto you, he all but brought you to a halt when he blocked your path.

You both stared at each other, heaving and trying to catch your breath before breaking out into a laughter.

Thats how the two spent most of your time, riding and hunting small animals, Mustafa being in his element when he taught you archery, holding you close yet not uncomfortably, as he helped you aim bullseye. And somehow, you would soon hit the bullseye in his heart.

"And then, Qasim took the blame for me!" Mustafa laughed as you told him about your shenanigans from your childhood. You two were having dinner and after spending so much time together, making conversation had become so much easier.

"He took care of you, didnt he?" You nodded, smiling fondly at the mention of Qasim.

"As all elder brothers do, he was the best." Noticing the sadness in your eyes, Mustafa carefully asked you.

"So, you have no family left?" You shake your head. "No, they were all killed by some bad people. I only narrowly escaped them and found refuge with my grandparents before... before the Janissaries came and took me from them. And... here I am now."

Mustafa's heart wrench slightly. He knows the importance of family.

"I could take you to see them." He offered, but his expression turned puzzled when you turned him down.

"I appreciate that but... no. I cant meet them again, it'll be too much for them. The wound is still fresh, Mustafa. And if they were to see me again only to be taken away from them, accompanied by the Janissaries- they wouldnt recover. I wont hurt them again." You whispered the last part, looking off into the distance as you remembered the old couple who helped you.

"Maybe... maybe when we return home, we can go to the market again. Maybe I'll see them there, just from a distance?" Mustafa nodded at your request. How could he say no to such an innocent ask?

"How do you like Manisa?" Mustafa changed the subject.

You nodded in approval. "I had heard about how well you've done here, but when I saw the city... I must say I am very impressed, sehzade."

"You sound surprised. Did you not think I would be a good governor?" He teased as he poured you some tea. You chuckled.

"I am not surprised. I am proud." He froze. "It definitely takes a lot to run a province properly, especially when you have a lot of pressure on you, not just from the sultan but from the very people you're responsible for. And while you have managed the finances as well as put a stop to all revolts, crushed the rebels- all amazing feats, but what really stands out for me is that you've earned the love."

"Love?" "Mmhm. Its very easy to be in a position of power and make people fear you. But its much harder to have their love. And... I'm very pleased to tell you that I have not heard one word, not a single person who had anything except praises for sehzade Mustafa."

"I am very proud of you, Mustafa." You stated, your eyes smiling from your veil.

Mustafa felt as if time had stopped.

I am very proud of you, Mustafa.

Those words, that praise... isnt that what he's yearned for all his life? Sure, Mahidevran may have said those words to him many times, but she's his mother. She always sings his praises.

I am very proud of you, Mustafa.

His father has never said it to him, but he's heard Suleiman say it to Mehmed.

With his younger brother, Mehmed, Mustafa understands that Suleiman may love him just a bit more than him. Truly, Mustafa loves Mehmed too. Its natural for him to feel affection for his younger brother.

But... doesnt he deserve to be praised by his father too? Doesnt he have the right to get a pat on his shoulder for a job well done? Or is it just "his duty as a prince" everytime he works hard? Or is it that no matter what he does, how well he does it, he'll never earn Suleiman's priority over Mehmed because his father loves Hurrem more than Mahidevran? Because of his mother? Still, she is his first wife. And still, he is Suleiman's first born. Doesnt he ever deserve to even delude himself that he has a chance at being the next sultan? At being chosen?

"Mustafa?" Your soft voice breaks him out of his trance.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He tried to smile, his mind still plagued by his previous thoughts.

You point at the box you had place in front of him. "I got you a small present, for all the times I um- lost your brooches." You coughed and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"I know Mihirmah was the one taking them from you. You dont have to lie to me, Y/n." Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he picked up your box.

You smiled sheepishly. Hey, you're glad that he isnt mad at you for that spoilt brat stealing his gifts off you.

Upon opening the box, Mustafa's grin widened as a small chuckle escaped him.

Its a small crocheted rose, a pin dangling for him to attach it to his collar.

"I know its useless next to your precious jewelled brooches and even though your mom was more than happy to give me some jewels, I wanted to give you something different. You dont have to wear it-"

"Will you place it on me?" Mustafa cut you off. You nodded as you moved closer to him and took the rose from him. "Where should I put it? Turban? Collar? Chest?"

"Wherever it'll be the most prominent." He smiled gently. You leaned closer as you carefully pinned the rose to his chest.

Mustafa held his breath as he stared at your focused eyes, and he doesnt remember the last time he was so attentive to studying someones eyes. He never realised how long your lashes were, or the crease in your eyelid, or the different shades in your eye, or the way his heart skipped a beat when you looked up at him, or the way his heart warmed when your pupils dilated and he was ready to give you the world if you asked for it.

"Perfect." He whispered as you finished placing the rose on him, but his eyes never left yours.

He finally broke out of the trance when you moved away, averting your eyes and he figured he must've been too obvious.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat before looking down at his rose. "How did you learn to... embroidery?" He changed the subject once more.

"This isnt embroidery. Its crochet." You explain to him that you learned it from your mother, which is true. Your mother, who despite having a degree in STEM, had to work as a seamstress when she moved back to your hometown to make ends meet. Only thing you left out was that your mother hated crocheting, and she only did it when she was mad, so anytime you spotted a crocheted sweater or scarf or anything, you knew your mom was having a bad day. It was ironic at how something so cute could come out of such a negative emotion, but perhaps thats what she was trying to teach you. She wanted you to channel out your negative energy into something beautiful and to be honest, crocheting did relax you because of how long it took and how repetitive it was. By the time you were done crocheting, you had processed your emotions and kept yourself in check AND now had an adorable, soft product to play with.

(Deep down you knew she was worried from how many times you had decided to use your brain to come up with elaborate pranks to get back at people. So, as mom would say- "crochet your anger away, Y/n.")

Mustafa smiled at your memories.

"I would like to give you something as well, Y/n. Ask for anything." You tried to refuse but upon his insistence, you finally sighed exaggeratively, as if this wasnt exactly what you wanted.

"Do you remember that portrait? The one in your loot when we first met?"

Mustafa nodded. "I do. But unfortunately, I had given it away to a Roman diplomat as goodwill." He watched your shoulders drop.

"Ask me for something else." He offered again but you waved him off, saying you dont want anything else at the moment.

By the time you two left Manisa, Mustafa had decided that he was going to marry you.

He likes you, he doesnt know if you love him but he does know for sure that you respect. And he respects you.

Respect. Isnt it more important than love? Not all relationships, not all marriages are out of love, Mustafa knows that. But any good marriage can only work if both parties respect each other, if they trust each other.

His father loves Mahidevran, some part of him still does love her despite marrying Hurrem. And he's sure that a small part of him loved every concubine his father slept with, but... not everyone had his respect.

No, Suleiman only loved AND respected Hurrem. He loved Mahidevran, but he didnt respect her. If he did, he wouldnt have humiliated her by marrying Hurrem, a slave, He wouldnt have humiliated her by having five kids with the same woman while neglecting his mother. He wouldnt have humiliated Mustafa by favouring Mehmed over him at every chance.

Mustafa doesnt have Suleiman's respect.

But he has yours. And his mother's. And of the people of Manisa. And that is enough for him.

Thumbing the crocheted rose, he could only hope you dont mind that he lied to you about the portrait. Its in his chambers, here in Manisa. For him to stare at, to clear his mind as he peered into those eyes above the paint smudges, that looked eerily similar to yours.

-

On returning to Constantinople (present day known as Istanbul), Mustafa had allowed you two first stop at the market as per your request of buying some souvenirs for the family, but he knew that was just an excuse for you to see your grandfather.

He watched you spot the old man in the market as you stood by the blacksmith, buying a dagger for Mihirmah despite your eyes being trained on the sad man who was busy buying vegetables. You two were still in disguises, with the guards undercover as well, when there was a commotion.

Your grandfather was being harassed by the same merchant who had given him money and Mustafa would like to think that he interfered because it was his duty as a Muslim and as a sehzade to stop evil, but deep down, he knows he only stepped in to impress you.

Mustafa and a couple of the Janissaries, all disguised as civilians, walked upto the merchant and pushed him off the old man. Before the merchant could start heckling, Mustafa threw a pouch of gold coins and told him that the debt is paid. Period.

He didnt have to say out loud the outcome if he bothered your old man again.

By the time Mustafa returned by your side, standing tall as you looked at him gratefully.

I am proud of you, Mustafa.

"Thank you." You tell him, and Mustafa's heart soars at your validation.

You respect him.

Mustafa looked to the side, the tip of his ears turning pink. "Did you get a present for Mihirmah?"

You nodded, showing him the dagger you bought (with the money Suleiman had been paying you for teaching). He approved it, and you two returned to Topkapi palace, not knowing about the shit storm that was about to come.

-

Mehmet watched from the balcony as you returned to the palace with Mustafa beside you, laughing openly as his elder brother looked at you in a way that he never wanted anyone besides him to look at you.

Mustafa would've liked to walked you to your room but after he was called by his mother, you assured him you'll make it to your room just fine.

What you werent expecting was to find Mehmed standing in the hallway, waiting for you to be alone. He wasnt supposed to return so early from his province, but after Mihirmah wrote to him about you fleeing away with Mustafa to Manisa, he wrapped up his work there and came home straight away. He thought he made it clear what his intentions were with you, but it seems like sweet talking didnt make a dent on you.

"Sehzade-" You stopped your greeting when you saw him march towards you, and you involuntarily took a step back. His body language was not friendly at the moment.

"What were you doing with Mustafa?" He seethed, his arms behind his back as if holding himself back from lashing out.

"I- I went out to get a present for Mihirmah-" You began showing him the dagger but he cut you off.

"Why?"

"Why?" You didnt understand his question. "Why what? I was away in Manisa-"

"Why?"

