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soobnny · 3 months ago

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cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

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chilling-seavey · 2 months ago

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Dreamland (ln4) - Epilouge

↳ A/N And finally, Lando's little fairytale will have its happily ever after...

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 2.4k

↳ Warnings: NONE

PART EIGHT

Two Years Later

The multi-story bookstore was nestled in the heart of Monte Carlo's most prominent shopping centre and the customers bustled about contently through the aisles and up the escalators like it was their second home. In the centre of the spacious atrium of the sizeable store, a few employees were finishing setting up a brand new display table with the filled cardboard boxes of new stock piled beside them. A few customers drifted by curiously to see what the most recent release was and the employees were happy to answer questions. On the other hand, a few well cultured customers lingered around the store just as a way to pass time until the display was ready.

With an Exacto knife in hand, Oscar approached said table and slit open the tape that sealed one of the boxes, ordering the employees sternly but politely, “Time is running out. Let’s try and get as many of these on display as possible, as soon as possible, okay?”

The underpaid employees nodded frantically and increased their speed to please him. He pulled out his phone and answered the incoming call with a huff and a half-stressed ‘hello’ that had Charles glancing at him as he rushed past.

Holding Max’s hand, Charles left Oscar to his own devices as they approached the display table themselves next and he reached for one of the books inside. It was heavy in his hand but he smiled at it proudly and tilted it side to side to watch how the hardcover sleeve shimmered in the artificial lighting of the store.

He looked up at his boyfriend, “Well?”

“Beautiful work as always.” Max answered, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“My first time with one of my photographs on the cover of a book.” he said proudly.

Max praised him without a second thought, “It’s what you deserve.”

They shared a proper kiss and then Charles pulled the book to his chest, announcing, “I’m gonna keep this copy. I need to get it signed later tonight.”

Max reached into the cardboard box for a copy of his own, agreeing to Charles’ idea himself, and they left the employees to their work. They crossed the book store’s atrium to the carpeted clearing of the main floor where a few bar tables were set up and covered with white tablecloths and little floral centerpieces. Along the windowed wall that looked out towards the street was a rectangular table of hors d'oeuvres and refreshments at which Alex and George were setting out cans of soda and arranging the plates and napkins just so.

Sneaking up behind him, Max tapped George on the opposite shoulder so George turned his attention in the opposite direction, allowing Max to sneak his arm past him to grab a taste of one of the appetizers, undetected. Alex snorted in light amusement at Max’s slick move and Charles, with his hand in the crook of his boyfriend’s arm, guided him away with a smile. George looked back at Alex dumbly.

“What was that?” he asked.

Alex shrugged, “Ghost, maybe?”

George looked over his shoulder again.

The sound of a camera shutter going off had the both of them turning the other way where Lily stood at the end of the table with Charles’ DSLR camera in hand. She snapped another photo and then sent them both a smile from behind the camera.

“Smile!” she instructed.

George put his arm around Alex’s shoulders and they broke into grins together to pose for another picture.

“Beautiful.” Lily nodded once in approval, lowering the camera as she stepped around the table to join them, her eyes focused on the screen to skim through a few recent shots.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Alex nudged her.

She shot him a little unimpressed glare and nudged him back, answering quietly, “Incredibly breathtaking.”

He dipped down to kiss her cheek with a cheesy grin that had her turning away from him bashfully, especially under George’s close presence and the way he stared at them with an amused smile. Alex just wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her close again despite her silent shy protests.

“Does Charles know you took his camera?” Alex asked her.

“Not yet.” Lily chuckled.

Changing the subject, George gestured to the neatly organized table of food as he asked her, “Do you like our spread?”

“Yeah,” Lily nodded, raising the camera to take a haphazard picture of it, “It looks great.”

“Thanks.” Alex stretched dramatically, “Took a lot of work. Someone should write a book about it.”

George offered jokingly, “Hey, I have just the person in mind to do that for you!”

Lily silence them with her hand up before pointing out the large display window directly in front of them that opened out to the bustling streets of Monte Carlo, “Look who’s back.”

George and Alex broke into excited grins and the three of them drifted their eyes to the nearby double entry doors as they were opened and the last of their little group arrived into the air conditioned book store from the Monaco summer humidity.

Regardless of the twenty-something-degree weather outside, Lando still wore dress slacks with a button up tucked into them, the fabric neatly ironed and smooth but only getting wrinkled where the toddler sat on his hip. She wore a little dress and sparkly shoes that hugged her dangling stockinged feet on either side of his torso, although her entire body was almost completely taken over by the bouquet of pastel peonies she clutched in her little arms.

“We made it!” Lando told her sweetly as he stepped over the threshold into the bookstore.