You frowned this time. What was he asking?

"Because sehzade Mustafa invited me-"

"Why?"

You couldnt help but glare at him annoyed. Why what?

"Because I wanted to get out of the palace-"

"Why?"

"What do you want me to say?" You finally asked. Mehmet glare intensified at your question. "You're clearly accusing me of something, so say it."

"Why did you leave the palace?"

"I told you, I went to Manisa on sehzade's invitation." You paused, trying to piece together the reason for his behaviour. Jealousy? "I couldnt have turned sehzade Mustafa's invitation, it wouldve been rude-"

"This isnt about Mustafa!" He snapped. "You shouldnt have left the palace in the first place!"

"And why not? I'm not a slave who is bound to these walls." You reminded him gently, but his patience seemed to have worn thin.

"And neither is my mother, nor Mihirmah but they still stay here, only leaving when the sultan takes them along."

You looked at him in confusion. What was he getting at?

Mehmed seemed to get even more angry at your bewilderment. "There's a reason women stay in their homes. Its not safe for them out there."

"I appreciate your concern, but I doubt anyone would want to hurt me. I am not a princess or a part of royalty. My status is far too low for anyone to even bat an eye my way-"

He laughed humourlessly. "Status? You think I'm talking about protecting you from enemies of the empire?" Mehmed neared you as you took another step back. "You're in danger from the world. You're in danger from those very men that see you everytime you walk out of these palace walls. You're a walking temptation for these men and their disgusting, vile thoughts."

You blinked at him. Is he- did he just say you tempt men?

"How can I tempt men when I'm covered from head to toe?" You point at your niqaab and your chaddar.

"YOU'RE A WOMAN! THAT ALONE IS TEMPTATION ENOUGH FOR LINGERING EYES!" He yelled as an angry vein pops up in his temple. "It doesnt matter that not an inch of your skin is visible, but the moment these men know that you're a woman, you're meat for them. You attract their attention when you leave the palace walls, you attract their eyes when they see your feminine shadow, you attract their ears when they hear your soft voice, you attract their nose when you pass by them with your sweet scent. Even if they cant see your face, your existence alone is enough to plague their minds!" He points at your niqaab. "This veil that you seem so proud of? That you think protects you from male gaze? It only makes men to want to rip it off you more!"

You're staring at him in utter disbelief. Aint no way- no way this man is accusing you of tempting men, all while insulting your niqaab.

"I dont know what men you're talking about, but you're wrong if you think I'm using my veil, my covered body to invite men to stare at me." Your tone barely suppresses your anger. "I am surprised to hear you say such things. How can you pass such comments when your own mother and sister are-"

"I can pass such comments because my mother and sister stay within the damn palace! They dont go around sauntering like you, provoking men!" He yelled, his arms no longer behind his back, hands balled up into fists.

"Do you hear yourself? You're not making any sense-"

"I AM THE NEXT SULTAN! I AM UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO MAKE SENSE TO YOU!" He spat.

"How can I provoke men when my face is covered?!" You snapped back, reaching your wits.

Hearing your voice get loud, Mehmed's fury reached new levels as he backed you upto the wall, your eyes wide as he closed the distance between you. "You think you're safe?" He whispered harshly, his eyes boring holes into you. His hand reached up and grabbed your niqaab, threatening to yank it off you. "You think this piece of cloth can protect you? What can you- what can you possibly do if I were to rip this off you? Do you think you can stop me from making your worst nightmares come to life?"

Mehmed did not relish the fear in your eyes, nor did he enjoy the tear that escaped them. But like a child who needs admonishing to keep them from harms way, he found it necessary to reprimand you.

"Dont leave the palace again, Y/n." He said, his tone softening but still stern. "I dont want anyone, man or woman to see you. I dont trust anyone around you. Understand?" He patted your cheek to make you nod, and he finally backed away and left you alone in the hall.

Well, you're never truly alone in the palace. Especially when you have enemies. And who is your enemy, Y/n?

Everyone who is envious.

-

Word of your heated moment reached Mahidevran through the servants whispers, about how close you and Mehmed were, how he had pushed you upto the wall, a raunchy scene for anyone to walk in on, how Mehmed had lifted up your veil and traced your skin.

And of course, Mahidevran is inclined to believe these spicy rumors. She's experienced first hand what power hungry women can do when they put their mind to it. And her blood boils at how you're playing both princes, as if Mehmed could ever compete with her precious Mustafa!

Mahidevran all but screams at the maids to bring you to her, her hands shaking at the thought of you cheating on Mustafa- that too just moments earlier Mustafa was telling her how much he liked you and was ready to marry you.

You. You're ruining the plan. The plan to have Mustafa become the next sultan. Because- because you've been put to it by Hurrem, havent you? Isnt that why you're trying to make her son go after you while you pursue Mehmed? You want Mustafa to lose- you want Mahidevran to lose!

When you enter her chambers, Mahidevran all but sees red at the sight of you. You'r thrown to the ground and it doesnt register at first the hard smack she delivered to your face. But as soon as you look up at her, she lunges at you and continues to slap you over and over again, hurling curses at you, calling you all sorts of derogatory names, all while you try to save your face from her assaults because even if you could fight back, you couldnt hurt a sultan's wife.

"HOW CAN YOU CHEAT ON MY MUSTAFA?! MY LION! YOU FUCKING WHORE-!" She shrieked as she continued to slap you, her nails embedding into your skin and scratching it. Your face had gone numb from her slaps, and you couldnt verbalise a response even if you tried, her hands cutting you off everytime you tried to speak, leaving you to just cry and scream.

The guards and servants heard both your cries and Mahidevrans screams, but they didnt dare interfere. How could they? The sultana could easily have their heads chopped off for interrupting her punishment.

Mahidevran's own hands had gone numb from her thrashing, but her anger overtook any sense of self preservation as she continued to beat you to a pulp. Neither of you knows how long it had been until she was pulled off you.

"Mahidevran!" You watched bleary eyed as a red head came into the view. "Have you lost your mind?!" She admonished the queen.

Hurrem turned to look at you, grimacing at your bloodied face.

"Baris." She nodded at him to help you.

Baris immediately picked you up in his arms and carried you out of there.

You watched through tired eyes at Baris's concerned face as he looked down at you.

"Shit- sorry for taking so long to save you." He whispered, watching you slip in and out of consciousness.

You dont remember how, but the next moment you opened your eyes, you were in Hurrem's chambers with Baris tending to your wounds and Hurrem sitting on the ottoman watching you with a steady gaze.

You wince as Baris placed ointment on your busted lip.

"Careful, Baris." Hurrem warned, standing up and walking upto you. "She looks worse enough as it is. We dont need her falling unconscious in front of the sultan because you treated her injuries too harshly. He'll have your head chopped off." She joked though neither you nor Baris laughed; after all her words did hold some truth.

Wait- sultan?

"S-sultan?" You croaked, and Baris quickly helped you drink some water. "Why- why is the sultan coming?"

Hurrem looked at you in confusion. "Why? So that Suleiman could see what Mahideravn did to you and finally get rid of her. After all, Suleiman did warn anyone to not harm you. So, we can finally get rid of that thorn for once and for all." She sighed dreamily before looking at you. "All you have to do is cry in front of him and tell him how cruel Mahidevran is-"

"N-no." Baris's hand that was tending to you scratched cheek halted at your interruption.

"Excuse me?" Hurrem's sharp tone sent shivers down your spine.

"No. I wont say Mahidevran did this to me." In actual history, Mahidevran despite being exiled, outlives Suleiman, Hurrem and all their children. If you were to confess to what Mahidevran did, it would run the risk of Suleiman punishing her to the dungeons or worse, either way putting her life at risk and ruining the timeline.

"But she did do this to you." Hurrem stated, frowning at your attempt at denial. Or was it defense? "Ah, is it because you love Mustafa? You dont want to put his mother in trouble?"

"No. Mahidevran may have hurt me, but sehzade Mehmed was the reason. Your son did this and if you force me to confess, then that is what I will say- Mehmed did this to me." You replied, voice unwavering despite your heart beating loudly against your chest.

"Are you threatening me?" Hurrem glared at your audacity. Baris could sense the impending doom, and he feared you were at the receiving end of it this time.

"No." You swallowed. "I am merely stating at how this will play out. I suggest you dont have the sultan come and see me, better yet- throw me out of this palace altogether."

Hurrem stared at your bruised face and then she saw the determination in your eyes. She shot a look to Baris that had him scurrying you out of the room to give you two privacy.

"Even if you dont rat out Mahidevran, I can."

"You could. And then I will tell the sultan that it didnt happen, and you'll end up looking like a jealous second wife pinning the blame on the first wife." You tell her, watching as her face turned red with fury. "You could always let me go."

"Let you go? Why should I help you leave? And dont try to use Mehmed's behaviour with you as an excuse."

"Behaviour? He ordered me that I dont leave the palace walls ever because he thinks that I seem to invite men to leer at me." You tattled on him. "It may seem hard to believe sultana, but I dont wish to marry any of the princes, nor do I wish to stay within this palace. You know that the only reason I'm still here is because I couldnt say no to the sultan. But if you were to help me escape-"

You were silenced as Mahidevran burst through the door, her eyes zeroing in on Hurrem standing next to you.

"You-! You set me up! Both of you!" She shrieked as she stomped over to you two but Baris walked in with Mustafa, Mehmed and Mihirmah, all looking at the state of your injured face. They all stared at you, but it was Mehmed's eyes that pricked you and you quickly grabbed your veil, tying it around your face to cover it.

Mihirmah rushed to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders. "Y/n! Who did this to you?!"

You didnt bother looking at Hurrem or Mahidevran when you replied.

"I dont know."

Mihirmah's brows knitted together. "You... dont know? It was a blind attack? Did you not see who was attacking you? Or did you just not recognise the attacker?"

You took a deep breath.

"I dont know."

Mehmed stepped forward, eyes narrowing at your answer. "What do you mean-"

He stopped talking when the doors opened again and in walked Suleiman and Ibrahim, the sultan's eyes scanning the room before falling on you.

You had stood up to bow to him and you kept your head down for as long as you could to not draw attention.

But Mihirmah had other plans in mind.

"Dad! Y/n was attacked again! So much worse this time!" She cried, clinging onto your shoulder.

Suleiman's concern grew as he looked you up and down, reading your body language: head down, shoulders tense, hands fumbling.

You were afraid.

"Y/n?" He gently called your name as you hesitantly looked up. Its hard enough to lie to sultan, but lying when you look him dead in the eyes is a whole another thing.

"Show me." He commanded, and you had no choice but to comply, as your slowly removed your veil.

Suleiman's eyes widened at the state of your face- bruised, bloodied and swollen. He walked closer, eyes watching you in disbelief. Who could have done this to you, that too in his palace?

"Who did this to you?"

You averted your eyes, lest they betrayed you. "I- I dont know."

"You didnt see them?" Suleiman was as confused as Mihirmah. "Did they attack you from behind? No- they scarred your face, they attacked you from the front. You should've seen them. Did you recognise them?"

You kept your head down. Shit. What are you supposed to say now?

"Y/n?" You looked up at him. Suleiman saw fear. "Dont be scared. Tell me- who did this to you?"

You swallowed thickly. "I dont know."

"Did you see their face?"

"I- yes." There was no point in lying about it when he already presented logic.

"Then? Who was it?"

"I dont know- I dont remember." You whispered.

Mustafa was trying to make sense of your statement when he glanced at his mother. Mahidevran was shifting on her feet nervously, clasping her hands tightly as she glared at you.

No. No, she couldnt have.

Suleiman's gaze hardened at your words. Who were you protecting? Or did you really not recognise who it was?

"Ibrahim." The vizir stepped forward. "Find out who did this to Y/n." Suleiman ordered as he stood up, turning around to leave when his eyes fell on Mahidevran, who was looking at him with a tight lipped smile.

"Are you alright, Mahidevran?" He asked his first wife, who nodded eagerly.

"Y-yes. Of course, my sultan! I'm just- I'm just worried for Y/n." Suleiman studied her for a few more moments before he turned his attention to Hurrem.

"You did right by informing me about this, Hurrem." He praised his second wife, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I trust you to take care of Y/n, hm?"

Hurrem bowed her head and feigned a smile. "Of course, Suleiman." However, the sultan spotted her smile faltering and for a second, he saw her glancing at Mahidevran before averting her gaze.

Something was wrong. Suleiman's sixth sense was keeping him unsettled.

He looked at Mahidevran again, this time more closely as he studied her from top to bottom and thats when he saw it-

Her hands hiding under her sleeves.

Suleiman walked to Mahidevran and before anyone could react, he grabbed her hands and pulled.

Mahidevran's knuckles were bruised, her nails stained with your blood, her palms red.

"You did this to her?" He asked in disbelief. His Mahidevran? He knew she was a little unhinged at times, lost control of her emotions but... was she really capable of such violence?

"Suleiman I- she-"

"You're not denying." His grip tightened around her hands. "Mahidevran, have you lost your mind?!"

"Suleiman-"

"SILENCE!" He pushed her away, eyes blown wide in rage. Mahidevran trembled at the sight. "Have you completely lost it?! Why would you do this to her?! She's just a child! What is wrong with you?!"

Mahidevran fell to her knees, begging him for forgiveness. "Suleiman, I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?! LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER!" He pointed at your face. "Why did you do this? What could she have possibly done to you to deserve this?"

"Suleiman, I only-" She stopped. What reason could she give? She cant tell him about you cheating on Mustafa with Mehmed, nor would it do her any good to pin the blame on Hurrem now. It would only weaken her position and cause Mustafa trouble.

Mustafa. She has to do this for him, to save his throne.

She mustered up all her courage, casting her ego aside as she looked at you.

"I'm sorry, Y/n."

Your heart dropped. No. Mahidevran just admitted to her crime. Suleiman will punish her. She will die- no, no no-

"Its okay, sultana. It was an accident." Everyone was looking at you now.

"An accident?" Mihirmah asked.

You nodded. "I- I entered her chambers while she was asleep. I startled the sultana, she thought I was an intruder- that I came to attack her. The room was dark- she couldnt have recognised me- it was all an accident."

Everyone knew it was big fat lie, but then again, no one was willing to refute your claims. On what grounds? With no proof, they were all inclined to take your word, even if they didnt believe it.

Suleiman looked back at Mahidevran. "You still didnt have any right to beat her that badly. You've truly lost it, Mahidevran. If you werent Mustafa's mother, I would've-" He took a breath to calm himself down. "You cant stay here anymore. I exile you to Manisa." And with that Suleiman walked out of the room.

-

Mustafa had left your room to see off his mother. He came to you after to thank you for trying to cover for Mahidevran, despite his father still banishing her.

Then again, exile was the least painful punishment for what she did to you.

He held his mother's hands as the servants packed her belongings. He wanted to go to Manisa with her, but she refused to let him accompany her.

"You must stay here, Mustafa." She cupped his cheek. "You need to protect Y/n. All this time, I thought she was cheating on you but Hurrem set her and me up. She wanted this to happen, for me to hurt Y/n! You must stay here and protect Y/n from Hurrem and Mehmed. Do you understand?" Mahidevran's habit of blaming everyone but herself for her actions prevailed over logic as usual.

He nodded, kissing the palm of her hand. "The next time we meet, I will bring her to you as my wife."

A bright smile graced her face as she quickly took off her own ring and gave it to him.

"I will pray for you, my lion." She kissed his forehead. Mustafa smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

"Dont worry about Mehmed, hm? He wont be a hurdle." She whispered to him.

Mustafa didnt understand what she meant about Mehmed, his own mind occupied by you. He saw how angry his father was when it came to you, almost as protective as he was of Mihirmah, how quick he was to have his mother- a queen on her knees, for you. He knew his dad never respected Mahidevran, but his actions were also ruled over by his concern for you.

Mustafa now understands how dire the situation is. He now understands why his mother wanted him to marry you. You- you are the key to having the throne, the key to ruling the empire, the key to everything.

-

While Hurrem was busy "calming" Suleiman down, which in fact was really just her getting praised for being a good wife, queen and most importantly now- "a mother figure to Y/n", for how quickly she took action and saved you from Mahidevran, how she tended to your wounds and brought you to her chambers rather than "risking Mahidevran attacking you by leaving you in the infirmary", her eldest was in your room.

Baris had just helped you sit on the sofa and was tending to your wounds when Mehmed, the sehzade who had just moments ago seen Mustafa leave your room, had his blood boiling at the sight of your face uncovered as Baris applied healing balms to your wounds.

"Get out." He ordered Baris, who looked at you before leaving the room.

Mehmed sat down beside you, picking up the healing balm and was about to apply it to your skin when you turned your face away.

"I can do it myself, sehzade-"

"Mehmed." He corrected you before turning your face to him harshly. "If you can do it yourself, then why let Baris do it? Do you enjoy his touch?" His tone was accusatory and full of jealousy, and you were getting real tired of it.

"I'm sorry, I was far too disoriented to notice it was a man who was tending to my wounds." Your sarcasm made his eyes narrow at you, as he continued to apply the ointment.

"Baris is not a man, he's a eunuch." And yet he's jealous of him. "And its not about a man touching you, i dont want anyone touching my wife-to-be."

"I dont remember agreeing to a proposal-"

"Then let me refresh your memory." He cut you off. "When I said "I love you", I meant we were to be married. As for a proposal, there never was one and there never will be one because I am a sehzade, and the next sultan. You dont get to say no to me. Do I make myself clear?"

If you had the means to get out of this era, you would've slapped the egoistical, chauvinistic, toxic man in front of you.

"Yes." You replied.

Mehmed stood up, but before he left, he looked at your veil.

"If you have to remove your veil to let your injuries heal, you better make sure you're alone."

Asshole.

-

A few weeks later, you were once again standing in the harem with the rest of the royals. Today, the sultan had to leave to go on a conquest. Ibrahim was also leaving, which unnerved you because you dont want to stay in a place without the only sane person who had your back.

Sure, Baris saved you but you knew better than to trust that piece of shit because his loyalty could be easily bought. Just like how you knew Hurrem did indeed was paying him to follow you, let you get beat up, and then fetch her to be your "saviour". And you knew that the only reason Baris would help you ever again, was because he had his own agenda on being your personal servant if you were to marry one of the princes.

Suleiman and Ibrahim entered the harem, ready to receive farewell from his family.

Hurrem was the first in line, kissing his hand and then him, before Suleiman pulled her in his embrace.

"I trust you to take care of the palace in my absence." He said to her, patting her cheek affectionately.

"Of course. I pray for your victory, Suleiman. May Allah sharpen your sword and defeat the enemy." She wished him well.

Suleiman then went down the queue, hugging his sons, daughters, favourite women of the harem, and then you.

"You will be safe here, Y/n." He watched you kiss his ring before bringing his hand to your forehead. With your head bowed, he kissed your the top of your head. "When I return, I have something important I'd like to discuss with you."

Your heart dropped. Discuss something important? Like what?

"Your marriage to his son, girl!" You heard Baris's voice in the back of your head.

Ibrahim only hugged Suleiman's sons, the royal women offering him words of support and prayers. When he reached you, you gave him a quick courtesy and a small prayer, but your eyes- they screamed for help.

Ibrahim! Dont leave me!

And Ibrahim got your message, but with everyone watching, he could do nothing but nod and move on.