She grinned at him, showing off her little gummy toothy smile that was half blocked by the cellophane wrap around the flowers in her arms. Just out the way of the door, he crouched down to set her on her feet and she whined softly and tried to climb back in his arms.

Lando’s gentle hand rested on her back as he spoke to her in the gentlest voice, crouched at her level, “Cuddles are for later, okay? We gotta go surprise Mommy with her pretty flowers now.”

With her fingers in her mouth, the toddler leaned into him casually as if to try and persuade him to pick her up again. He gently pulled her hand away from her mouth and then pointed across the bookstore to the other rectangular table donning a white table cloth that was set up nearby the display table. There, you stood as you arranged your few items among more of those cardboard boxes that seemed to fill the clearing space in the bookstore. She followed his finger.

“See, look! There’s Mommy. Wanna go give her the flowers?”

The little girl smiled up at him again bashfully and reached her tiny hand for his larger one with a whispered, “Okay.”

Lando stood up from the ground and let her wrap her hand around his pinky to lead the way across the clearing. Although he was walking at a calm pace, she was tugging at his finger at an attempt at a run, her little brunette curls bouncing as she ran messily across the carpeted floor towards your table, half struggling to see past the bouquet.

“Mama!” she called.

Instantly, her voice had you looking up from your cue cards and your anxious expression settled into a tender grin and you stepped around the table to greet her. Lando could always feel his heart absolutely soar every time he saw you and your little girl together…he just held so much love in his heart for the both of you that it was almost unreal. Like he had always once dreamt of, your baby was the spitting image of you and he loved every second of it; now he had two beautiful things to stare at until the end of time. He thought himself to be so, so lucky.

“Flowers, Mama.” your daughter announced excitedly, offering out the bouquet to you and almost dropping it in the process while you crouched right down in front of her.

“Oh, thank you, buttercup.” you kissed her chubby cheek when you took the flowers. “These are my favourites. How’d you know?”

Lando gave your daughter’s hand a little tug, “What else did we want to say to Mommy?”

She looked up at him and then back at you with an angelic smile, offering you a simple “congratulations” that was horribly butchered by her two-year-old vocabulary and pronunciation, but it was the cutest thing you had ever heard nonetheless.

“Oh my!” you beamed with pride and pulled her close for more kisses to her cheek, “Thank you so much, my sweet girl.”

She wrapped her arms around your neck and you gladly took that as incentive to lift her up onto your hip, much to her glee. With a toddler in one arm and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in your other, you met Lando halfway for a quick kiss and a quiet thank you to him too.

“Did you get the Sharpies?” you asked.

He held up the small white shopping bag to show you before placing it on your table, “Yep. Of course. Got the biggest package they had too because I am expecting hundreds of people flooding in here tonight and I don’t want you running out.”

“Thank you.” you sighed in relief through a smile that formed at his compliment.

He kissed you once more before you were interrupted by Charles’ friendly call,

“Quick picture!”

The three of you turned your attention to him as he walked over with his trusty camera in hand - stolen back from Lily - and Lando slid over to your side so you were all facing him. Lando wrapped his arm around your waist and set his other hand sweetly around your daughter who was perched on your hip and he gave her a little tickle.

“Say ‘cheese’!”

The toddler pulled the biggest smile and shouted “cheese!” across the echoey bookstore as loud as her little lungs could allow. You all laughed lightly - even Charles - as the picture was taken.

Max came over to join your little group, Alex approving the post with a statement of, “Instagram worthy, I think.”

“Definitely.” you agreed.

“You haven’t even seen the picture.” Charles countered.

“If you took it, I already know it’s great.” you shrugged, earning an agreeable nod from Max.

Your well-trained daughter agreed easily, “Yeah!”

Alex and George joined you too, easily drawn by the adorable little girl on your hip whom they swooned over together. And, knowing his job well, Oscar also came over and took your flowers from you to tuck them away safely before the event, exchanging them for your cue cards without needing to be asked. Lando glanced over your shoulder at the cards that you had been pining over for multiple weeks to make your speech perfect; pulling late nights in bed spent writing by the light of your bedside lamp or scribbling out lines in the passenger seat of his car on the way to toddler swim class.

“All set for your big speech?” Charles asked.

You scoffed, “Way to ease my nerves there, Charlie.”

Lando’s hand rubbed over your back, “You’ve done plenty of these. You make them look easy.”

“Well this is my first one without being in that contract so it feels a little weird being so free with what I’m allowed to say.” you admitted. Your daughter rested her head down on your shoulder with her arms around your neck and you set your cheek on top of her little head, finding comfort in her.