As soon Suleiman left with his troops, you quickly made your way to return to your chambers to hide away until they returned. After your incident with Mahidevran, you had taken some precautions from being mauled again because really- who can you trust around here?

Mihirmah would come to your room to get her lessons, which now with her father gone, you doubt she will come to get them. Fine by you really, she's still a brat who finds glee in flipping you over your back.

Mehmed was much harder to avoid, he insisted on having lunch with you (because Hurrem wanted all her kids together with her at dinner). And these lunches were quiet stiff, because Mehmed may not be threatening you or showing off his jealousy, you still havent forgotten his remarks and you didnt really talk besides giving him curt replies, which he doesnt notice because his head is so far up his-

Mustafa was the normal one among them, and while he did offer you to take you out to the market or even the gardens, you didnt. Not because you were scared of Mehmed finding out, no. It was because- well, what happened to Mahidevran. Mustafa may have come to you and thanked you for trying to cover up for her, but no matter what way you see it- his mother was thrown out of the palace because of you.

And he has to hold some grudge against you for it. No matter how much he smiles, how many gifts he gives you, you just cannot risk him taking you the gardens or the market where there are no witnesses when "someone" ambushes you.

You've used most of your time holed up in your room with your time machine because the last time you went out with Mustafa to the market, you were able to get some tools and metals from the blacksmith while Mustafa was busy saving your "grandfather".

-

Its been 2 weeks since Suleiman left. Two weeks since you've been on high alert around this mad house, two weeks since you started losing sleep from all the stress and tension of being around Mehmed and Mustafa. Sure, Ibrahim gave you a entourage of maids and guards to keep you safe before he left, but how could that put you at ease when your entourage could fall with the flick of the wrist from these royals.

You've been able to repair your time machine as much as you could, but it still hasnt worked. You dont understand what you need to do, you've even tried smashing it against the ground like the last time you transported, but no. It didnt help.

You sat on the bench on the balcony, the same one when Ibrahim was here with you. You came here to get some fresh air, and you hoped Baris doesnt run into you because you just have it in you to hear him make a comment about the bags under your eyes.

The sky was filled with dark clouds again, the wind chilly and you smiled under your veil.

It was going to rain today.

Your mind flashed back to the last time you were here with Ibrahim. Just like now, you were worried and tense then. But he was there to calm you down, to put your mind to ease.

"You should feel air as well." He said with his eyes closed. "It'll relax your mind."

You closed your eyes as his voice came to mind.

"Enjoy these moments when you can, Y/n. They're rare."

You glanced behind you, at your entourage. The guards had their back to you, looking away from you and the maids. The maids all stood behind you, giving you space. They could see your stress.

A gentle breeze hit your face, and it was enough to push you.

You quietly removed your veil, setting it beside you before loosening up your headscarf.

A sigh escaped your lips as the gentle breeze cooled your neck, your tense shoulders dropping at the earthy scent of rain. You closed your eyes, trying to imagine yourself back in your time, back when you were a child, carefree and stress-free.

Home. I want to go home.

"Y/N!" Your respite was cut short by Mehmed's angry scream, who looked at you like he'd just witnessed the greatest crime you could ever commit: sitting unveiled, with part of your hair exposed along with your neck.

"What the hell are you doing?!" You quickly grabbed your niqaab and tied it around your head as you saw storm towards you, his guards following behind him.

"Mehmed- I-"

"You what?! You were sitting here EXPOSED! With the servants to watch!" He yelled at you, grabbing your arm painfully as he yanked you from your seat. "Didnt I explicitly tell you to fucking stay covered! Do you like putting on a show for-"

"ENOUGH!" Something in you snapped. "I wont have you accuse me over and over again! I was not putting on a show, Mehmed! I was just getting some air! Do I not deserve it?! As for putting on a show- the guards had their backs turned, they werent staring at me! Only the maids were behind me, and they too werent able to see my face! Now, let go!"

Mehmed's grip on your arm only tightened, and you almost yelped in pain if you werent so busy glaring at him. "Just because you think they didnt see you face, doesnt mean its alright for you to sit naked!" He yanked you closer as he bared his teeth at you. "I told you not to to ever remove your niqaab in front of others. You disobeyed me- my command! And now you will pay the price! As will they!" He yelled at his guards to arrest you entire entourage and throw them to the dungeons.

"Mehmed, stop-" "Shut up!" He yelled as he began dragging you away and towards his own room, throwing you inside.

He stalked towards you. "Since you seem to have no sense of preservation for your modesty, I suppose I will have to help you out as your husband-to-be. You will stay here until I return and if you try to escape, I swear to God, Y/n! I will fucking break your legs!"

You watched in horror as he left the room, locking it from outside and you dont doubt he had guards outside not to let anyone in or out.

I cant stay here any longer- I cant rely on Ibrahim any longer. Mehmed has fucking lost it, and I need to get out of here right now.

You fumble out your time machine, trying to turn it on to any time period really- you cant stay here anymore.

"Fuck!" You throw it against the wall, crying into your hands out of frustration. Why the fuck wont it work? A few moments later, you finally pick it up, pocketing it back in your clothes.

Hours passes by as you sat on the floor, crying at your demise, waiting for Mehmed to return and do whatever his insane self pleases.

The room had darkened, and you suspected it was night now. You look down and find the bracelet on your hand, the one Suleiman gave you and an idea popped in your head.

Bribery.

You knocked at the door.

"Hello? Whoever is out there- please- just open the door! I'll give you my jewels! Anything you need, I'm willing to pay!" You plead for a few minutes before slamming your hands against the wood, falling to your knees as you sobbed. "Please! I'm begging you! Help me-!" You stumbled back as the doors swung open.

"Well, if this is how quickly you resort to going on your knees, I have failed as a teacher." Baris grinned at you from above.

"B-baris?" You sniffled as he helped you stand up. "What are you-"

"I'm saving your ass. Duh." He pulled you out of the room, looking out both ways before taking the path on the left. You spot two guards lying on the ground.

"How did you-" You point at the them but he drags you along.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Y/n. You seriously underestimate me." He comments, his eyes scanning for anymore people. "Now we must make haste. Otherwise, your lover boy may take a break from the dungeons to torture us instead-" He stopped talking when he looked at you.

"Torture? Baris, what did Mehmed do to them?" Your entourage was thrown into the dungeons. Baris avoided your eyes. "Baris." You insisted.

"He's having their eyes stitched up for staring at you."

You face paled. Mehmed is insane. He's fucking insane. Baris took your hand and dragged your shellshocked body.

The two of you soon made it out of the palace undetected. 4 horses and 5 women waited for you two there. You recognised them- they were from the harem.

"Baris, what are you- why are they here?" You whispered harshly. If the palace finds out there are concubines missing, it'll only cause more trouble for you and him.

"Relax, they're here to help us." He waves at them, making them giggle before he looks back at you. "We will all get on the horses and take different paths to throw the Janissaries off long enough for you to escape."

"Escape to where?"

"Wherever you want to go. I would suggest going West and leaving the empire altogether, maybe go to the Romans. Keep a low profile and try not to seduce any more unhinged men." He pokes fun at you, despite the situation you're in.

You chuckle, tears of gratefulness in your eyes. "Thank you, Baris." You sniffle, taking off your bracelet. "Here. You can have this. Its the least I can do-"

"Girl, you need it more than I do." Baris pushes the bracelet back to you. "Besides, I've already been compensated generously."

"By who?" You ask and he gives you a knowing look. "Ibrahim?" He nods.

"He had been paying me since the moment you set foot in the palace to keep you safe. You think I just stuck around you because I like you so much?" You slapped his shoulder, making him laugh. "Okay, you werent all that bad. But wherever you go, I'm sure Ibrahim pasha will find you."

"And why is that?"

"Well, he was going to marry you." "What?" Baris looked at you confused. "You dont know? Ibrahim pasha talked to Sultan Suleiman about this. The sultan gave his blessing, but he wanted to ask for your consent as well. But then they went to war-"

So thats what Suleiman wanted to discuss with you.

"Anyways, Ibrahim pasha had given me permission to do whatever is necessary to keep you safe, even if it meant taking you out of the palace- or- well staging your kidnapping. When the time comes, Ibrahim pasha will find you and I will be long gone by then." Baris explained.

"You're willing to leave the palace behind? For me? I thought you liked it here." You were touched at his willingness to help you, even if he was taking money.

Baris shrugged, looking at Topkapi palace longingly. "I've had my fun here. Its time for me to go somewhere else. Have a fresh start, where I'm no longer a slave."

You smiled, nodding understandingly. "And them? Are they willing to risk it all for me as well?"

"Oh no. They're in love with me. And when they heard I was leaving, they decided to come along. Just cant get enough of me." You shot him a look. "We might start a brothel. You should come visit with Ibrahim pasha someday."

"Why the fuck would I go to a brothel-" He broke into laughter at your reaction.

"I'm just joking! But do visit me, hm?" He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. He helped you up on the horse before mounting his with a girl behind him, the others mounting the other horses.

"Thank you, Baris. For everything." Baris gave you a nod. You suddenly heard yells from behind you.

"Time to go!" Baris yelled.

-

You were galloping through the woods, the same forrest where you had first landed here. It was raining dogs and cats, making it hard for you to see ahead of you and even harder for the horse to run through the wet ground.

Your mind wandered back to Ibrahim. All this time, you thought he'd abandoned you and yet he was the one who had your back.

Was he really going to marry you?

You doubt he would've. Or even if he did, the question was- would you have said yes?

Maybe. He is the sane one of the ottomans, and apparently the only one who is willing to help you. You're sure he wouldnt have done anything unbecoming of a man even if you married him. And why would you not marry him? It buys you time to work on your machine and get out of this era, AND it protects you from the royals, especially Mehmed.

Mehmed. Your heart wrenched at the thought of him punishing those poor servants. Did he really have their eyes stitched up? What would he have done to you on returning? More importantly, what would he have done if he caught you escaping.

"I'll break your fucking legs!"

You shuddered at his threat, leaning down to speed through the woods.

Maybe God finally cut you a break- how else could you explain all this? Baris being the one to break you out, despite you being sure he'd betray you the first chance he gets. Ibrahim pasha having your back all this time. You escaping the palace without the Janissaries or anyone hot on your tail. Maybe your time machine will finally work too. Maybe you'll finally make it out of here. Maybe you just lucked out-

You heard the clouds above you roar loudly and in the next moment, you heard yourself scream as you were blinded by a white flash, throwing you off your horse.

You laid on the ground, pain radiating throughout your body, vision blurry, palpitations in your ear as you tried to make sense of what had happened.

A lightening strike.

You were struck by lightening.

If you werent in so much pain, rapidly losing consciousness, you wouldve laughed at your fortune.

Lucked out?

More like out of luck.

-

Mustafa had walked in on Mehmed screaming and threatening to kill every servant, his sword bloody. Looking behind his younger brother, he spotted two headless guards.

"Mehmed?" He asked cautiously.

"She escaped! She fucking ran!" Mehmed yelled before he could ask what was wrong. He raised his sword to cut off yet another head, but Mustafa stopped him.

"Tell me what happened." Mustafa's strong voice had Mehmed reeling some of his anger back, explaining what had happened.

After listening to him, Mustafa sighed. "We'll find her, Mehmed. Calm down." He looked at his Janissaries and ordered them to close off the city, and the docks. No one leaves.

"She could've already left the city-"

"Its unlikely for her to have managed to do that, that too when its pouring heavily." Mustafa, the cool headed prince, began to think logically.

"Then where is she? The city is still too big! It'd be like finding needle in a haystack." Mehmed sneered, glaring at the servants.

Mustafa closed his eyes, trying to think of where you could possibly ran off to.

He snapped his eyes open. Of course, you'd be there.

"I know where she is." He stood up, Mehmed following behind him.

-

You woke up to someone wiping your cheek. It took a few moments for your vision to clear, your eyes looking around what seemed to be a cottage before landing on the person beside you.

Old lady.

It was the old lady. The one who saved you when you dropped at her doorstep when you entered this era.

"Oh dear, you're finally awake!" She smiled gently, continuing to wipe the mud off your cheek. "You're lucky my husband was out when he spotted you unconscious. You could've drowned in that rain, you know?" She said in a chiding town, as if you chose to lie down in the pouring rain.

The old man walked out of the kitchen with a cup of hot tea in his hands.

"Here you go, hun. Drink this." He handed you the cup before sitting beside his wife.

"Now, where've you been all this time?"

By the time you were finished telling them everything that happened to you, from being kidnapped by the Janissaries to be sold as a slave, to almost dying a few times in the palace, to being set up to marry one of the two princes, to being struck with lightening, the old lady was in tears as she pulled you into her embrace while the old man continued to yell a stream of curses at the Ottomans.

When you tried to leave, they stopped you- telling you its absolutely unsafe for you to go anywhere in this bad weather. And well, hearing the heavy rain and the fact that you were indeed struck by lightening, you couldnt really argue.

"Okay, just for tonight."

While you were having dinner, you were taken back to your memories- memories of your own family. Sure, you were surrounded by family at the palace as well, but they didnt feel like home. They didnt really care for you, not like this cute old couple does. And to be honest, you missed this feeling. From your time in Jerusalem, to your time in the palace, this is the first moment of normalcy you've had in a while.

You looked at them, smiling as they made silly jokes and ate food. They included you in their conversations, they fed you, they made sure you were comfortable when you slept in the guest room- or what you assumed was their daughter's room.

You didnt tell them, you couldnt but you did try finding out what happened to her. Baris told you what did.

Naima. That was their daughter's name.

Naima was brought to the palace by the Janissaries as a concubine, and only a few weeks in- she was chosen to sleep with the sultan.

She killed herself the next day. She had jumped off the roof, but she didnt die instantly. She died as Hurrem watched from her balcony, and she refused to alert anyone to help the poor woman.

You didnt want to take this last bit of hope from the couple- the hope that Naima may still be alive and will come home one day.

-

You were woken up to someone banging on the door.

"BY THE ORDER OF SEHZADE MUSTAFA! OPEN THE DOOR!" Someone yelled from outside. The old man sprung to his feet as he peered through the window.

Janissaries. A whole troop of them and in the very front, sitting on top of their horses were Mustafa and Mehmed.

"Get her out of here." The old man told his wife, who hurried you out of bed and was about to leave through the back door when she saw the Janissaries out there as well.

"Come on." She dragged you up the stairs to the roof, just as you heard the door being broken down and yelling.

Reaching the roof, you looked down only to see the cottage was surrounded by the guards.

"We're surrounded." You whispered. "There is no escape."

"There is." The old lady whispered back to you, ushering you towards the edge of the roof. "Jump."

You looked at her. "What?"

"I wont let them take you back there. Jump, Y/n." She pushed you towards the edge.

"No- I'm not jumping!" You tried to back away but she gripped your arm.

"You have to, Y/n! I wont let them- I wont let any man take advantage of you! I wont let them do to you what they did to my Naima!" She cried, pushing you towards the ledge again, but you resisted against her, causing you to fall onto the ground.

"I'm doing this to save you!" She cried again, straddling you as she wrapped her hands around your throat. "Why wont you understand-"

"STOP!" A voice yelled. You both looked to the side to find Mustafa and Mehmed, the latter holding the old man.

Mustafa raised a hand in surrender. "Let her go. And we wont hurt your husband."

The old lady looked conflicted, as she looked at Mustafa and then at Mehmed who held a sword at the old man's neck, ready to slice it.

"I- I-" She continued to hold your throat as you struggled to breathe.

For a brief moment, the couple made eye contact and the old man smiled at her reassuringly.

"Do it. Save Y/n." He told her, but before anyone could react, Mehmed sliced off the man's head, Mustafa looking at his younger brother in shock as the woman shrieked before she began choking you hard.

With lightening speed, Mustafa pulled her off you and pushed her to the side.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" He crouched beside you, checking on you as you took huge gulps of air before nodding. Mustafa sighed in relief as he helped you stand up, only to turn around to find Mehmed holding the woman over the edge.

"Mehmed, dont!" He yelled, but it was too late. Mehmed kicked her in the back and the old lady fell to the ground. Mustafa left your side to look over the edge, eyes wide as he saw the woman hadnt died. Blood sputtered out of her mouth as she stared up with eyes blown wide.

And then, a sword fell on her neck straight down, finally killing her.

He looked to his side only to find Mehmed looking down disinterested, as if he hadnt just brutally murdered an old woman.

His younger brother.

A monster.

He watched Mehmed whisper threats to you as he dragged you back outside, practically throwing you over his horse. Mustafa let him take you- he wasnt going to fight who gets to ride with you when they were all going home.

Except... not.

Mustafa's brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Mehmed and his Janissaries take a turn and go a completely different path then the one to the Topkapi palace.

Where was he taking you?

Mustafa sped after Mehmed, his troops following behind as he yelled at Mehmed to stop.

But he didnt, not until an abandoned palace came to view.

Mehmed got off his horse, pulling you down before nodding at his men to take you inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mustafa asked as he got off his own horse, marching towards you but Mehmed blocked his path.

"What I should've done in the first place- duel."

Mustafa looked at him in disbelief. Duel? "You want to fight me? Have you truly lost it?!"

Mehmed got up in his face. "I've seen the way you look at her. I am not going to stand for it any longer."

"Mehmed-"

"Only one of us can have her, Mustafa. This ends today." Mehmed pushed him as he drew his sword.

Mustafa lips settled into a thin line.

"Fine." He pulled out his sword. "May the better prince win."

-

"Let go of me!" You try pulling yourself free from the guards grasps, but they continue to haul you inside the abandoned castle.

"I said- let go-!"

"Oh good, you're finally here!"

Mihirmah stood in front of you with a grin.

"Mihirmah? What are you doing here?"

She raised a brow. "What am I doing here? I'm here to prepare you!"

"Prepare me?"

"Mmhm! For your wedding to Mehmed!"

"What?"

She shrugged, taking you by the arm as she pulled you inside a room. "Well, when I found out you had run away, I suggested to Mehmed that the only way to make sure you stay by his side is for him to marry you. And I knew my mom would've stopped him from doing that, so I suggested he bring you here! By the time dad returns, you'd already be married to Mehmed and dad will definitely choose him to be the next sultan! Its only a cherry on top that Mustafa came here as well, and when Mehmed kills him- dad will have no choice but to choose Mehmed as his heir!"

You watched in disbelief before trying to make a run for it, but she anticipated it, snapping her fingers for the guards to lock the doors.

"Now, I will send the maids inside to get you ready. I need to go check on the sheikh who has to marry you two off." She smiled before leaving you alone.

She could care less about the sheikh, right now- she wanted a seat upfront to the showdown! Mehmed was going to win and she needed to be there to witness it.

-

Mustafa dodged Mehmed's attack again. Despite agreeing to the duel earlier, Mustafa had been taking on the defensive. Mehmed was his younger brother, he was still family even if he incredibly insane.

He cant bring himself to hurt him-

"Why arent you fighting?" Mehmed growled as he swiped at him again. "Are you that afraid of dying? Fight me like a man!"

"I dont want to fight you at all." Mustafa jumped back as he striked again. "You're my brother-"

"Like hell we are! One way or another, I'm killing you Mustafa! Be it today, or tomorrow when I'm finally sultan, because you know your mother screwed up any chance you had to be chosen! She fucked up and now you will pay for it!" Mehmed yelled, finally hitting a nerve with Mustafa.

My mother. They dont respect her.