Max offered you a half cocky smile, “And now you have a much cooler manager.”

“Of course.” you agreed, just to make him feel better although you were wholeheartedly telling the truth. He had always acted like your confidant and your big brother in the industry anyway so having him as your informal manager after you got yourself out of your previous contract only made sense.

“Your first book release as an independent artist.” Oscar gushed, “That’s an accomplishment.”

“And it’s an autobiography at that.” you chuckled, “That’s so weird. Who am I?”

Lando replied without missing a beat, “A multi-talented author, that’s who.”

You shared another quick kiss that Charles managed to snap a picture of.

Your little girl reached a tiny hand out for your cards but you moved them just out of her reach, distracting her with a kiss to her cheek instead. You then looked to Lando with a quiet request, “I wanna sign one for you first…before the event starts.”

He smiled warmly at you, “Okay. Now?”

You nodded.

Your friends dispersed as there were still things left to finish setting up before the event and Lando took the toddler from you to give you hands free to fish a crisp copy of your book out of one of the cardboard boxes beside your signing table and you sat yourself down in front of it. Your Sharpie was uncapped and you flipped the hardcover book open to the first page, pausing to glance up at Lando standing on the opposite side of the table with your daughter in his arms. They both stared back at you with matching small smiles and the little girl dipped her head into Lando’s neck for a cuddle all while keeping her eyes on you.

It reminded you of the day you met him not that long ago; just a shy boy from Bristol who’s only true passion in life were the worlds you created in your pages. Only three years earlier he had stood on the other side of a table from you in another Waterstones, similarly to how he was now, both of you clueless at the time of what lay in store for you. Now, there he was holding your daughter you had together and the life you were paving together, watching you prepare for your book release party for your autobiography that contained chapters upon chapters with his name in them.

Sharing a loving smile with the fanboy from Bristol who managed to weasel his way into your heart in the most genuine way, you took a second to think of what you wanted to write to him. You might have been a published author but sometimes it was hard to figure out how to put your feelings towards him into words.

Finally, you set the tip of the fresh black Sharpie to the page and began to write in your neat, experienced printing:

“To my Lando, my biggest fan and my most treasured inspiration, always, …”

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westonspharmacyphotodept · 6 months ago

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Conceptual series -- Disposable Camera

What if, during their first patrol together, Ellie and Dina found a disposable camera in a drawer at the radio station?

For those of you who’ve never experienced the joy of the disposable film camera, they are made of flimsy plastic and contain the cheapest consumer-grade film. They’re designed to take a single type of exposure, with a set shutter speed, aperture and focus, and the best shooting conditions are bright daylight.

Outside of the ideal shooting conditions, you need to activate the flash to yield a usable picture. Red eye is inevitable. The flash is also set to fire at a specific power, so standing either too close or too far from your subject means they’ll either be too bright or too dark.

It’s very difficult to get perfect conditions for every shot, so when you take the film for processing (to Weston’s Pharmacy, of course), the processing machine automatically tries to compensate for pictures that are too dark or too bright. The result is often an extremely crushed dynamic range, and a lot of grain. They look crappy, but that’s part of the fun.

After 25 years in a desk drawer, I like to think that not only would the film have degraded quite a bit, but the housing would have lost some integrity and sprung a leak. This camera has a very slight crack in the housing, which leaks light when the camera is taken out into the daylight.

Typically, there are 24 exposures in one of these cameras, so I have included all 24 pictures that Ellie and Dina took together, including the duds. Some of you may point out that disposable cameras didn’t produce a date stamp in the bottom corner — this is true, however I think it adds to the effect I was going for, and also since we know the canonic date that this patrol happened, I thought it would be a cool detail to include it.

I hope you enjoy!

(Original game photography from The Last Of Us Part II by @westonspharmacyphotodept, created with all manual post-production using no presets, templates, stock or AI).

#the last of us #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams #dina #fan fiction #patrol #game photography #virtual photography #photo mode #disposable camera #film photography #snapshot #expired film

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godihatethiswebsite · 2 months ago

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed.

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils.

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble.

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way–

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours.

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess.

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!”

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start.

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry.

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina.

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses.

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning.

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion.

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement.

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college.

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales.

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–”

Four. There were four of them. Four mates.

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far.

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.”

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado.

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other.

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness.

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?”

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.”

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before.

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey.

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?”

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect.

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off.

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view.

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock.

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale…

You are safe. You are safe. You are–

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks.

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?”

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing.

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.”

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip.

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he?

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table.

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown.

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you?

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble.

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff.

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth.

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear.

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios.

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates.

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving.

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.”

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view.

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again.

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car.

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