Mustafa raised his sword as he struck over and over again, Mehmed barely able to escape the blade as it sliced his skin many times.

My own brother wants to kill me. And if I die, then so will my mother,

Mehmed groaned as Mustafa suddenly sliced the skin on his arm, the younger prince rolling onto the ground to avoid getting his arm cut off clean. But Mustafa was faster, kicking him in the stomach as Mehmed dropped onto the ground in pain.

"I am the better son." Mustafa said with a kick to his stomach.

"I am the better ruler." Another kick.

"I am the better choice." Another kick.

"I am better than you. In every way." Mustafa raised his sword to drop it on Mehmed's neck, just as cruelly he had done to that old woman.

Mehmed raised his hand in surrender as he coughed up blood.

"Please, Mustafa- d-dont. I'm your brother!" Mehmed begged for his life.

And in that moment, Mustafa saw his younger brother, the small child he promised to always protect.

Mustafa closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before stepping away.

"I. Win." He stated, turning around to leave. He was the bigger man. Once again, his mercy overtook his- no his love for his brother overtook his logic. He knows Mehmed wont back down, he will fight with him again. But that will be for another day-

"M-Mustafa." He looked back at him, his heart dropping at the sight.

Mehmed was coughing up blood, his face looked pale- and then he puked.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And the moment his mouth started foaming, Mustafa remembered his mother's words.

"Dont worry about Mehmed, hm? He wont be a hurdle."

Mahidevran may have been exiled, but she still had a few people loyal to her. People who wanted Mustafa as the next sultan, not any of Hurrem's sons. People who more than willingly began microdosing Mehmed with poison.

-

You were trying to break a window to escape when the doors swung open. Mihirmah had returned, tears running down her cheeks.

"Mihirmah-" She hugged you before you could beg her to let you go.

"You look beautiful." She whispered as she pulled back, admiring the maid's work. "Mehmed always did adore the color red on you." She said in a trance.

"Mihirmah, please let me go." You plead and she gives you a broken smile.

"Thats what I came here to do." She whisperd, cupping your cheek. "I'm letting you go, Y/n. Mehmed's dead."

Oh. Thats why she's crying. But with Mehmed dead, you get to leave.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said, watching her stumble back towards the door.

"I'm going to miss you, Y/n." She nodded, grabbing the fire torch off the wall. "Tell Mehmed I love him."

What?

Mihirmah dropped the torch onto the ground, setting the wooden floor ablaze instantly.

"Mihirmah-!" She left the room, closing the doors before you could make your escape.

"Mihirmah! Open the door!" You slammed your fists as the room began catching on fire.

Mihirmah locked the door from outside, wiping her tears away as she walked away.

You are Mehmed's bride. You belong to him, in life and now... in death.

Goodbye Mehmed. She closed her eyes. You wont be alone now.

She watched from the balcony as the Janissaries- her and Mehmed's troops, cornered Mustafa and pushed him to the ground like an animal for slaughter.

The guard looked at her.

She gave a nod.

The next moment, Mustafa's head was chopped off.

-

Fucking Mihirmah!

You slammed your fists against the door one last time before falling down to the ground, fire spreading around the room.

Fire. Why the fuck does it always have to be fire? Why is everyone so hell bent upon burning you to crisp? First in the desert with Salauddin, then those concubines in the harem, now this. If you didnt have a phobia before, you sure do have one now!

You pulled out your time machine hopelessly. Piece of crap wont even turn on-

Its on.

Your eyes widened at the screen illuminating.

Its working.

But how-

The lightning strike! It mustve charged it! That or maybe it could sense every single time you're near death and decides to fucking work.

"Oh fuck!" You curse as flames begin to close in on you. Now is not the time.

With trembling hands you try to change the date and location, but the screen is still broken and it wont budge.

You groan in frustration as you slam the button, your surrounding blurring as you begin to travel. Whatever time you land in, it'll be better than the one where you almost burn to death.

Right?

So, thoughts?? How did you like this chapter? What will happen next?

I also sorta blacked out a few times while editing this chapter, so ignore any mistakes.

PART 11 is here!

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

[the-thing-withfeathers]

know your worth

a/n: thank you to the anon that requested thisss!! this is my first time around writing some angst for billie so it was actually a cool learning experience hehe. there will 100% be a part two to this.

part 2

request

pairing: billie eilish x reader

warnings: annngggst, toxic relationship, billie neglecting you, cursing, arguments.

summary: billie’s been neglecting you recently to the point of standing you up sometimes and you finally decide to say something about it.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you stood outside the restaurant you were supposed to meet billie outside of, in the rain, in the cold.

you had spent too long waiting for her to the point where you felt embarrassed when the waiters would check on you. you just decided to leave without grabbing anything to eat, making sure to leave an apologetic tip.

you finally called it when you opened up instagram after texting & calling relentlessly. you saw that she was partying with her friends on one of their stories. your look of disappointment was one that was hard to miss. tears started to form in your eyes when you realised your girlfriend either forgot about you or didn’t care at all. both were equally as painful.

you took an uber here as you & billie were going to drive back together in the car you two often shared when she wasn’t been escorted in limos. you had no time to wait for one so you whistled and called a taxi instead.

it took everything in you to hold back crying so that the poor taxi driver didn’t have to witness the mess you were.

while in the back of the taxi, you thought about how this all started in the first place.

billie had come home after a long year’s tour, you were waiting for her at the airport. it was pure bliss to feel her arms wrap around you again for the first time in a long time. you lifted her into the air and spun her around.

despite her being home from tour though, she still worked everyday. she spent time in the studio and it felt like days would never end. you did work too but you got home much earlier than she did. however, it was comforting knowing she would come straight home to you. you would greet her with home-cooked meals, already doing most of the housework. she was grateful at first, but then you noticed her mood started to change.

she started just going straight to bed, ignoring your meal that you had set up for the two of you. you would join her in bed but she’d shelter from any touch you tried to give her even if it was just a cuddle. you started suggesting date nights like movies but she always gave the excuse of being too tired. part of you felt horrible for feeling neglected as you know how hard she worked and if you were in her place, you’d be tired too.

you started to tell your friends about this. they made you see that you worked long days too despite coming home earlier, but you still made an effort. you had no idea why billie was suddenly acting this way.

even more pain came when you realised that she was free some nights, you just had no idea. she spent those nights partying with her friends, without you there. sometimes you’d even see her getting close to some other girl in a video your mutual friend took. you felt your heart break at the thought that maybe billie just outgrew you.

when you arrived home, you handed the cash to the driver, quickly making your way back to your apartment. you slammed the door behind you, leaning your back against it. you finally get the tears go, finding it harder to breathe.

you had gotten dolled up in hopes that she may finally choose you just for one night.

you ran into your shared bedroom, swinging open the closet door and grabbing a bag for yourself. you started packing some clothes just to last you a couple of nights, you rang one of your closest friends asking them if you could stay the night.

you heard them sigh at the other end of the phone, knowing they were holding back an “i told you so.” or maybe even an “about time.” you just weren’t in the mood to hear it. they understood that and just responded with an “of course you can stay.”

you felt humiliated that you allowed yourself to put up with it for as long as you did. you just loved billie too much to give up now. your relationship was hard work, you’d hate for it to become futile.

you just wanted the girl you fell in love with back. the girl that had an endless list of romantic gestures to surprise you with, the girl that used to write songs about you and perform them before she showed it to anyone else, the girl that loved you just as much as you loved her. you missed that side of billie, and you wondered if maybe that girl was too far gone.

you heard the door swing open, soft footsteps making their way across your apartment. you felt yourself freeze, fight or flight kicking in. for the first time in your life, you were scared of billie. not scared of what she might do but scared because it was practically like interacting with a stranger. you had no idea what she might say to the sight of you packing up to leave her.

would she be mad? would she let you go? would she try to fight? all those questions terrified you. the uncertainty scared the living daylights out of you.

you finished up packing your clothes just as she entered your bedroom.

“hey baby, what’s going on?” she asked, slurring her words a little bit. she was inebriated, of course she was. you didn’t answer her, making your way to the bathroom to grab your toiletries.

“baby.” she said, a bit more firm. you stuttered in your step when the nickname came out of her mouth but shook it away. she just looked confused at you when you chucked them into your bag.

“i’m done, bils.” you said, grinding your teeth as you zipped your bag shut. you walked to your bedside table to grab your chargers. “i’m done being treated like shit.”

“c’mon baby, i don’t treat you like shit.” she said, letting out a dry chuckle as a smile formed. “you’re being dramatic.”

“really?!” you said, angry. your tears started to form again, you tried to hold them back as you didn’t want to show weakness in front of her. “you fucking ditched me today, i was all alone in that restaurant waiting for you.”

her smile suddenly faded. she forgot. she didn’t care. you didn’t know.

“i’m so busy, baby. you can’t seriously expect me to be perfect and remember all our dates.” she tried to make up an excuse. you were hurt that she didn’t even apologise.

“busy enough to go to a party with your friends?” you snapped, aggressively shoving your charger into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “be so fucking for real right now, billie. you didn’t forget. you just don’t give a shit anymore.”

“oh fuck you!” she said, pointing at you. “if i didn’t give a shit about you, you wouldn’t even be here right now!” she yelled.

“wow. that shows me how fucking disposable income am then. i didn’t realise you saw me that way.” you said, walking past her and shoulder bumping her. “after everything i’ve done, how can you say that?!” you asked, turning around to look at her, standing in the living room.

you should have walked away, but given the fact that this is the most attention billie’s shown you, you wanted to stay and fight.

“you know what? you are disposable. i could have anyone! they’d be okay with me going out and partying.” she scoffed.

“yeah? well when you find someone that loves you just as much as i do despite you neglecting them, you let me know!”

“i will!” she said, walking closer to you. “i bet it won’t be hard.”

you laughed, anger seeping through your voice. “fuck you, billie. maybe you can go ask that girl you were grinding on at that party last week. tell me, did you sleep with her? is that why you’re being like this? did you cheat?”

“no, i didn’t. but maybe i should have, she was more fun than you’ll ever be. at least she wasn’t a damn shut in with no life.” she spat out.

you went quiet, did billie actually say that to you?

you were so hurt by her words, you thought you had been a good enough partner to her. maybe you weren’t enough for her, and the thought of that brought you to your breaking point.

“fuck…” you whimpered out, covering your mouth. “you’ve changed so much… you’re not the girl i fell in love with anymore…”

she scoffed at you, “well maybe i should’ve been this way all along. i feel good like this.”

“fine… be that way.” you said, turning around and twisting the door knob.

“you’re nothing without me! you love being useful to me” she called after you. “where are you gonna go?!” she asked.

“anywhere but here.” you slammed the door shut as you made your way out of your apartment, leaving the love of your life behind.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

billie woke up the next morning, groaning with a pounding headache that she couldn’t seem to best. she didn’t remember much about the party last night— nor did she remember the argument you had.

she only remembered when she opened up your shared closet to get dressed and found the majority of your clothes missing.

“oh… oh fuck.” she said, grabbing her phone and immediately trying to call you. it went straight to unavailable. she started to send a few texts.

‘baby, baby, i’m so so sorry.’

‘please answer my calls.’

‘please call me.’

‘i’m so sorry, please forgive me. i didn’t mean it.’

she went straight to social media, trying to find you but noticing that you had blocked her on most of your accounts. she found herself starting to cry, all the regret building up in her chest.

her tears fell onto her phone as she searched for any way to contact you. she sat down on the bed you used to share, it still smelled like you. her head was in her hands, she was trying to figure out where you could have gone in hopes of going there and talking to you. but because she hadn’t been around you, she wouldn’t know which of your close friends or relatives would house you.

she had stopped her crying, making it her mission to find you today. she had gotten dressed and her muscle memory took over, swinging the fridge door open in hopes of finding some leftovers of one of your famous home-cooked meals that you would have tucked away. her tears started to fall again when she realised there was nothing there waiting for her.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

it had been a week since you left your apartment. billie found it to be an incredibly insufferable week.

she had gotten home that week in a pissy mood, chucking her keys into the table beside the door and dumping her bag on the floor.

she had noticed that the apartment had changed, everything was suddenly clean. this past week, she hadn’t gotten the chance to clean anything up or do any chores. she heard running water from the kitchen and practically sprinted over there.

she found you placing the last dish onto the drying rack.

“baby.” she said, a relieved sigh leaving her lips. “i’m so glad you’re okay.”

“i’m just here to pick up the rest of my stuff.” you said, sighing a less relieved sigh, it was more of a disappointed one. you had hoped to be gone before she returned.

“you don’t have to go, please. we can work this out.” she begged you. you wouldn’t even turn to look at her.

“we can’t. not with the way you’ve handled this. there’s nothing to work out.” you finally turned around to look at her. your eyes looked tired and your face drooped in sadness, she still thought you were incredibly beautiful.

“but i’m sorry… i’m just so sorry.” she stepped towards you but you walked past her into the bedroom you used to call yours.

“sorry’s just not going to cut it, billie.” you said, picking up a box of your things. “i don’t think you understand how much you’ve hurt me. the things you said? they really pushed me over the edge. i thought that maybe i was the terrible person. but i was wrong, you were treating me horribly.”

“i can change, i promise.” billie cried out, trying to stop you from leaving.

“please move, bils.” you asked her, your eyes going soft. the nickname made her weak to her knees, she loved when you called her that. she stepped aside, sniffling softly.

“please… give me the chance to change.” she walked after you.

“i believe you can change, billie. i know you can. i just don’t think i can stick around for it.” you sighed, opening the door with your free hand. “maybe the next person that you find yourself with will reap the benefits of your change.” you said, walking out the door and closing it behind you.

she fell to her knees as the door closed. from that moment onwards, she vowed to change for the better. but she wanted the person that reaped the benefits to be you.

and you only.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a/n: part 2 with billie redemption arc incomingg!

[planetaryupscaled]

Disenchanted 6

Male Reader x Karina

Tags: 2k, cheating, creampie, cuckold, daddy kink

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

It was well past 2am before Karina and I finished our marathon sex session. The ravishing woman having run out of energy, just letting me lazily pump her cunt with the last of my load for the evening.

It was a surprise that Jaewook was still asleep throughout the ordeal, given the fact that Karina and I really didn’t hold back, I even held her face against his thigh at one point, while railing her from behind, the slaps of flesh distorted by Jaewook’s snores.

I left an exhausted looking Karina to get some much needed sleep, lying face down next to her husband, covering her silky naked form with the sheets before closing the bedroom door behind me. There was an ache in my legs as I slowly descended the wooden stairs. I must have emptied at least five loads inside her that night, my sack was still reeling from the demands I put on it, my cock slowly getting accustomed to not being snugly sheathed within Karina’s tight body.

Opening the doors and slipping into the early morning air sent a ripple of energy spiraling through my senses. My eyes perking up suddenly at the rush of cold wind now billowing all around me as I retired back inside my homely lodge just in time before the heavens opened up with rain coming splashing down on the wooden roof. In many respects, tonight had been more extreme than the Yeonjun, Hajoon affair, it was with her husband, one she shunned for most of the night. Not that Jaewook caught on at first, but I had a feeling he was starting to connect the dots, the longer the three of us fucked. It was the little things, like the eye contact she gave me while we made love, not the same if any when it came to her husband. It was almost like he was, as she described Yeonjun and Hajoon before, a prop. It would not be too long till that final blow would be dealt, to my knowledge we were going to tell Jaewook in a few hours, not knowing what the best time to spill the beans was, if ever. Little did I know the blow would be dealt far sooner than expected and in the most brutal fashion imagined.

—

“Hey...can I come in?” Karina said, amidst the increasingly loud pitter patter of the rain outside.

I must have fallen asleep, checking my watch it was now half five in the morning with the birds already chirping outside.

“Hey...sure...come in.” I replied, getting up and ushering a soaking Karina in.

She was drenched, wearing nothing but a white bra and matching underwear, as she strolled into my posh glamping abode, a wicked smile strewn across her face.

“Karina, you are soaked...” I said, wrapping a towel around her and bringing her into the warmth by the fireplace.

“More than you know.” She chimed back, looking at me with those deep brown eyes of hers.

I felt like she wanted to tell me something, something important, there was a level of excitement emanating from her that I could not quite pinpoint.

“So...I had a talk with Jaewook” Karina said, “it’s over...”  with finality, running her hands along my arm.

“Um...what...I thought we were going to do it tog...” I started.

“It’s better this way.” She replied with a smile.

“How...did he take it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not good at first, there were tears, his tears that is and then anger, then tears again. I left him in the bedroom to think it through, but I am pretty sure he has passed out again.” Karina said.

“Wow...so...” I replied.

“So...I guess that’s that...” Karina said, closing the gap.

“I’m yours...” She followed up.

“Seriously Karina, you wanna fool around after such a big decision has bee...” I started again, before getting interrupted by a kiss.

Her soft lips melded with mine, as if we were made for one another, the warmth of the fire stoking our bodies as I pulled her closer for a deeper embrace.

“You know...we were meant to do this together right?” I said, staring at her beautiful face.

“Guess...I’ve been a bad girl...” Karina replied, placing her hands on my chest.

“You know what happens to bad girls right?” I replied, catching onto the sudden erotic turn of events.

“What’s that?” She said, biting down hard on my lip as I felt her hands roam into my pants and grab harshly at my sack.

“They get...punished...” I replied, moaning at her touch while simultaneously man handling her to the bed.

“Wait...” Karina said.

“Film it...” She followed up with a cheeky grin.

I walked over to the side table, propping up my phone and pressing record, making sure the lens captured everything. This was to be our second video, and I wanted it to be hotter than the last.

“Ass across my lap, young lady.” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Karina presented her pert derriere to me.

“You ready?” I asked, palms already about to strike.

She looked at me, over her shoulder, in anticipation, sucking down on my thumb from my free hand.

“Don’t hold back...be rough with me...Daddy.” Karina said, seductively, before tensing her rear for me in quiet trepidation.

I drove down with full force, not holding back as I connected with Karina’s ass cheeks, the ripple effect causing a loud slapping noise to ring off the walls.

“Ahhhhh...Daddy...” Karina wailed.

“You like that?” I replied, coming down harder this time, slapping her rear while squeezing her red raw flesh under my hands.

“Yes...AHHH...harder...ahhhh.” Karina screamed, her rear now getting battered from my slaps.

Karina started whimpering with each subsequent smack, her body trembling under my grasp, till the brunette turned around over her shoulder, eyes watering slightly at the force of my strikes.

“Fuckkk...fuck me now.” Karina said breathlessly.

I was lost in the moment, my hand still shaking after smacking her ass red raw, staring down at Karina’s tight body, I slipped out of my boxers and rammed myself as far as I could into her married cunt. My tip piercing her silky folds with ease as I split the mother of three open with my cock, my crown roughly smashing up against her cervix with a thud as I bottomed her out. Karina felt different this time, kinkier in her requests as if the ante had been dialed up a few more notches as she pushed back onto my deep hard thrusts. Her walls sucking my shaft off as I drilled her mercilessly into the mattress, adding a few more slaps to her ass each time I pumped her cunt with more of my dick.

“Pull...my hair...” Karina said between moans, sucking on my fingers as I pried her mouth open with one hand and yanked on her hair with another.

It was the roughest we had ever been, but she loved it, arching her back to allow me to penetrate her pussy to the fullest, filling her pink chamber with my meat as I stuffed her unfaithful cunt with cock.

“Ughhh…Minho...yes...fuck...dadddyyyy...” Karina moaned, her eyes locked on the camera as I railed her in the prone position.

It was just in that moment that the front door swung open. her husband Jaewook standing a few feet away from us, a look of horror on his face. He could not comprehend what he was seeing, words failing him as he just watched, slack jawed as Karina and I stared back at him.

“Moree...give me more...” Karina demanded.

We were too far gone, not giving a shit about other people’s feelings at this point, we just needed to get off.

“You like that?” I asked, spanking her rear.

“Uhhh...yes...just...like...that...daddy.” She replied, biting her lips.

“Better than your husbands?” I asked, through gritted teeth as I fucked more of my straining cock into her tight pussy.

She raised her head, looking Jaewook deep in his tearful eyes as I penetrated her cunt.

“Worlds...better...” She replied with little remorse, pushing back on me as I flipped her over onto her back.

“Spread your legs baby.” I said, rubbing furiously at her throbbing clitoris.

She complied, parting her bronze thighs for me as I pierced her folds with my dick once more. I could sense her eyes ever so often glance over at a frozen Jaewook, his face not showing anger or sadness anymore, but acceptance as I spread his wife’s legs wider, spearing her cunt with deep rupturing strokes.

Karina’s cries of pleasure were mounting, her body was shaking as the brunette hung her head of the side of the bed, allowing me to plough into her marital pussy over and over again, ripping through her pussy with a hunger what needed to be satiated. My cock irrigating her womb of air, the more meat I fucked into her, forcing it out in a hurry, causing a highly erotic farting noise to ring out from between her legs.

I slipped my fingers into her mouth, pumping my dick deeper into her womb, feeling the warmth of her cunt urging me for release as we locked eyes.

“I want to feel you cum...” Karina moaned.

“Wai...” Jaewook spoke, his voice feeble in the distance.

We ignored his plea, locked in our own mating ritual as Karina pushed her hips towards me with each thrust, goading me into seeding her pussy.

“Fuck a baby into me...” Karina whispered, into my ear, loud enough for the killer blow to be heard by Jaewook.

It was enough to set us both off as I fucked my cock deep into Karina’s cunt, exploding at the tip as my pent up sperm peppered her cervix, leaking into her uterus as I injected her twitching womb with my thick milk.

“Ughhhh...baby...fill me...fill...me...up.” Karina groaned.

Her own orgasm triggering as I pumped her pussy fill of cum, my seed dribbling out the sides off her slit as I felt a rush of fresh fluids rush against my cock. She was gushing, the mix of my seed and her juices now coalesced as I force fed her married pussy more of my meat and sperm, right in front of her husband. I felt wave after wave of my cum, pump into her luscious cunt, spurt after spurt painting her insides in my sticky white milk.

Karina was dripping from the rear, as I finally stopped twitching inside her. The slickness of her womb bore the fruits of our labor as her gushing ceased, the stickiness smeared all over her inner thighs, dripping down her red raw ass cheeks as she got up and lay beside me in a huff. We stared at each other for a long moment, forgetting our unwanted guest for a few seconds as his sobs started again. Looking over, Karina purposely strode over to him, still leaking her womanly fluids form her slippery well fucked pussy.

“Jaewook...it’s over.” She said firmly, before turning to me wearing a smile on her face.

I looked at her, amazed and slightly shocked at the brutality of it all. Everything was caught on camera, the sex, the moans, the spanking, the lot. Rolling her hips on my lap while Jaewook took a last look at his wife, she turned to me, taking my tongue between her lips and sucking me firmly.

“Now...fuck me till I pass out...” Karina said, slipping my spent cock back into her freshly claimed cunt.

In that moment, she belonged to me, and she knew it, presenting her body to me for me to claim, claim her mind, body and soul, Karina was mine.

[mooningningg]

"You're insufferable." part i, jjk.

-in which you got in a heated argument with jjk men.

part ii.

toji, satoru, and nanami, (f).

warnings, genre. swearing! not proofread! | angst to fluff! |

notes i. this was requested from like a year ago so... yeah.

Toji. the scarred man was flaring up your temper for sure, you sat at the your side of the passanger seat. drowning in your own sea of thoughts whilst you looked outside the window of the moving car. tiny drops of water was plastered right on the car window. the sound of pitter-patter by the rain can be heard but slightly muffled.

the car however was silent, toji, your boyfriend was driving with a deadly grip on the steering wheel. you both were driving home after a disasterous date. it was going on fine at the beginning but all of a sudden, your meticulous boyfriend and you were suddenly fighting with him over something you didn't seem to think about now. you were just fuming in your seat because he had raised his voice at you in front of many people, "are you going to keep up this being a bitch act of yours?" he bites, you can feel the venom seeping through his voice.

you stayed silent, trying to send him the hint that you weren't going to talk to him any sooner. he hisses beside you before slamming his hand on the steering wheel, making you look at him with a flinch, "damn it!" "what the hell is wrong with you, toji!" "now you decide to talk to me."

"if you were just being so fucking easy back there, then maybe i wouldn't have yelled." the man beside you fills you in, trying to point out your mistakes from the fight.

"oh so now it's my fault that you have anger issues that you can not somehow get a hold of? you're a fucking assassin, toji. yet you act like you can't color inside the lines with a gun to your fucking head."

"what the fuck did you just say?" his voice grumbles, and just in time for a thunder to roar in the sky, light flashes in a second before the rain came down heavier. toji took a glance at you, his eyes were filled with anger and you can tell, you calmed yourself down. looking out from the window again you wrapped your own arms around your body to provide warmness, you couldn't handle it anymore. there was never a day where you don't find yourself arguing with the scarred man over and over again, you were tired, to an extent.

"you're a fucking jerk." you mumble, resting your head on the window as you feel your tears starting to build up. it hurts you, him being too comfortable yelling at you in front of a crowd, it shatters your heart into millions of pieces. you knew you were hard to love but... toji made you feel like there wasn't hope at all.

"I hate you." it came out like a whisper, your voice vulnerable and weak. toji's grip loosened, his eyes softening in an instant with his face muscle finally relaxing, but not in a good way. damn did those three words, eight letters, stab his heart a million times repeatingly, over and over again. he was hurting you, and now he realizes it, he has gone too far now, "y/n."his voice was gentle now, no sign of anger or irritation.

you didn't answer, you felt so weak now. you felt like you were going to burst into tears within a second, " 'm sorry." your boyfriend says, your heart warms up in an instant, it was unfair, he had this effect on you and you just can't ignore it, "whatever." you replied with a sob at the end of your sentence, you had been crying again... because of him.

toji didn't like seeing you like this so he swore in him, he would kill anyone that made you cry, and if he did make you holler again, he'll end his self instead.

Satoru. "This is crazy." you say in frustration, looking at your lover as if he has grown tw heads to make your eyes shine with horrid, "oh this is crazy? you're

crazy." the silver haired exclaims with his tone sharp and absolute, you were taken a back by his response, "oh wow, don't try to point this on me when you're the one who flirted with a girl." "it's like I can't even do anything in this relationship anymore, you have this fucking vision in your head that im so fucking wrong all the time."

"you're just making up excuses, satoru. it won't cover up the fact that you flirted with the girl." you pointed at him, your eyes glared at him with your voice slightly raising. smoke was basically coming out of satoru's ear, he was fuming, "you're insecure, that's what you are." "what did you just say?" "you make a big fuss whenever i talk to another girl, you're afraid ill le...

there was the sound of your palm hitting his right cheek, it echos through out the room with your eyes tearing up. who am i kidding, it already rolled down your cheeks, your eyes held betrayal. satoru, never in your life did he point out your insecurities in an argument.

"what happened to you. if that's what you think then I'm afraid we're better off by ourselves." you say calmly, your tears still can't help themselves from falling, "y/n." "no, you don't say those hurtful things and expect me to be okay."

"im sorry, i know i crossed the line." the silver haired exclaims with a saddened voice, the slap was like a slap from reality. truly the reason why he realized his mistake. "i would never do that to you." your voice cracked, you couldn't anymore, the burden rose up to your throat and it made hard for you to say something without finding it hard. you were crying now.

backing away from your boyfriend your back hits the wall and you slide down to the floor whilst trying to calm yourself down. and just like that you feel your boyfriends familiar scent crouch down to your level, grabbing your hands gently to replace his slender hands to wipe away your tears. "im sorry baby, im so... fuck, i hate seeing you like this."

Nanami. "im just trying to calmly apologize to you, i dont want to fight anymore." the blonde says, he brings his hand up to his mouth in a frustrated manner, you stood there, your arms crossed in front of your chest with your eyebrows furrowed. your face was bear but the outfit you were supposed to wear to your date with him was still on your body, "how is that going to help me, is it going to bring back the two hours i waited for you!" you exclaim, you were frustrated, the man forgot your date because he went to a party at work. and he didn't even tell you he was going, so it caused a misunderstanding, and you waited fir him like a fool.

"did you get hurt? i said i was sorry didn't i? can i go to bed now." he says in almost a monotone voice, you were offended by the way he reacted. it was almost like he didn't even care about your feelings. your eyes by now had widened, "so you're invalidating my feelings now? so what you said sorry?" "god your voice it's so..." "its so what." "...." "answer me!"

"fucking annoying! that's what it is, you yell, you yap do you ever get tired?" nanami finally loses his composure and his words were like daggers stabbing your heart. and if you listened closely, you can hear your heart breaking into pieces, and shattering beneath you. "you... you're the least man i have ever thought to say those words to me."

"wait." but it was too late, you had slammed the door in your shared room, nanami was left inside the cold atmosphere of the living room. he drops his self to the couch, placing his elbow on both his knees as he runs his finger through his blonde locks in frustration, he fucked up.

he needed to calm his self down before comforting you, in case he hurts you again.